THE PASSING WIND

-TheSilentReader-

[PROLOGUE]

Does it matter if he wasn't the boy's father? It doesn't. The fact that he could see her eyes in his eyes, her skin with his skin, her gait in his actions, he was able to forget that he was an enemy. What he could tell is her presence in the boy and with that, all he could fathom was that her presence won't leave him. Even if he acquired any of the traits from his deceased father, it doesn't matter: he never knew the man, anyway. He wasn't there anymore when he met her. As long as Setsuna . . . after all, he's her only son. The last of her family. The last to remind him of her.

Even if the boy may not see him despite their close business connections, he still cherished the letter that the boy had given him. Kashiwagi Suguru may have revealed the letter out of spite or malice for the late Chairman and President, it didn't matter to him, because all he thought was that he owed the boy too much. The letter alone was a treasure he could not even give away, that he held it even until now. That boy was wrong when he thought that her mother's misfortunes were because of the Chairman. He was wrong, it was just circumstances that made them so. He was to make himself stay as himself. She made herself stay true to herself. Nothing is simple in this world. And people . . . people are not expected to be as such.

-unknown, 1999

CHAPTER 27

At present

It's petty, this whole thing. She's petty. She had the gall to be disgusted with Ryu, with Sachiko, with Kashiwagi, but she couldn't even accept her own misdoings. She could not even accept her immaturity.

She's petty, just like anyone she accused to be as such.

As she stood alone inside the elevator, she pondered on her tactlessness, her inability to cope. With the purpose of going to Sachiko's room, she tried to weigh her courage to be alone as pretense for her fear of her own demons.

Pick your battles. In all Yumi's unavoidable honesty, she could never pick them as efficient as Youko, or Yoshino, or Shimako. Correctness is one thing, tact is another. When Yumi remembered a moment of indecisiveness that usually sprouted from her in the past, she'd recall her constant considerations when it came to Sachiko. Of course, because she had loved her very much. It was more than respect and admiration. She knew everyone grew tired of her endlessly repeating that.

Fighting your battles . . . in a sense, it felt good never to stray from one fight to the other, to keep busy, to test as far as she could go. It wasn't like a game of chess where moves are planned, countermeasures pile up as deviations occur; it was more of a hack and slash, one step measures, live-by-the-moment kind of thing. There was no sense of doom since it can never be predicted, and because you felt that it was always in your face. It was not like chess. Yet, somehow, in its chaos, it makes sense.

Finding Sei with her painting is not the same as hearing from Ryu that Sei had her painting. Visual stimulations such as this was like a punch square to the eye sockets-it really hurts more when you see rather than when you hear. Seeing Sei's all-knowing, glistening eyes was more of a prediction that she had been a bad girl, a bad girl that never listened to Sei. It was always Sei who's telling her not to forget, well, here was her move. The Passing Wind was her final move.

Yumi watched Sei watching Sachiko resting on her bed. Tears were streaming on Sachiko's face; it was like back then, when Sei's teasing became too prickly, too personal. Yumi knew that only Sei could do so much emotional damage with her mouth-much better than Yoshino-with words. Whether this was because she was insensitive or sensitive, Yumi will never know. Even as years go by, Sei's words has become sharper, more heart-wrenching than before.

"I've been looking for you when I came back for Musashino. You were never there. Now I know why." Yumi said, shaking as she stood just outside the doorway, ignoring the chills coming from her feet.

"I just want to know why you did this to me. I tried of thinking of excuses that you'll say if we met, but I can't. Because you know that once Touma Ryu revealed your secrets, you knew that I'll believe him. What is this you're doing, Sei?

Yumi bit her lip and plunged into her sought answers. "Are you trying to make me leave you?"

"I'd rather see you leave me than hate me, you know."

"It's the same thing, Sei. It is; now that you know, I'm not afraid to leave."

"I know."

"Then why?"

"Because I love you, Yumi. That sometimes, I want you to go away because I know that being away from Musashino is good for you. That leaving this painting behind might make you accept the past. You may not forget, but you can accept it."

"Then why is my painting in Sachiko's room? Why here, Sei? Why confront me in her presence?"

"You're not supposed to be here. And besides, Ryu shouldn't have told you anything. He's not like Suguru, who's as straight as an arrow."

"Suguru. You sure know a lot about him."

Sei did not smirk, as Yumi expected her to do. Sei raised a brow, but Yumi knew it was just pretense, and she knew the answers. "I just mention him and you go all nuts. Is he really that interesting?"

"This is not about him."

"Look at that, Sachiko. You can come down from your pedestal now. Isn't it amazing, that she found something interesting after all this time?"

"Don't put him in this." Yumi said.

Sei dismissed. "Why not? Isn't he the one that made all those copies?"

She scoffed, the way that she always did, but this time, rejection was imminent. Then she turned to Sachiko and said, "Look at this one more time. Look at how she'd painted you. Realize how everyone was so gung-ho about this painting. How everyone was so caught off-guard by this thing Yumi considered as her masterpiece. It's has no mystical power; it wasn't created perfectly; it was only created by someone who happened to harbor so much bitterness at the time, yet here it is, mocking us about how we are affected by this thing you called masterpiece. Then, it came to me . . . that only those people connected to the painter were those affected by its ominous presentation."

She turned to the painter. "In the end, Yumi, you realize, that no one cares more for you than us. That it doesn't even mean anything, to anyone else, except us. Small world we have here, but sometimes I wonder if we could really live with such small connections, little talks, tiny meetings. You always tell yourself that you can never make new friends that you'd cherish as much as you did back when we're young."

As Sei made her way near the door, she held her breath and faced Yumi. Making sure that Sachiko wouldn't overhear her, she whispered to her beloved kouhai, "look at this development, Yumi. Suddenly, Kashiwagi makes something interesting. But he made you miserable too, didn't he? And I led you to him."

Sei was about to leave the room, and when she passed by Yumi, the latter's hand took hold on the sleeve of Sei's sweater. In an almost shy wince, Yumi tugged it a little. "Please. Don't leave yet."

"It's you that will do the leaving. After all this, when I wasn't there when you needed me most, I thought you'd never want to touch me again. I want to set you free, Yumi," her sempai whispered. "I don't want to be selfish anymore."

Yumi's voice was only for Sei's ears. "I want you to be proud of me, for once. I want you to stay."

In her head, Sei could not believe anything Yumi just said. Maybe it's just a farce. She knew that Yumi won't stand betrayal. She had hated Sachiko because of it; surely Sei won't even stand a chance for forgiveness. Compared to Sachiko . . .

In her head, Sei tried to think of all the lies she had said. She doesn't consider it to be pathological, but now, even with the persons that she loved more than she could possibly expect from herself, she'd been dishonest. But that is not new, is it? She knew the plan from the start. She knew how everything would turn out that she won't even be tied to this. That she won't even be caught. In the end, she volunteered to deliver the damn thing to Sachiko instead of Ryu, who was supposed to do this. He was supposed to be the hero in Sachiko's eyes, and Sei was too eager to see her predictions be fulfilled. Sachiko won't change; Ryu won't change, even with him pouring all his energy and reputation to the drain just so to "get" Sachiko's attention all to himself. That miserable fuck wasn't thinking that he could lose her and his grandfather-in-law's approval. It was supposed to be Suguru whose going to be the posterboy for taking a piss at Ogasawara Kyouiichi's pride and the old geezer would realize that this world was so small that his lover's son was his grandson-in-law's best friend. That he'd see that old woman's face in Suguru's face and he'd be reminded how he'd ruined both his son's and granddaughter's future because he was just one manipulative bastard.

She knew it all—she was so connected to this web of shit that she could hardly see anything nice anymore. It was all fucked up. She was fucked up, and when Yumi came to her when she had no one, Sei took the opportunity to make Yumi join her pain, like taking a leg and drag her down because she had this chance. She could never fully love Yumi the way she wanted, but at that time she had that chance.

She lied again. She said that she never took the chance, but she did. Yet that chance wasn't enough for Yumi to be what Sei wanted her to be.

The change of plan was for Yumi to leave her. She stepped inside once more, and closed the door. Yumi wanted her to see, but she did not know what. What does Yumi want her to see?

Silence still hung, as Sachiko waited for Yumi to say more. Anything but the silence.

"I am leaving for good."

Yumi couldn't see Sei's face, but she said it loud enough for Sei to have her answers.

"I am giving up my job at the gallery. I'm going to stay in Kyoto. I want to . . . I want to escape from all this."

Silence was a plague that no one in that room could ever extinguish except for the youngest woman. The words hung and was like a rotten body infested with flies and rats—no one could touch, no one could object.

"The time when I was away was enough for me to see that I'm not that special, not really. I just know that I still take pride over the fact that I could still cause pain to your husband because I was your first. That I had your heart. It's like with my painting; I thought no one can do something like this but me. This was the one that made me special. Like when you chose me as your little sister back then at Lillian. I thought, that only this pride of mine is enough for me to justify my actions. But, Kashiwagi Suguru broke that notion. He and Touma."

"You did hear about the fakes, didn't you? I heard from your husband that he burned one down in front of the mansion just to irk your grandfather. Kashiwagi made eight of them. One of those eight almost fooled me that I thought it was mine until the last minute. Do you know what that means?"

Even the sound of the dripping IV was heard in the empty room they were in.

"I don't own that emotion alone. Kashiwagi did it too. It made me humble. It made me think again, that this bitterness from our fallout was mine. But that bastard, he made it . . . he duplicated it eight fucking times even though he hadn't experienced my pain. He made my painting all so ordinary. If it were or weren't the message he wanted me to recognize, I don't care. I see it like that."

Sachiko, in the excruciating white room, on the soft hospital bed, wanted to object at Yumi's admission—no, that's not true, you are special, Yumi, you've always been, ever since the first time I saw you—but she couldn't say it anymore, and had no right and ground to say it any more than Sei. In fact, Sei deserved much more to counter that defeating realization; after all, she is Sei. Sei had more room in Yumi's heart, hadn't she?

Yumi shyly confessed, "I hate him, because he made only thing that I thought was mine alone as dull and mundane. Ordinary. Boring. Boring. He made my Passing Wind look so simple, he made it look so meaningless. He tore down the only pride that I have in me and tore it to pieces. He fucked with my pride.

"And I've never felt so happy." That emotion was evident in her voice.

Yumi admitted, as she stood at the end of Sachiko's bed, looking at the bedridden woman with unshed tears. Then, when she began to turn to leave, she heard Sachiko asking, "Will you ever forgive me?"

Several times Yumi had heard this from Sachiko's lips, in several forms and in multiple paraphrases. This question would forever be the asked, she thought, and she was not even sure how to answer her. She still could not bear to see her without the thought of their past; a week had not gone past the last time they met. She told her things that she deserved to hear forever more, as it mattered so much to Yumi before. It mattered that Sachiko would know what she felt. She knew that guilt will forever haunt Sachiko-the possibility of them together was forever gone. It was both their fault, she have realized it before, but Yumi was had convinced herself that Sachiko took a much larger part of that cake, and Yumi was left with tidbits.

She tilted her head back at Sachiko and said, "It took a fucking long time to forgive you, Sachiko. I still want you in hell, yet I know you'll take me down with you. Take care of your child. She needed it much."

"What about your painting?"

"Sei knows what to do with it."

Then Yumi knew she had to leave.

Sachiko looked at Sei, who was standing by the wall just near the doorway. The heiress asked, "What are you going to do about this?"

"Put it back where it belongs, of course."

She went to the side of the bed and took hold of the protected art piece. Sachiko took a glimpse at the painting and told her sempai, "She's still as honest as I first met her. I don't know how to repay her for that honesty, no matter what form it took."

Sei scoffed and rolled her eyes. "You gain nothing from all of this, Sachiko. She gains more than she'd ever needed. You suffered less and she suffered much more. But comparing both would not change anything. Somehow, it's you who's never at the short end of the stick, never on the line. But it's over. It's over for us. We've both made our gravestone upon Yumi's heart, and only she can decide if she'd still want . . . if she'd still want me as her friend. I am a hypocrite, Yumi knows it. Yet, I made my choice, Sachiko-san. It's your turn to do yourself a favor, like you always do. You are one lucky cunt."

She looked at Sachiko, and for the first time in many years, their eyes shone agreement. Opportunists, they were. "But who am I to criticize?"

Then, Sei smirked, twisted the doorknob and left the room.

"I guess nobody commits fully to their feelings."

Sei said, as she placed the painting on the Boss' table. The boss' secretary wanted to contact him about Sei's grand gesture to send it back to the gallery, but Sei just let her charm flood over that poor employee and just leave the painting on the desk. With that, she went to her office and began arranging her own, like a storm passing through a recently restored town, and it was time to set things as they used to be once more. It was never her room if it were too tidy, lacking of the usual dust specks and trash, comparable to how Yumi's workroom used to be before she relocated to Kyoto for the Kinomoto restores. She picked up the first trash she saw, and with a confident flick of fingers, she sent it to the trash. As usual, it bounced at the rim of the bin and decided to fall out anyway.

It wasn't fair for Yoshino-chan and Yuuki-kun not to gain all the praises once the Boss see what's on his desk. He'd know who took it there personally, and she knew Yuuki-kun and Yoshino-chan would tell him the truth, but she'd take her chances. After all, she supposedly had nothing to do with this.

Touma Ryu may be caught involved. Kashiwagi Suguru would be caught involved. But Satou Sei would not be. She knew that much. But anything can be hushed down by money, by compensations, by deals, and Ryu and Suguru probably weren't bothered by police, or of the term called justice. People will just let it slide, because everything can be bought. No matter what.

She won't face Fukuzawa Yumi until she has the courage to accept whatever Yumi wanted to do with the bond that they formed years and years back. Broken, and she won't fathom it. Otherwise, and she won't stop from manipulating her at some point. One step. One step at a time. Until she has the power to face her once more.

Kashiwagi Suguru saw his kouhai, that Fukuzawa Yuuki, inside the room where he should not be found. Yuuki was sitting on opened legs as he watched his sempai realize that he'd seen it all.

"What are you doing here?" Kashiwagi finally asked ever so coolly.

"I found her here. She told me what you've done."

"Have you figured it altogether?"

"I don't know if I still could arrest you for this or not. I've found the replica. I haven't found the real deal. Sempai, why did you copy her work?"

"Do you really want to know?" Kashiwag picked up the tea-covered replica. "Your sister reminds me of someone important to me."

Yuuki continued to listen, and it reminded him too intensely of the Hanadera days. Yet Kashiwagi continued as if Yuuki wasn't there. "She made me realize that I wasn't ordinary. That I could be as great as she was, in the ways I perceive her to be, in the ways that would make her proud of me. In standards that only she and I can understand."

"She? Is this that person that Yumi resembles? Or Yumi herself?" He couldn't help but ask. "You didn't know anything about her, and I can assume that neither she were with you months ago. I know the fact that you meant nothing to her before this even started. You were a frightening stalker who happened to catch her attention because you presented her with a pile of Kinomoto to restore. She liked their work, more so when she was still in the university. I still don't understand you intentions. I may have known you in highschool; you may've been my sempai for a year, but that doesn't change the fact what you're saying about you and my sister's connection is fucking bullshit."

Yuuki glared at his sempai with burgeoning frustration, "That person that Yumi reminds you of, it could be anyone. It could be not my only sister. It didn't have to be Yumi to play your sick game of house. You could have picked anyone to play mother to you."

For the first time in Yuuki's life, he saw Kashiwagi froze in shock.

He poked at the moment of most advantage. "What? Isn't Kinomoto Setsuna the one that Yumi resembles?"

Kashiwagi looked away, visibly bothered by Yuuki's words. "Maybe; I didn't tell you much clearer than before." He tore his vision from his kouhai and diverted it to the tea-stained painting, particularly at the violated spot. Yuuki hid his surprise at the timidity and the underlying courage upon Kashiwagi-san's words, "I love your sister, Fukuzawa-kun. I know why I am so drawn to her."

Yuuki's phone rang. "Hello? Fukuzawa speaking."

/ Yuuki-san. This is Yoshino. The search is over. /

When Sachiko woke once more, she saw two figures sitting, a man sleeping upon the shoulder of a woman beside him. Sachiko's first thought of how cute these middle-aged people were, a couple who she assumed to be together for a long time now, like married people. She searched for their fingers, looking for those gold rings, and as Sachiko suspected, they were.

Sachiko never had problems with her visual acuity, but she couldn't make her vision clear enough to see for herself if this is true. She was crying; she felt tears running upon her cheeks.

"Okaa-sama."

When she noticed that her mother would bolt up to wake Tooru, Sachiko raised her hand not like a lady of her upbringing—swift raise of hands—"no, Okaa-sama, please don't wake Otou-sama. Please."

She was a child once more, wiping her tears with the base of her palm. She was the child on the four-poster bed once more, the child that her mother used to brush her hair, who was told of stories about weeping but not crying, of watching but not looking, of listening but not hearing. It used to be her and Sayako's shared memory, but now father was here.

"You're always a sick child. Do you not like us being here?" Her mother asked meekly, after Sachiko had wiped her tears—please stop, not in front of them, not in front of them—

"I do, I'm happy you're both here," Sachiko replied. "It's just that . . . in the past, I've never seen both of you at my bedside together."

"He's always been sleepy, anemic just like you. He could sleep even with the mansion burning down. But God forbid, that never happened." Her mother, who she'd never seen flushed, looked at the shoulder where Tooru's head was resting. "I'm ashamed, that you've never had a fond memory of your father and I together. I taught you of wrong things, Sachiko, about many wrong things a child shouldn't hear."

"Okaa-sama."

Her mother remained immovable, her father breathed evenly as he slept. She knew her father's head must be a little heavy but Sayako seemed to be enjoying the weight. "Did you read my letter? He went there for me. I thought he'd never come back, but he came despite his father's disapproval. But he's selfish, he left with the intention of you fixing what he left behind . . . the inheritance that he should have enjoyed before he could give it to you." Sayako said.

"You didn't send any more letters after father left."

"Is that all you've heard? My letter? I did send one, didn't I?"

Of what she suspected before, her hopes for her mother's happiness, finally, she's seeing it now, "If you sent one after father left the mansion, it didn't reach me."

"Oh. I guess I didn't. I'm horrible, Saa-chan. I didn't send letters after your father came back." She looked away, embarrassed.

Sachiko, with her hand touching her belly, smiled as tears began to well up, "If that's the case, it's better if I don't receive any."

"Come in."

Yoshino, without any bows or preliminary greeting, bolted inside and haughtily demanded, "Is she here?"

"Who is, Yoshino-san?" Shimako asked politely, staring at her equal like highschool graduation never happened.

Both Yuuki and Touko came right after Yoshino, "Thank you for letting us in—"

"Oi, you—" she tried to think of a derogatory term for Shimako but she seemed found wordless this time—this has never been her problem before, "—Shimako, is Satou Sei here? She has to be here."

Shimako did not answer, but her determined eyes warned Yoshino to back off. Yoshino, being ruthless to Shimako since they were young, replied and looked back at her with steely eyes, "I want a word with her, Shimako. This doesn't concern you. And even if it did, fuck it. You can't stop me."

She bolted inside for Sei, barely missed the hands of Touko and Yuuki who tried to calm their senior down.

"Out of us three, I should be the one who should be having tantrums. But look at us." Touko breathed, gaining an eye-roll from Yuuki. "Look at the calmer ones."

"You've had more hysterical people to handle on your job, babe, and you tend to be the calmer one." Yuuki replied.

"Come in." Shimako repeated to the couple, defeated from her staring battle against Yoshino.

Yoshino saw a flicker of blond hair and found Sei sitting on the sofa. She walked in front of her. Her senior's face was calm, her eyes more gray than before. Sei stood. Yoshino raised her right hand and slapped Sei. The senior did not even flinch at the intensity of anger her hands hand transformed into force.

"Sei-sama." Yoshino's respect was evident in her voice. "Why mock us like this? Why are you always ahead of us?"

Yoshino's head hung downward, overpowered by her true feelings, both her hands now beside her thighs. "Thank you for returning it."

When Sei reached out and put her arms around Yoshino, the latter did not even bolt. Sei said, "It gave you credit. They are Yuuki-san and your efforts. I'm just there to deliver it."

"You liar."

"Surprise."

Kashiwagi remained in the room, surrounded by the seven copies of the painting Yumi was most proud of. He remained for a long time and he did not check. He ignored Shimata-san's dinner and tea, and left him alone with evidences of his childish fascination for searching for someone who resembles her. Yuuki was right, and Kashiwagi had accepted his junior's judgment, putting psychoanalysis all over the place, but as if it wasn't true. He was right.

"Kashiwagi."

He looked up, and Yumi towered him.

"Leave those duplicates alone." She said, and extended her left hand. Kashiwagi stared at her dominant hand and noticed that paint somehow never left her fingernails. There were always some that remained at the edge of her nails. It was as if she never left the workroom and continued working, restoring. Yumi moved her hand, to make Kashiwagi refrain from his thoughts and said to him, "We have Kinomoto to restore."

He reached for it, and as he clasped on it, he felt himself being pulled up by some strong force—newer, stronger—that he felt himself jump just so he won't be carried too much by Yumi's strength.

But even as they started walking out of the room, her grip did not falter.

She was determined to get him out of the room.

TO BE CONTINUED

A/N: Well, one of the last chapters. So far, I think I've just dug a grave for myself, with everything I've decided for each character. I've pondered with their inconsistencies; even I was confused with the character's motives. But nothing is simple, I guess. That person in the Prologue thinks so. Oh, I'm sorry for all wrong grammars and errors. I've just written this in different programs, and had no time to edit most of the paragraphs. Please comment if there's something confuses you with this chapter, for I am determined to tie most of the loose ends here. XDD

It's been too long and I hope I'll get feedback. See you in the next chapter.