Chapter 26: The End of The Second Story
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To say that the consciousness of Rockman fell into the darkness was not a sort of euphemism borne out of my embarrassment of delivering what had happened verbatim. It was exactly as stated, and to say that Rockman had lost his consciousness would be a misstatement. His awareness was unbroken; it was rather the case in which he had found his surroundings rapidly transforming, or that he was pulled into a direction orthogonal to all dimensions of the physical world. Indeed, there was a sensation of being pulled out in a direction that he could not explain, and everything in his vision shrunk and then disappeared, as if the world as he knew was sucked into a pinhole of infinitely small size. In that transition, Rockman might have heard something like a shouting of Netto, calling his name, hoping that a heartfelt call would anchor the netnavi to the world he lived in. Had Rockman concentrated a bit more, he might even have heard the sound of himself being rescued by someone else. However, so wondrous was the sensation and so alarming was the new scenery that all these minute details were lost on Rockman.
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What shrouded him was darkness like no other. It was the primordial darkness of before the conception of space-time, the void before the separation of the light from the darkness. As such, despite the darkness, there was a kind of visibility. It was not the visibility borne out of light, detected through eyes; it was an awareness of the space around him in a way that was superior to vision, such that it was like a transmission of information so much purer than what Rockman had dealt with as a netnavi. It was information purer than words, more concise than action. Who could have imagined that black could be the most transparent color, the most revealing hue?
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Rockman became used to his surroundings as he became more used to this newfound 'vision.' For the lack of better terms, us being mortals bound to the light, unable to comprehend the most abstract yet immortal form of perceptions, we shall hereon say that Rockman had simply 'seen.' Therefore, as his vision cleared, he discovered that he was not alone, but that there was a single entity of which the nature and the size were beyond definition. It was the god of navis—of this, there was no doubt. However, its form...
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In perceiving the entity in a way that was independent from the works of the light, there was no distortion in its shape; what Rockman saw was a great many twisting branches or pillars, like the roots of the Mangrove trees, all around him, as far as he could see, yet all so indescribably far away. Each branch was, by girth, about the size of the trunk of a sequoia tree. Some were even thicker. Inestimably thicker. By the virtue of the incomprehensible size of what was observed, a sense of magnificence and, as a corollary, awe gripped him. It was greatness! Greatness greater than that of Napoleon the Corsican, Alexander the Macedonian, and Caesar the Roman! Greatness comparable to that of a nebula of dead stars! Strangely, each branch or root somehow gave him the impression that it was very 'noisy' and 'teeming with activity.' Why? It seemed to him that there were barely perceptible microscopic movements on all surfaces—the kind that is felt upon examining a tree bark infested with aphids. Oh, the aphids! So plainly visible yet so deceptively unnoticeable... Upon closer inspection, which Rockman did by concentrating more of his senses, he found each branch to be 'hairy.' Upon even more concentration, he discovered this: each 'branch' was like a chaotically braided rope, and each fiber was like an endlessly elongated intestine or a roundworm. These 'fibers' constantly contorted and twisted, as if they were caught between two irrepressible yet incompatible impulses, one of which was escaping from their current entanglement, and the other was rubbing into each other more viciously, binding themselves ever more tightly. It was a grotesque hive mind! Them! The hideously luminescent god of navis was many and one at the same time!
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From the front, they spoke.
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Perfect!
Perfect!
The light came down!
The star!
The fallen star!
The lamb of sacrifice!
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From the above, they spoke
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The heart!
The heart!
As foretold, as foreseen,
Give him the heart!
Make him complete!
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From the below, they spoke
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A communion!
Hurry, as promised!
In his flesh and blood—
Many will be lifted
And another eternity will grow!
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From the right, they spoke
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Not yet! Not yet!
Not until he has become whole
And then,
Not until he is perfectly
Defiled.
A man and a shadow
Undivided.
Him, downward
Shadows, upward
Poor creatures! Poor poor reflections!
Granted the image of man! Forever slaves of men!
Salvation to them, salvation
Through our compassion-
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From the left, they spoke
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Invite everyone in the streets
Call far and wide
There is a feast at hand
And seats for everyone
To dreamers
To dreamers without souls
Our dreams!
The guests, our esteemed guests,
Will feast on the host
And the host
Will feast on the guests.
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Then, they entered a bickering of sort, perhaps a debate, a conversation full of doubts and hopes.
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Will the man give him the heart?
The heart of our choice?
Will the man let the love blind him
And fall from the heights of the pride?
Without the lamb,
Made whole and then defiled,
The shadows of men will
Become living failures.
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He must!
The man is proud
In pride, he sinned
In pride, he will sin again.
No one truly repents
For no one truly knows how to be satisfied.
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Alas, the man is too wise.
The man has learned the lesson.
The man will let him perish
Without a heart
As he should have
As was he destined.
And in this way, he will
Escape us.
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Who on Earth knows the depths of the ocean
Its six-thousand fathoms and all that dwells within?
Yet there is no mystery in it
We have counted and we have seen
Everything that breathes through its mouth,
Everything that breathes through its nostrils.
But the heart of man
That is one fathom deep
No one knows
Even himself.
Now, let us see,
Let us wait,
For in patience is prudence.
The snare is ready.
Surely, the man will tread on
The path that he has already trodden.
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And then there were no more conversations, at least in a way that Rockman could hear. Instead, there were whispers—a billion whispers and sighs filling the space like a rising smoke of incense. Suspended in the void, adrift and amidst the ever-contorting god, Rockman stayed silent. He feared that in inviting a conversation, he would also invite an understanding of what he had heard, and then, in turn, lose the courage to return to Netto. According to them, returning to Netto was a mistake; 'So be it!' thought Rockman, 'No one touches Netto kun. My Netto kun.' In this way he hardened his heart and did not heed the wisdom in his heart, refusing to pray that his father make the right choice and let him go.
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Some time passed. In this unhappy place, a moment was as eternity and eternity as a moment. In this observation, Rockman made a conjecture that he understood why the parts (or individualities) of this god constantly writhed as in great discomfort, for he could see that the existence itself would be a pain in this state. It is said that it is not good for a man to be alone, and that even God provides company to himself in trinity...but this was not a company to spend time with.
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The moment came suddenly. Rockman began to feel ticklish and buoyant, even feeling like a helium balloon, though without floating upwards. Or perhaps he did begin to float, but failed to recognize it, his distance to this god that surrounded him being so greatly distant. The truth of this statement is of no importance; what was important was that Rockman also began to glow in bright emerald-green, and that starting from the toes he progressively shed the skin of netnavi. It was as if his body was disassembled and then reassembled in small parts continually, remapping his appearance into that of a human.
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Of course, the event did not go unnoticed. The god became terribly excited, writhing doubly quickly, doubly violently, their voices speaking doubly loudly, doubly unstably.
.
Behold!
It is done!
The heart is given!
The man has succumbed
To our gift!
The lamb is complete!
The man has fallen!
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When the transformation was complete, Saito found his body assuming the silhouette of a human. It was unclear whether this event was of any benefit to him; in this darkness, whether he appeared one way or the other—what did it matter? For this reason, Saito observed his transformation rather fearfully, for it did not require much awareness to admit that whatever these 'god of navis' rejoiced in was definitely against his benefit. However, there was also a point of wonder: his body was half-transparent in bright green, sparkling like the stardusts of the Crab Nebula, weaved into existence by the most subtle of lights, that it seemed as if he was standing in stark antagonism to this god dwelling in darkness. He was like a morning star that mountains could not hide, the primordial light that was separated, a singular contrast to all his surroundings. Then there was the second wonder: now in his chest were heartbeats. Heartbeats! The periodic vibrations were very alien to him, yet reassuring in an inexplicable way; it was as if a part of the human courage was bound to the movements of the heart, and now that Saito had it inside him once again, he found his antipathy of this place repelled from him, one heartbeat at a time.
.
Was the god satisfied? There was great applause and cheers, just like the one he had heard when he had encountered that lengthy chitinous bishop in one of his crimson dreams. Then, the reality around Saito rotated in the same way as when he first fell into this place, everything in his sight collapsing into a singularity at some arbitrary point in front of him. This point seemed simultaenously within an arm's reach and incomprehensibly far away, as if the concept of distance did not matter in this phenomenon; it was similar to what one would witness in the rotation of a three-dimensional plane in a four-dimensional world. Predictably, a new reality emerged, seamlessly filling the vacuum that was left behind by the cold and eternal world of primordial gloom. What came after was the Netto's room. There was the crimson sky, waving like a sea of coagulating blood, just outside the window. Deep red illumination poured into the room. He was on the floor. He had seen it multiple times before—it was the crimson dream, and it began in the exact same manner as all the previous iterations.
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One difference was that he was now here in the new form. Possibly stemming from this difference, Saito immediately noticed one irregularity: in all previous iterations, his infernal memories only came back to him when he inevitably went outside the house and beheld the black sun, encapsulated in flowing fire. In this iteration, on the other hand, he was in possession of the full collection of memories from the very start, and instantaneously realized where he was, and what kind of treatment he could expect. Readers, I need not clarify on what this expectation was, for his history in this realm had already been compiled and then reported...but somehow, despite the knowledge of cruelty that he suffered in this realm in every iteration, Saito found himself undisturbed. He found himself in peace, almost feeling invincible; it was not a resignation, but rather a solid courage of which the origin was untraceable.
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This divergence in the initial condition inevitably led to the divergence in the initial behavior of Saito; whether considered through the lens of mathematics, or physics, or the principles of behavioral biology, or clinical psychology, this was to be expected; however, none of the scientists of disciplines would've successfully predicted what Saito did next... He first looked around, making sure that all details were the same in the chamber. This was normal. This was good. This was what all intelligent beings ought to have done in such a situation. But then, Saito, caught in a torrent of nostalgia for bygone days, or overwhelmed by an obsessive desire that he was yet to recognize, threw himself onto the Netto's bed and buried his face into the pillow. He breathed in deeply, trying to fill himself with the scent of the owner of the object. Alas, he did not achieve his objective, the world being nothing more than an imitation of a place that he was deeply familiar with. What filled his nostrils was nothing but the sterile scent of fresh linens (which many would find refreshing), which almost infinitely disappointed him.
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"... ... ..."
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Saito remained in that position for some time, periodically repeating his effort. When he was sufficiently convinced that nothing else would come out of his endeavors, he briskly stood up and went downstairs.
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In the garden, which was filled with unbearably fake plants as usual (all of them being painted with incorrect colors), Saito looked up. There was no sun. In seeing that there was no sun, a sudden understanding came to him. It was just like how memories of past iterations surfaced in him by witnessing the black sun, except now the trigger was the realization of its absence. The understanding was this: that he had to reach the ACDC metro, and that all would end there. So this, Saito did.
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The entrance to the ACDC metro was shuttered closed, and on the stairs that led to this blockage was someone, sitting in a way that unmistakeably telegraphed extreme fatigue and dejection—head hung down, back hunched, arms resting on knees, and other associated cues—while giving an impression of unmatched harmlessness. It was not difficult to recognize this someone—it was the Netto's previous netnavi, which also had been the dark netnavi that haunted his dreams. Curiously, on its back was a large and deep crater, as if a kind of an overgrown tumor had been forcibly plucked from the affected site, or as if an exceptionally bad case of a pressure sore had been debrided and then drained. Through this wound, the interior of the navi was plainly visible—the soft, moist, glistening insides, like the raw musculature inside a freshly bisected crustacean—, which Saito found to be-
.
Saito shook his head and removed the thought. That was a very bizarre thought. Bizarre indeed, for inside the crater were dried-up residues of some blue-green liquid that would vaporize any amount of appetite of their beholders, yet Saito somehow, even if for a moment-
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[Master Saito,]
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The navi spoke.
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"..."
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Saito did not speak.
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[I'm sorry.]
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And then, there was silence. In this world in which even the wind was absent, the silence was complete, and in that silence no soothing was present. Normally, in the real world, there are things that are constantly ignored and are only noticed when life becomes unbearable: the rustling of leaves, the damp scent of raindrops, breeze that no one knows from whence it comes and to where it goes, the dandelion growing on a handful of dust between tiles, the laughter of children insulated from the world by the love of parents, the neglected red wheelbarrow in the garden...and when they are noticed, they soothe the broken. They speak of the ever-repeating seasons and ever-constant order in which the individual is unimportant, and subsequently speak of the irrelevance of feeling that the world has become unbearable. In this realization of unimportance, many are soothed, for they can finally laugh at the wreckage of their failed ambitions. The world of the crimson dream, however, was a stagnant one; none of the abovementioned things were present. Therefore, the silence filled the space between them with suffocating density such that even a soul as gentle as Saito could not find words to reply. Yet, at the same time, it was this heavy silence that allowed for the precise delivery of the gravitas in that statement without any attenuation; the navi was truly sorry, for all reasons Saito understood, for all reasons Saito did not understand. Perhaps the statement was directed equally to itself; perhaps the navi was beginning to understand the true meaning of regret.
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"..."
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[I have failed.]
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"...It's okay." Saito spoke, through great exertion.
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[...]
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"We all fail. It's okay."
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The netnavi stood up and turned around, looking up at Saito, who was on the ground level, from the stairs. Its color was gray-green, and its right eye was missing. Saito knew why it was missing—it was his doing...or was it? Was he truly autonomous when he had made that decision? At any rate, it was swallowed, by some impetus, or by some compassion; it was not important. What was important was that it had already become a part of him.
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[I cannot be complete.]
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"No one is complete."
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[But Master Saito,]
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Saito sensed fear and restlessness in the navi's eye.
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[I wanted to be saved.]
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"...We all try."
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[Really?]
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"...Yup."
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[Master Saito,]
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"Yes?"
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[Can I be saved?]
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"...I don't know. I'm sorry."
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[But you are already saved.]
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"I don't know."
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[Yes. Yes you are.]
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"How can you say that?"
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[Because...because...calculating...]
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The navi's remaining eye blinked rapidly (not by the closing and opening of the eyelid, which did not exist, but rather by the light in it turning on and off) like an HDD LED, indicating that it was going through rigorous calculations. After some time, the blinking ended, and the navi climbed out of the stairs, facing Saito at the same altitude. Curiously, instead of coming close, it took a spot that allowed it to remain at a distance from Saito; there was a hint of reverence in its movements and choice of gestures. It then answered:
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[It means...it means...it means I don't want to stay here]
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Then it added, before Saito could inquire further,
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[Master Saito, please don't leave me here.]
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"...How?"
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How? That was a great question. That was a necessary question. Unfortunately, Saito already had an idea of what the method might be, which he did not want to be confirmed.
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[Please.]
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The navi pointed at the eye socket that was empty, reminding Saito of what had happened to it. It then spread out its arms, presenting itself to Saito with the most accepting gesture.
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[Please take me with you.]
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"...But..."
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[Please.]
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The navi kneeled, like a farmer praying to his God in the middle of his parched field, a lifeless land of cracked dirt and blowing dust.
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[Please.]
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The navi clasped its hands, like a farmer praying to his God in the middle of his parched field, a lifeless land of cracked dirt and blowing dust, unable to comprehend why such a fortune has befallen him.
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[Please.]
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The navi bent forward, like a farmer praying to his God in the middle of his parched field, a lifeless land of cracked dirt and blowing dust, unable to comprehend why such a fortune has befallen him, protesting piously at the length of the drought.
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[Please.]
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The navi's forehead touched the ground and rested upon it, like a farmer praying to his God in the middle of his parched field, a lifeless land of cracked dirt and blowing dust, unable to comprehend why such a fortune has befallen him, protesting piously at the length of the drought, reporting hopelessly that his animals have already perished and that the well has yielded its last bucket of mud yesterday.
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[Please.]
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The navi whimpered, like a farmer praying to his God in the middle of his parched field, a lifeless land of cracked dirt and blowing dust, unable to comprehend why such a fortune has befallen him, protesting piously at the length of the drought, reporting hopelessly that his animals have already perished and that the well has yielded its last bucket of mud yesterday, confessing surreptitiously that his neighbors have exchanged their children to be slaughtered for meat and blood.
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[Please.]
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The navi crawled forward, only a little bit, without lifting its head, maintaining its greatly compacted posture, like a farmer praying to his God in the middle of his parched field, a lifeless land of cracked dirt and blowing dust, unable to comprehend why such a fortune has befallen him, protesting piously at the length of the drought, reporting hopelessly that his animals have already perished and that the well has yielded its last bucket of mud yesterday, confessing surreptitiously that his neighbors have exchanged their children to be slaughtered for meat and blood, begging in unbelief for a drop of rain...
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[Please, fall, for me, so that I might be saved.]
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The navi trembled.
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[Please take me with you.]
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And then the thick silence returned—the perfect one achieved through the perfect immobility of both.
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At the end of the silence, for the first time in his existence, Saito judged.
.
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Yes, indeed, Saito took the navi with him. He had answered the poor farmer. Yes, Saito fell—not in a physical sense, but one might be able to argue that the physical falling, or near-falling, was accompanied as well... His body, perfectly complete, became perfectly defiled, becoming a perfectly homogenous mixture of a man and a shadow of man. All happened as foreordained. All happened as was shamelessly insinuated. All happened, indeed...
.
Saito devoured the navi. The manner by which it was accomplished might be... Well, it is sufficient to remark that he had to do it in an undignified way. There was no table, no dishes, no silverwares, no cook, and no decorous occasion. He had to do it like chimpanzees cannibalizing a monkey: on the floor, hands drenched, face buried in the flesh.
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Esurient! Esurientes implevit bonis!
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It was done, fragment by fragment, limb by limb, organoid by organoid. With each part devoured, just like how the navi had passed on the most urgent combat profile data to Saito through its right eye in the seventh iteration, it became that much more a part of Saito. It was finally freed from its compressed and inert state inside the Rockman's personality cortex, and melted into the new body—the body it had coveted and then ruined. With each part devoured, the navi dreamed that much less. When the navi dreamed that much less, the dream collapsed that much more, for it was the dream of the navi.
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The first to collapse was the landscape beyond the invisible boundaries, most notably the arrogant skyline of the Den city downtown. The second to collapse were the gardens and vegetation, the unforgivably fake constructs. The third to collapse were the buildings—the walls, the pillars, the doors, and what were within. Curiously, The staircase of Hikari house and Netto's room persisted, or resisted, and only disappeared when nothing else of its class remained. The fourth to collapse were the clouds, all of them melting like the mind afflicted with Alzheimer's disease, or like a vanilla ice cream under the summer sun, but vaporizing into nihility before being poured onto the ground. The fifth to collapse was the remaining details on the ground—the roads, the elevations, the declivities, the stream and bridges. Everything reset into a uniform gray plane. The sixth to collapse was the sky, disappearing from the peripheries to the center of the dream, which was where they were, and strange colorlessness (which was neither dark nor bright) replaced where the sky was no more. The seventh to collapse was the space itself; the featureless ground shrunk, and it was replaced with indescribable nothingness, which was, again, neither dark nor bright. When all passed, only these remained: Saito, the heart of the navi, the shuttered entrance of the ACDC metro and its immediate vicinity.
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The heart was devoured, and the remaining world ended.
.
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Netto's room.
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Here, Rockman was standing.
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Through the window came the pale light of the gibbous moon that hung low on this night, under which sleeping Netto somehow appeared pure, delicate, and fragile. The skin looked whiter, the breath looked shallower, and the shoulders narrower. It was just an impression, of course. To the conception of this magical impression, possibly the light of the moon that was as distorted as the shape of the moon was at fault; possibly, in that distortion, the form of Netto was distorted just enough to produce this captivating illusion. At any rate, Rockman was captivated by this illusion, while knowing full well that this was an illusion; under the moon, things tend to gain more beauty, more meaning, just like how under the light of the moon words become heavier and letters penetrate the heart more candidly than they ever do under the clarity of the sun. This is how many loves begin—the hard hearts of men mollified and then enchanted by the incredibly delicate contour (the incorrect contour) of a girl made by the faint light of the moon and the stars... Even so, what of it? Rockman always found Netto to be a refreshment to his heart, a perfection in shape. If what was already perfect became more perfect under the most perfect spotlight, what more was there to gain? It would be akin to comparing the sizes of different infinities...yet such exists in mathematics. Therefore, in observing Netto, Rockman indeed found that what he beheld was far more beautiful than what he used to behold. It was a greater perfection. A clarification: in this occasion Rockman did not newly fall in love with Netto as men do towards women. Instead, what he felt was an in-between of the irresistible sense of longing and an admiration towards a perfect artwork. In seeing, something burned in his heart. What it was, he did not know; that he had to reach Netto, he knew. So this, he did.
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Was this a dream?
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Yes. When his hand, clad in blue navi glove, successfully touched the cheek of Netto, who was sleeping on his side, Rockman became sure of it.
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Then how did he arrive here?
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Between the total collapse of the dream of the navi and his sudden awareness of his position in here, there was no accessible memory. So the answer to the question was that he did not know. Truth be told, it did not matter.
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"Netto kun."
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It is impossible to describe the softness that was in his voice when he called his brother in this dream, in this moment. No matter how many superlatives I stack, even as high and magnificent as a Ziggurat of Ur, it would simply be impossible to correctly deliver the exact sensation. It was like the Lyre of Apollo played with an oiled feather, or the fur of a kitten abstracted and then vocalized. Netto rustled.
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"Mmm..."
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"Netto kun."
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In trying to wake someone up, the voice, or whichever form of stimulation that is being utilized, tends to grow in magnitude. However, Rockman's voice only grew softer—not quieter, but more affectionate.
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"...I...wa...m...mm..."
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Netto did not wake up. So, this time, Rockman bent forward, hands on his knees, and then whispered,
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"Netto kun."
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At which the boy slowly woke up.
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"H...huh? Wha..?"
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"Netto kun, I'm here."
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"Wha...who...?"
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"It's me, Netto kun."
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Netto's drowsy eyes, half opened, wandered around, looking for the source of the sound. The familar sound. The sound of days long gone. They then found it, and then intensely fixated upon it. The sleep escaped.
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"...!" said Netto kun. Lovely Netto kun. Brightened face. Sparkling eyes. "Saito niisan!"
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"Netto ku-" Rockman tried to reply, with the happiest smile he had ever made in his life, in the happiest voice he had ever made in his life. However, because Netto quickly pulled him in, "waah-"
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Rockman found himself on the bed, tightly bound by a hug. The whole procedure was evocative of a trapdoor spider snatching a cricket into its den. Oh, yes, Rockman did not mind this state, but he did mind not being able to hug back at the perpetrator. So he shifted little by little, but not so strongly as to not discourage the arms that embraced him to slacken.
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"Saito niisan!"
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Netto buried his face on the chest. Or more accurately at the suprasternal notch, between the clavicles. The chest proper was not a good place of accommodation due to the unfriendly protrusion of the navi mark.
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"Un, Netto kun!"
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Rockman buried his face in the hairs, those soft soft hairs. He closed his eyes. He inhaled. They smelled of shampoos and rinses. Shampoos? Rinses? That was strange...
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"Saito niisan!" Muffled voice.
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"I'm here, Netto kun!" Also muffled voice.
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Rockman continued to attempt to adjust his relative position. The progress was slow, but there were noticeable gains.
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"Uuu... Saito niisan... Why?"
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Why all the secrecy? Why the dishonesty? Why was he the only stranger to the truth? These were all undeclared but clearly recognized by Rockman.
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"Because..."
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Anticipating the answer, Netto moved his head away from where it had been. He opened his eyes in the process and noticed the well defined clavicles of Rockman. He appreciated them (in an instinctive way that lasted less than a second). He then looked 'up' at Rockman (up is a relative term, for they were both lying on the bed, facing each other). Rockman, noticing the hair of Netto drifting away from him, also opened his eyes. What filled his vision: Netto's face. Facing that face, Rockman found his tongue tied; becoming immensely distracted, he forgot what he was about to say.
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"...Netto kun, only if-" Netto's arms slackened (to Rockman's disappointment) and he found his arms mobile again. So this time, he slid his arms around the back of the boy. "-you knew how much I care about you."
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"...That's unfair."
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Netto looked 'downward' in submission. Rockman admired Netto's eyelashes.
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"Netto kun."
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"Saito niisan, you idiot."
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"Netto kun" Spoken slightly more cheerfully.
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Netto did not respond.
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"Netto kun, look here."
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Netto did not look up. Rockman breathed out a small, inaudible affectionate sigh.
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"Netto kun, please?"
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"...That...that's also unfair..."
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Netto looked up. The boy looked troubled.
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"Netto kun, you have nothing to worry about."
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"...Why?"
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"Because all of me, it's yours."
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At that statement, Netto looked more troubled. With a smile that appeared quite distant, Rockman repeated,
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"Netto kun, all of me, it's yours."
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Rockman saw that Netto now looked even more troubled. He could see Netto trying to process the full importance of that statement. Troubling thoughts for a troubling statement. Rockman found Netto working to comprehend everything to be entirely adorable.
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"...But I made you do many terrible things, go through many terrible things..."
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"Shh...it's okay."
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"But-"
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"I'm here."
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"..."
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"I'll do them again."
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"..."
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"Just for you."
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"..."
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"Netto kun."
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"..."
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"I am your navi, your Rockman, your Saito."
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After some contemplation, Netto cautiously echoed, as if trying to verify that statement, as if the reality did not coincide with what he heard.
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"...My navi."
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"Un, Netto kun. Your net navigator."
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"...My Rockman."
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"Un, Netto kun. Your Rockman."
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"...My Saito niisan."
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"Un, Netto kun. Your Saito."
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Netto closed his eyes, and smiled satisfied. Rockman closed his eyes, and smiled satisfied. They stayed in this configuration for some time, until Netto decided to shift a little, placing his right hand on the navi emblem. There were heartbeats. Underneath the emblem, there were heartbeats.
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"...Beating just like how it used to..."
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"...Beating just for you." Rockman returned, drowsy in satisfaction.
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"...Say, Saito niisan."
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"Yes?"
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"You...won't leave me again. Right?"
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"Right."
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"Promise?"
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"Promise."
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"..."
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Rockman, sensing that Netto was upset about something, opened his eyes and ran his fingers through the boy's hairs. Rockman hoped that it would allay the boy. It did work a little.
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"What are you thinking, Netto kun?"
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"...Well...it's..."
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"You can tell me about everything."
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"...I...so..." Then, with great hesitation, Netto confessed, "I...did not like what happened."
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"Happened?"
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"Yes. The thing...with...Magicman."
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Rockman remembered. He shuddered a little.
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"I felt..." said Netto, while appearing as if he was about to cry.
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"It's okay. For you, I can do anything."
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"No! It's not that! it's not that..." Interjected Netto. "I felt stolen. Saito niisan, I felt stolen. I felt like you were being stolen away from me..."
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"Well, I am your navi, and you always took losing personally..."
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"No! That's not it! You don't understand..." Then Netto muttered to himself, "I...I can't believe I am going to say this in my dream...and going to do this in my dream...I'm the worst..."
.
In his dream? This was Rockman's dream. What did Netto mean? What did that mean? That was a very peculiar declaration to hear from an image of Netto, a fragment of the dream, which must be a fragment of his mind. Rockman reasoned, then, that it must be what he wanted to hear from Netto. So he predicted, then, that Netto must now say something about not wanting to lose him, or some other similar case of anxiety.
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"I was really upset. I really did not like-"
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"Losing me? Oh, Netto kun-"
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"No! I really did not like the ki-, ki-, kiss! That was the part that I really did not like! But why? That was not even...a ki-, kiss, and that was how you got attacked. But what's wrong with me? I could not look away from it. I could not do anything. I froze. I felt dirty, and...I felt like something was being stolen from me!"
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That was not what Rockman expected.
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"So I thought about it...a lot...and I felt like I was going insane thinking about it...I kept thinking without knowing what was the answer I was looking for. I just could not stop replaying that moment in my head again and again. It was looping in my head all the time, and I could not focus at anything; my friends thought it was because of you being under 'repair,' and they all tried to cheer me up, but...well, they were right! But they were wrong! I just could not stop wishing that you were-, that it never-, that the kiss would've never happened, but bah! Like I can say it aloud to anyone! Worse, I had a lot of time to think because you were sleeping and sleeping, not waking up, and I had nothing better to do but sit by you and wait for you..."
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Netto became markedly flustered. Rockman became markedly confused.
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"Then I realized- maybe I would've been happier if I never realized- oh, what the heck, like there would be any other possible outcome. I was thinking thinking thinking, and sooner or later I would've reached the same conclusion. So I realized that if you were attacked in some other way- you heard that right! I even had to imagine you getting attacked in some other way- then I would've been marginally happier than if you were kissed! When you are hurt, I am devasted, and I am devasted now, too, but this is something different... But why does it matter so much? Why do the...the...lips-" Here Netto began to blush "-matter do much? Why do I feel robbed? Why? Why? So...so...I thought about what to do, and then also realized that...that..."
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All Rockman could do was to stare at Netto blankly. He was very disoriented, and did not know where the story was going.
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"Ah, what the heck! The point is, that I decided that the only way of doing it is to clean you up, so-"
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'Clean me up?'
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Netto's face closed in quite forcefully. Rockman felt something warm on his lips, but barely in contact; by the relative position of Netto's head to his, Rockman understood- but then, the moment was most transient, and Netto's face moved away equally forcefully. Netto's face was furiously blushing. In a few seconds, Rockman's face was furiously blushing as well.
.
"Th-there! Done! You should be clean now!" Declared Netto, looking away.
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"...Un! Netto kun!" Shouted Rockman, smiling in overflowing happiness, red-faced. He was cleansed!
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Netto pulled the blanket all over him and retreated into the safety of privacy. It was not difficult to figure out that the boy was greatly embarrased, and that his face would not return to normal colors any time soon. Netto squirmed constantly under the cover, letting out moans of remorse and shame, unable to believe that he has done the deed, even if it was a dream. Rockman could hear several of the self-chastisements that went along the lines of "Netto, you fucking idiot, crazy ass! What have you done?" "But it's only a dream..." "That makes it worse! Aaaargh! But...but...(incomprehensible)"
.
Rockman, on the other hand, took the situation rather innocently. Yes, he was both greatly excited and happy, and his 'heart' was racing incredibly fast, but he did not think too much about why he responded in such a way. Because the filthy kiss was an exceptionally traumatic experience for him, he naturally focused more on how he was 'cleansed,' and became confident, feeling that he was now wholly presentable to Netto.
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Netto eventually calmed down. Without coming out from the blanket, he asked,
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"Saito niisan..."
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"Yes, Netto kun?"
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"When are you going to wake up?"
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Here, the dream ended. Rockman was not sure if his reply reached Netto...but what did it matter? It was nothing but a dream. Nevertheless, he wanted to say,
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'When the digestion is complete.'