Chapter 11 - Ordinary

"Rikuo!"

"I'm awake!" Rikuo leapt out from under his blankets. He found himself immediately reaching Nenekimaru, which was not lying next to his futon where he always kept it.

"Hurry up! You're going to be late for school!" His mother scolded. She stood with her hands on her hips. She was wearing a rose-colored sweater and jeans, which struck him as unusual. Usually, she wore more traditional clothing around the house, but then again, so did he. Kimonos and hapi coats suited life in the Nura Clan's mansion, but they weren't exactly common elsewhere.

His mother sighed and closed his door so that he could get dressed.

The room he was in did not look familiar. Rikuo blinked several times and then reached for his glasses. When he could see clearly, he stared out the window. The apartment was very high up, and somewhere downtown, not too far from Azabu High School. He could barely hear the cars on the streets below.

The last thing he remembered, he'd been in the courtroom of Lord Emma-O, the Judge of the Dead, bargaining for his grandfather's soul. He remembered that a verdict had been reached, but he couldn't remember what that verdict was.

Very quickly, he dressed himself in his school uniform and grabbed the first familiar objects he laid eyes on, his backpack and kendo bag.

At least a few things are the same. He thought to himself.

As he stepped out of his room and turned the corner into the kitchen, he dropped his bag in shock. The wooden sword inside hit the tile floor with a heavy clunk. There was a man sitting at the table, and his mother was serving him breakfast.

"You shouldn't stay up so late, Rikuo," the man laughed. "You can play your midnight games over summer break when you don't have classes in the morning."

Rikuo squinted at the man suspiciously. When he said "midnight games", Rikuo immediately thought of yokai mischief. But that obviously wasn't what the stranger meant.

"Is something wrong?" The man asked, observing the confused expression on Rikuo's face.

He hesitated. His eye caught a framed photograph of the man and his mother standing together on the deck of a tugboat. He blinked in surprise as he realized that the little boy clinging to his mother's leg in the photograph was him, at least ten years ago.

His father, Rihan, had died when he was very young, and his mother was an attractive woman. It had never occurred to him that she might eventually want to meet someone else or even remarry. Being the mother of the heir of the Nura Clan, it wasn't easy for her to go out on a date. But if he wasn't the Lord of Pandemonium...

Rikuo took a deep breath. Not only Kana, but some of the other "mere mortals" who were close to him might have easier lives if he wasn't part yokai. He felt guilty that he hadn't even considered what might be best for his own mother.

"I'm fine," Rikuo lied. "And I'm sorry, but... I don't have time for breakfast," he said, mostly so that he could get out of the strange apartment.

Before his mother could argue with him, he darted out the door and down the stairs. When he reached the street, he took a deep breath and sat down on the concrete in the shadow of the apartment building. He needed some time to let the reality of his situation sink in. More than anything, he needed advice. There weren't many people he trusted, but if he couldn't find his grandfather, he suspected that Gyuki would probably be helpful. He would have rather talked to his blood brother Zen, but Zen had been dead for a long time.

If the whole world had changed, there were things that Rikuo knew he would not miss about yokai life. Over the years, he'd lost several of his close friends. They'd all died well, in important battles... but that didn't make their absence any less painful.

He considered which train he would need to catch in order to get to the Nura Clan's mansion. It was difficult to figure out, coming from the opposite side of town. Usually, he went home close enough to sunset that he didn't have to wait for the train anyway.

"Hey, Rikuo!" Jiro waved.

Rikuo froze as his friend came running across the street.

"Hurry up, we're going to be late!" Jiro said.

With a heavy sigh, Rikuo followed after him. They made it to their homeroom class just as the first bell rang. The morning felt very long. Rikuo nearly drifted off to sleep in History, and grimaced when he saw the grade on his most recent English exam. Algebra was much better, and focusing on numbers kept him from biting his nails and worrying about the Judge of the Dead's very unusual "verdict". He'd never considered that trading one of his souls would change his whole life so drastically.

Still, by early afternoon, he was almost feeling normal. As he walked with Jiro to the cafeteria, he realized that he'd run out the door too fast to grab his lunch from his mother.

To his surprise, a bento box wrapped in a yellow handkerchief was waiting for him on his usual table. A piece of paper with his name written on it was taped to the outside.

"Hunh," Jiro observed. "Did Mizumi make you lunch?"

"Her school is on the other side of town," Rikuo reminded him. "My mother must have brought it. I guess that's a little embarrassing," he admitted.

"Still better than going hungry," Jiro shrugged.

Rikuo unwrapped his lunch. He blinked in surprise as he saw that every single carefully prepared piece was frozen into a block of ice.

"Your lunch is frozen," Jiro observed.

Rikuo smiled slightly. "Still better than going hungry," he replied.

He ignored the odd looks Jiro gave him and finished eating the food that Tsurara had prepared. It made him feel much better.

"I hope all that ice you just ate doesn't make you sick at kendo," Jiro said.

Rikuo shrugged. He only had one more class before his afternoon practice, but that didn't matter. He could step out into the gym without even warming up, and still beat everyone on the team. He'd had a sword in his hand for as long as he could remember. If he hadn't missed the national championships last year because of Nura Clan business, Rikuo felt certain that he would have gone home with the coveted award himself.

The next hour passed quickly, although Rikuo did find himself standing out in the hall because he'd been daydreaming about fighting when the teacher had called on him to answer a question.

As soon as the bell rang, he raced to the gym. Jiro was waiting for him, but he wasn't dressed to participate. Rikuo remembered that Jiro had only started learning kendoafter the Great Ape Scare, which had occurred during his first year of high school. Perhaps in this different world, that incident had never happened? It occurred to Rikuo that a great many of the Nura Clan's battles might have gone differently if his friends were never involved in them. Of course, that was a question he'd have to ask his grandfather.

Putting on his kendo equipment felt strange. It seemed stiff and unused, as if it belonged to someone else.

"I thought I told you never to come back here," a familiar voice sneered.

Rikuo glanced up at Ichigo, the arrogant senior he'd fought for his position as team captain. All he knew was that the past in the world he'd become part of was very different than the past as he remembered it. It was possible that the fight with Ichigo that he remembered had not actually occurred.

"I just want to practice," Rikuo replied calmly.

"Yeah, you need all the practice you can get!" another member of the team added. All of the senior members laughed.

"Come on, Ichigo," Jiro turned to Ichigo. He didn't usually leap to Rikuo's defense, but then again... Rikuo rarely needed his friend's assistance. "Let him fight one match."

"Fine, one match," Ichigo nodded. He stepped out to the center of the floor, and Rikuo stood across from him.

Rikuo studied his opponent, and Ichigo eyed him suspiciously. "You have been practicing," he observed.

"Of course," Rikuo smiled slightly. He waited for Ichigo to charge him, as he usually did. Their swords met, and he was shocked at how the force of the attack rattled him. Although he knew how to react, he didn't have the strength or the speed that he needed, the hallmarks of practice. From the perspective of an ordinary human, fighting Ichigo was difficult. If he'd been his yokai self, he might have compared it to trading blows with Tamazuki!

Ichigo struck again, and Rikuo managed to stop his sword, but only barely.

"Not bad," Ichigo observed with a malicious smile. "You might even make the team next year."

Rikuo faltered.

He wasn't on the kendo team?

Ichigo followed through with a strike to his head that knocked him flat on his back.

"Hey!" Jiro protested. "That was low! You didn't have to do that!"

"He asked for it," Ichigo replied, kicking Rikuo's sword as he turned to walk away. The other members of the kendo club all laughed.

For a long moment, Rikuo stared at the ceiling lights, his vision swimming.

"Are you crying?" Jiro asked.

"No," Rikuo sat up. He hadn't really been crying, but the blow he'd taken to the head still left him feeling woozy... and he was upset.

"Forget Ichigo," Jiro advised, helping Rikuo to his feet. "He's a jerk."

"Damnit, why couldn't I beat him?" Rikuo demanded. For a moment, he almost forgot where he was, and why everything was so different. Before he'd gone before the Judge of the Dead, he'd been captain of the team. But of course, in that alternate life, he'd also spent years honing his skill with a sword. His life, and lives of all of his subordinates depended upon it. Apparently, if no one depended on him... he couldn't even defend himself.

"I don't know. It's nothing new anyway. Ichigo-sempai always kicks your butt," Jiro shrugged. "Of course, if he wasn't a national champion in kendo, he wouldn't even be at this school. It's not like it's important if you win or lose," Jiro added. "I mean, nobody gets into real swordfights anymore."

"I guess you're right," Rikuo sighed. His phone buzzed in his bag and he reached for it. A bright blue alert popped up, and he blinked in surprise as he saw that it was a text message from Mizumi. Until a few weeks ago, she had been his girlfriend.

He paused. Apparently, in this world, they hadn't broken up. Of course, they had no reason to fight. Mizumi had only slapped him because she thought he was cheating on her with Tsurara.

Where was Tsurara? Rikuo knew she'd brought him lunch, but he hadn't caught a glimpse of her. He assumed she was at the Nura Clan's mansion, but he hadn't been by there. He'd almost been late for school as it was, and he still hadn't decided what he would say when he saw everyone.

"You're not going to reply to her text?" Jiro observed.

"I don't have anything to say," he paused, taking off his kendo equipment. "To be honest, I think I might break up with her."

"Why?" Jiro asked.

That was a good question. Rikuo considered. The easy answer was that Mizumi could never know about his yokai life. But if he wasn't the Lord of Pandemonium... then what reason did he have?

"She reminds me of Kana," Rikuo paused. "I think I've been going out with her because of that... but really, Mizumi is not Kana. And I'm not even sure that I like Kana!" he confessed. "Well, I do like her as a friend, but..."

"Who's Kana?" Jiro eyed Rikuo suspiciously.

"What do you mean? We went to Junior High together. You, me, Kiyotsugu, Saori, Natsumi, Yura, and Kana. The Kiyojuji Paranormal Patrol," Rikuo finished.

"The Kiyowhat?" Jiro frowned. "Look, I do remember Saori, sort of," Jiro admitted. "She wouldn't go out with me. I asked her out at least three times. And I remember Kiyotsugu. I always thought he was crazy. I still can't believe he's famous now."

Rikuo sighed. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."

Jiro shrugged. It was easy enough for him to let Rikuo have the space that he needed.

Rikuo sighed and picked up his kendo bag. Although he usually took the train part of the way home with Jiro, he wasn't in a hurry to return to the strange apartment that his mother was living in with her new husband.

How many times have I wished for a life just like this? Rikuo thought to himself as he waited for the last train. The sun was sinking low in the sky, but he didn't feel the pull of the night. He felt tired, and strangely empty. It took him thirty minutes to get home.

Wind whistled through the trees as Rikuo walked up the long road that led to the gates of the Nura Clan mansion. Red paint was flaking off of the walls, and the usually pristine landscaping was overgrown. The mansion looked even more like a haunted house than it usually did. Rikuo slowly reached out and pushed the doors. They were locked from the inside with a rusted chain. He sighed and set down his backpack, scrambling up to the top of the wall.

The scene that he saw when he looked down made his blood run cold. The ever-blooming sakura tree was dead. Kappa's pond was dry, and the doors and screens were all shattered. Tiles from the torn up roof were scattered in the dust of the courtyard, and the whole house was blackened as if it had burned from the inside.

"Hello?" Rikuo called out. "Is anybody there?"

There was no response. Rikuo buried his head in his hands. The battle that he'd missed had obviously taken place a long time ago. Without him, the Nura Clan had fallen as he'd always feared it would. Had it been Hagemoro Gitsune that had done them in? Or was it Tamazuki, Abe no Seimei, the Hundred Tales Clan... or even the Baku? It could have been any one of countless, powerful enemies that he had defeated.

A sick feeling welled up in the pit of his stomach as he realized why Jiro had not remembered who Kana was. He'd saved Kana's life more than once. Without his yokai strength, had he failed to save her? Had she also died a long time ago, too many years in the past for Jiro to remember her name?

There was nothing he could do. As Tsurara had feared, Rikuo had made a very grave mistake, offering one of his souls to Lord Emma-O. And because of that mistake, there was no one he could apologize to. With a heavy heart, he trudged back to the train station.

His mother was waiting up for him when he finally returned to the apartment that was now his home. She was dressed in a yellow kimono which reminded him of the traditional clothes she usually wore.

"Rikuo! Do you have any idea what time it is?" She started to scold him, but then gasped as she saw the expression on his face. Although he had come home very late, it was obvious that something awful had happened. Rikuo's mother poured him a cup of tea. He sat down and drank it, his hands shaking with every sip.

"What's wrong, Rikuo?" She asked. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he lied.

"Well, that's not true," his mother sighed. "And I wish you'd tell me. But it's very late. We can talk about this tomorrow."

Rikuo nodded. He watched his mother as she went to her bedroom.

With a sigh, he returned to his own room and flopped onto his futon. He knew that he wasn't going to sleep, not unless it meant that he would go back to the world he belonged in. The end of summer was too still, and too hot. Rikuo opened his window and stared out at the night sky.

A shadow flitted across the moon, and the faint sound of wooden sandles clacking across rooftops caught his attention. Although he couldn't see them, he sensed that there were yokai close by.

"Hey!" He shouted. "Over here!"

A gust of cold wind zipped past him, and for the briefest of moments he thought he saw a familiar figure in a white yukata leaping from the top of one streetlight to the next.

"Tsurara!" Rikuo shouted. Although he could not see Tsurara, the yokai presence remained. He was certain that she was still close by. "It's me, Rikuo! I know you're out there! I need to see you!"

There was no response. Rikuo felt his heart skip a beat as he realized that Tsurara was standing on the roof of the building directly across the street. Her blue-black hair floated behind her like a calligrapher's ink, and her yellow eyes burned like a cat's in the darkness.

Then, as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone.

"Whatever happened, I'm sorry!" He shouted. "Please, I'm sorry!"

Rikuo collapsed back into his futon. He pressed his fingers against his temples and bit his lip.

This is a nightmare. He thought to himself. I have to wake up.

Nothing happened, except that the harder he focused, the more exhausted he became.

Sometime before dawn, he surrendered to sleep.