Black is the color of the day in Oriental Town as all those who knew and loved Anju Kaburagi gather to pay their respects. Kotetsu shakes hands along with Muramasa and Kaede's family, realizing that he's going to have more—many, many more—black days ahead of him, and for the people he never wants to lose. The people he shouldn't lose. The people meant to lose him. Because that's how time works. The old make way for the new.
Muramasa has silver hair and a limp. Kaede's eldest child is in double-digits. Kotetsu still looks like he's barely into his forties, and his vitality is holding, too. No signs of arthritis, heart troubles, muscle atrophy, anything that might slow him down or take him before his time. Those 'outs' denied to him sound way more appealing than Kotetsu wants to admit. Anything to keep him from seeing more black.
Kaede ditches her jacket and scarf when they're alone, quitting half the black, and pours two glasses of shochu, passing one to her father.
"I still can't get over you drinking," Kotetsu mumbles.
"Still just a little girl to you?" Kaede teases.
"You've always been five to me. When you were ten, you were five. When you were fifteen, you were five. Now you've got a glass of shochu in your hand and you're still five. It's my Daddy-Vision."
Kaede smiles ruefully and sips. The drink passes her lips like water. "I come from a family of alcohol sellers. I can't not drink."
"You can do whatever you want."
"Dad…" Kaede sits beside Kotetsu and takes his hand. She senses something dark in his tone, and it makes her suspicious "Is this about your power?"
Kotetsu shifts. "Just look at us. I'm your father and I look like your brother. In twenty years, I'll look like your son. That isn't right."
"Why not?"
"Because parents aren't supposed to outlive their children."
"Are people 'supposed' to be NEXTs?"
"…Not like this."
"You're not a freak, Dad. You're special even among NEXTs, but that doesn't make you any less than who you are."
He's heard this conversation a dozen times over. Not from Kaede specifically, but from Barnaby, right before they discovered the full implications of his shifting power, drunken versions from Antonio at various bars, from the other, younger heroes as they surpassed his age in appearance: This is fine. It's all okay. You're still who you are, and we still admire, respect, love you. You're not a freak.
"How'd you deal with retirement, Kaede?"
"I'm not retired. I'm in social work, remember?"
"I mean from being a hero."
From age sixteen to twenty-eight, Copy Cat defended the city of Sternbild with her amazing copy power, a noteworthy hero for her intelligence and strategy, using a plethora of NEXT powers to the best of her ability to save lives and apprehend criminals. Twice King of Heroes, she retired to have a baby, but then never returned to TV. It still haunted Kotetsu that Kaede had made the choice he should have made all those years ago, choosing family over career, no matter how much Kaede denied 'fixing' her father's mistake.
"It's about finding something else to do," Kaede said. "Just like Barnaby. But you'll drive yourself crazy if you try to retire again, I just know it. You'll get sad and lazy, like the last time you tried to quit."
"I'm almost sixty-five. It's time for me to retire. Find the everyday heroism."
"And weren't people saying you should retire when you were thirty-five? Why now?"
"Because… I should. I should be focusing more on my family again. Helping Muramasa."
"I can take care of Uncle."
"And raise your kids, and work?"
"Dad, you're still in really good shape. Great shape, even. Are you saying you're bored with protecting people?"
"No!"
"Is it too hard?"
"No…"
"So you're deciding to retire based on a margin of efficacy, arbitrarily placed by a government to try and weed less effective workers out of the labor pool and then culturally reinforced by the general public?"
"…Huh?"
Kaede slaps a hand to her forehead in exasperation. "Dad, you were the one who said you shouldn't put limits on yourself."
"This is diff—"
"This isn't different. You have a special power. It's your responsibility to use it to protect those you care about, no matter what anyone else says."
After about three seconds of silence, Kotetsu feels antsy. He wants to say something, make Kaede understand that he's failing her yet again, how much it horrifies him that someday, it's going to be her funeral and he's going to be standing there, watching them bury his ancient baby girl, how those he cares about are starting to slip through his fingers and there's nothing he can do about it.
"Would you listen if Barnaby told you this?"
"We… haven't seen each other in a while. He's really busy, with… stuff."
"Too busy to make time for his partner?" Kaede fixes Kotetsu with the look that she reserves for Kotetsu's dumbest moments, the one she uses to drag the truth out of him when he's being scared or indecisive: the look she perfected when she was ten years old, standing on the roof of Apollon Media, staring down the 'vintage-suited' Wild Tiger.
In no time at all, Kotetsu stands. "I'll call him," he says. "Thanks for the drink."
Kaede stays put, but eavesdrops until she hears a conversation beginning, and stares up at the sky. It's not like she doesn't fear dying, just for the uncertainty of it all, but she doesn't fear dying before her father.
She fears that someday, there's going to be no one around to whip Kotetsu back into shape when he starts thinking he's worthless, as he is prone to do, when nothing could be further from the truth.
The university science building is not a new building, but it's clean and in good repair. Kotetsu's not sure why he expected the science department to have swooshy automatic doors or eye scanner locks or other futuristic stuff like that. Maybe he's been spoiled by the privately funded Apollon lab. He passes a window and peeks inside at some sort of experiment occurring. That must be where they put their money—into teaching and learning. If Kotetsu was a bookish sort of person, he could see himself at a college, or maybe a graduate school, in a place of learning for the sake of learning. Maybe if he had a few experiences studying rather than being studied, he'd feel a bit less like a lab rat in a place like this.
They give him a visitors' pass and tell him that offices are on the second floor, and he wanders the narrow little hallways, reading the nameplates on the front doors and occasionally peeking inside. The offices are barely closet-sized, with room for a desk, another chair, and a bookcase. Some of the offices list multiple names of teachers sharing the same space.
They're packed in like sardines. Kotetsu notices. Even the cubicles Bunny and I had in the office were bigger than this.
He makes three passes through the narrow hallways before finding the teensy little room with "B. Brooks" on the placard. He's about to knock when he hears a young man's voice ask something that is definitely a question, beginning with "Could you explain how…" and then completely losing Kotetsu for the rest of it. Barnaby responds with a similarly lofty vocabulary, answering the student's question confidently. Thinking it best to not interrupt the learning process, Kotetsu leans against the wall and waits.
The scientific exchange continues, a tangle of syllables that may as well be another language, but it's Barnaby's voice, his sweet, suave voice. Kotetsu's listened to that voice for years and years, but something about it, now in particular, sounds so relaxed and peaceful. Barnaby has always been the smart one, the one with the skills and interests and ability to be anything he wants. He makes a fantastic… person at a college. Kotetsu's not exactly sure what Barnaby's doing. It's teaching and research of some kind. Probably with robots.
Well, good for you, Bunny. You really do sound happy. Kotetsu kicked at the linoleum a bit. So long as you're happy…
The student thanks Barnaby for answering his questions, and then opens the door and nearly runs into Kotetsu as he turns out of the office. He glares at Kotetsu a little—Is he upset at the hero for eavesdropping? On a conversation he didn't understand?—but then continues on down the hall.
Kotetsu peeks inside. The shelves are packed with books, stuffed to bursting but obviously organized with some method. There's a filing cabinet shoved in a corner, too, and a few more crates also filled with books. All along the walls, Barnaby tacked blueprints of minute circuitry, some sort of device with a purpose that Kotetsu can't even begin to guess.
And he sees Barnaby, turned away from the door, typing. Under the florescent light, his hair looks like strands of silver and gold threaded together, tied back in a low ponytail. His shoulders are proud and square under a white lab coat, which trails down and reaches the floor. And on his desk is a framed photograph from his first season as a hero, when he won King of Heroes, with Kotetsu by his side, arms looped around each other.
Kotetsu's heart twists, and for some reason, he feels nervous. He knocks on the door extremely softly. Barnaby doesn't hear, so he knocks again, a little louder. Barnaby twitches, but apparently decides the sound is for someone else. Foregoing knocking, Kotetsu swallows and pries his lips apart, and calls, "Bunny."
Barnaby whips around in surprise, and Kotetsu catches a flash of a sour expression on his face, a Who dares call me a bunny? sort of look, harshened by wrinkles. It vanishes the instant Barnaby sees Kotetsu, and is replaced with astonishment.
"Hi," Kotetsu waves, then remembers he should take off his hat.
"Kotetsu," Barnaby stares at him. "I wasn't expecting you."
"Are you busy? Should I leave?"
"No, I just wasn't expecting you." Barnaby adjusts his glasses. "I guess I should have been a little more specific when I said, 'stop by and see me any time.'"
Kotetsu laughed awkwardly and apologized, and Barnaby smirked in return. But his shoulders shook gently with repressed chuckles, until Kotetsu giggled again, broadening Barnaby's smile, encouraging Kotetsu's mirth, and before either of them really knows what happened, they're sitting and standing in a claustrophobic office, laughing so hard their stomachs hurt.
What a pair we are! they think. What a pair!