Chapter Ninety-Four

The rain beat down harder the longer they stood there, but Syaoran didn't care.

Kurogane didn't hate him.

Even before he'd arrived in Tokyo, Syaoran had trusted the red-eyed man. His teacher had never lied to the Other, had never tried to cover up any part of who he was. Honor was embedded in his every action and word. So when the ninja said he didn't hate him, Syaoran believed it.

"This storm's turning into a monsoon," Kurogane finally said, releasing him from the awkward embrace. Syaoran took a step back, wiping the moisture away from his eyes. Any other time, it would've been humiliating to cry in front of the ninja. But today was different. Today, there were no judgments.

It was . . . a relief.

"Lunch is probably ready," Kurogane said, picking their discarded practice swords out of the mud and shaking them off.

"Right." Syaoran half-turned toward the castle, then hesitated, unsure if there was a procedure for leaving and entering. As Kurogane passed him, he decided to follow instead of trying to find his way in alone.

It seemed his choice had been the correct one, as a pair of guards stood inside the doors, waiting to intercept any visitors. Kurogane pulled a wooden token from his hakama and held it up for them to see. The guards bowed their heads, then inquired about Syaoran.

"He's my apprentice," Kurogane explained shortly. "He goes wherever I go."

The guards exchanged a glance, then nodded. "Understood, Lord Suwa."

They stepped out of the rain, dripping water all over the floor. Once they were out of earshot of the guards, Syaoran turned to his teacher. "So, I'm still your apprentice?"

"What else would you be?"

The corners of his lips twitched into a smile, his heart swelling with relief. He meant it. He doesn't hate me at all.

They reached the end of the corner and turned. Something shifted in Syaoran's peripheral vision, muscles went rigid, preparing to attack before he identified the figure. He turned, eyes glowing gold as adrenaline flooded his veins, and saw the Other.

"What?" Kurogane demanded, hand going to Souhi's hilt. Syaoran stared off into the corridor, any semblance of joy vanishing from his mind.

The Other stared at him with mismatched eyes and smirked.

Another hallucination, Syaoran thought, focusing his magic in the center of his mind and pushing the illusion away. The Other's figure rippled and disappeared as his mental shield restored itself. Of course. I can't let my guard down.

He forced himself to relax and turned back to his mentor. "It's nothing. I'm just jumping at shadows."

Kurogane looked at him for a long moment, then released Souhi's hilt. He didn't say a word.

They kept moving, the peaceful mood shattered. Syaoran kept his mental shield up, fumbling with it for a few minutes as he got used to it again. Ever since learning how to shield his mind, he'd been doing his best to keep himself guarded wherever he went. The chaos of rejoining his friends had driven that precaution out of his realm of thought.

I can't let this happen again. I have to make sure my thoughts are my own.

"Here," Kurogane said suddenly. A flash of white drew Syaoran's attention, and his hands shot out automatically to catch the bundle. As it unfurled in his grasp, he recognized it as a towel. "Dry yourself off. You're dripping everywhere."

He nodded and started scrubbing the rainwater from his face and arms. Outside, he could still hear rain splattering against the grass and dirt. Suddenly, the bad weather seemed ominous. If the Other could still slip into his thoughts, he could almost certainly still drift into his dreams. And if that happens, he might be able to control me at my most vulnerable. I have to do something to guard against that.

He realized he'd been drying the same spot for almost a minute. He stopped.

Kurogane watched him for a second or two, puzzled, then started down the corridor again. "The dining room's this way."

Syaoran followed, trying to focus on what he was doing instead of dwelling on the threat his clone presented.

Kurogane opened up another door and stepped inside. As they entered, a familiar voice pierced the air.

"I decided to make something warm, since it's raining—oh, Syaoran! It's good to see you."

He stared at Sakura for a long moment, touched by the sentiment. She'd changed out of her training outfit and into the pink and white gown she'd worn in Clow. Her hair was pulled back into a short ponytail, strands flying free of the hair binder. In her hands was a tray of tea.

"Come, sit down," she said, kneeling down on a cushion beside the short table and setting the tray in front of her. She picked up the ornate kettle and set aside one of the cups, filling it methodically before presenting it to Syaoran. He took it, cradling it between his fingers as if the gesture of goodwill was likely to fracture in his hands.

"Thank you," he said.

Sakura poured another cup for Kurogane, then one for herself. "One of Tomoyo-chan's handmaids showed me the proper way of pouring tea. Wasn't that nice of her?"

There was a rumble of agreement from both of them. Syaoran watched Sakura take a sip of her own tea before retreating into the kitchen. The smell of baked goods permeated the air, so sweet it made Syaoran want to eat again, though he had no need for human food.

"She missed you a lot," Kurogane offered unexpectedly. Syaoran looked up from his tea.

For once, he wasn't inclined to deny anything. "I missed her, too."

"And she's changed a lot. She's stronger than the girl you remember, both emotionally and physically."

"I know that."

The ninja nodded, as if in approval of his response. He sipped at his tea, a surprisingly delicate motion for him.

Sakura swept into the room again, bearing a basket of bread rolls. She set these down on the table, presenting them as if they were the finest delicacies in this world. As far as Syaoran was concerned, they were.

He bit into the first bread roll, savoring the taste. He hadn't eaten real food since the dinner Sadie's mother had cooked for him in Sapphirine. Sadie's probably mourning over her father's death by now, he thought, adding that family to the long list of people who'd suffered because of his actions. Suddenly, the bread tasted sour in his mouth.

"Syaoran? Are you all right?"

His head snapped up, and he forced a smile. "I'm fine."

Sakura pursed her lips as if she didn't quite believe him. "Do you not like the bread?"

"I like it," he assured her. Her skeptical expression solidified, and he went on, trying to repair the damage he'd done. "I was just . . . dwelling on some things that happened in the last world. That's all."

Her pink lips curled into a frown.

"What things?" Kurogane asked.

Syaoran hesitated. How is it that everything I say ends up hitting me in the face? Does the universe hate me? He bit a chunk off the bread roll, giving himself an excuse not to speak. What should I say? That I watched Seishirou kill a man, and I'm feeling guilty about it? They'll think I did nothing to stop it.

He swallowed slowly, still unsure what to say. "I . . ." Am I defending Seishirou with my silence? Can I justify keeping this from them, or do they really not need to know? And can I keep any secrets from them when they've just started being nice to me?

"You don't have to say it," Kurogane said, when he didn't finish.

The assurance decided him. "No. I'm not going to lie anymore." He lifted his eyes to meet Sakura's gaze. "It's not the bread. I was thinking about how Seishirou pushed someone off a cliff in Sapphirine, and how that's probably affecting that man's family, and the fact that I might've been able to stop it if I'd been able to predict Seishirou's actions. It's . . . It's nothing you can fix, so . . ."

Sakura's eyes widened with horror. She lifted a hand to her lips, as if to muffle the scream building at the back of her throat.

Before she could make a sound, he rose to his feet and dropped the roll on the table. "I'm sorry," he told her, unable to look her in the eye. "But I can't . . . be here right now."

"Syaoran . . ."

He turned away, grabbing the handle on the wall and sliding it open. Even now, I'm a monster, he thought, running down the corridors that led to his room. The walls seemed to close in around him, warping whenever he looked at them. He accelerated, his speed jumping up to supernatural levels. Even so, by the time he made it to his room, his lungs were tight with panic, his hands shaking with horror at what he'd allowed to happen.

When Seishirou had thrown that man off the stairs in the chasm . . . that had been the exact moment of his betrayal. Not when he'd plotted to steal his magic to save Fuuma. Not even when he'd slapped him the night before. No. Seishirou had betrayed him when he'd spilled the blood of an innocent and smeared it all over Syaoran's already bloodstained hands.