WhIP

by footfungus

nederlands verhalen over mijn otp

195. Lucky 101-112

Chapter 101: The Dark Tournament Finals, Round 1

Summary:

In which Kurama fights.

Notes:

WARNING FOR VIOLENCE!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

On the day of the Dark Tournament finals, dawn shone bright in a clear and cloudless sky. The sea crashed upon the shore with waves the color of my mother's favorite turquoise necklace, and overhead birds circled, skimming the surf for leaping fish. I, meanwhile, skimmed the breakfast menu at the restaurant downstairs—the one with the seaside overlook, view worthy of being put in a travel magazine. But given the drawn and shuttered looks on just about all of my friends' faces, I suspected that I might be the only one.

"Ooh, look at that. Crepes." I glanced at the table's occupants, but none of them met my smiling eyes. "What are you guys getting? Because I love the look of these crepes." Scanning the menu once more, I clucked my tongue and said with forced cheer, "But then again, that French toast with champagne strawberries… fancy. Anyone wanna split something?"

No response, my idle chatter falling on deaf—or willfully oblivious—ears. Hiei was his usual taciturn self, staring moodily out over the water. Kurama pretended to look over the menu, but the faraway look in his eye gave him away. Kuwabara slouched in his chair and picked idly at his bacon and waffles. Botan leaned her chin on her hand and sighed. Yukina, manners delicate and pretty, gently peeled a soft-boiled egg while Shizuru appeared to nap, arms crossed and chin lowered, eyes closed and face serene. Only Atsuko acted like her usual self; she flirted unashamedly with the waiter, downing more than a few mimosas along with a bloody Mary. It was no use talking to any of them, so when Yusuke finally appeared, relief washed across me in a warm wave.

Except that feeling didn't last. Yusuke slouched across the restaurant in his windbreaker and tennis shoes, glaring at the fancily dressed waiters and restaurant patrons whenever any ventured too close or stared too long. He didn't say hello to any of us when we murmured various greetings, and when I leaned toward him to catch his eye, one of his eyebrows shot right up. And I hadn't even said anything yet.

"Hey, sleepyhead," I said, not yet put off my mission of lightening the mood. "Bout time you showed up. Was worried you'd snooze through breakfast."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled. A waiter appeared at his elbow; Yusuke muttered, "Coffee."

"Say please," I said in a sing-song voice as the waiter scurried away.

Yusuke's slouch deepened. "Make me."

"That can be arranged," I said with a grin—but he didn't grin back, and he nursed his soon-to-appear coffee cup in disgruntled silence.

I threw out a little more bait as we ate (or drank, in Yusuke and Atsuko's cases), but I didn't get any bites. Even the normally cheery Botan couldn't bring herself to staying upbeat or joining in on my attempts at conversation. She and the rest of my friends all remained quiet as we got up to leave, and when it came time for me to follow them, I found that I couldn't. I watched them walk single-file toward the exit from my spot at the table, heart in my mouth, wondering if there was anything at all that I could do or say to—

An arm slung around my shoulder. "Hey, kiddo. Stop tryin' so hard, all right?"

It was Atsuko, of all people. Her breath sent the scents of tomato juice and champagne wafting across my face when I looked her way, grabbing onto her hand on reflex. She just grinned at my confusion, however, and curled her arm tighter.

"Don't think I don't see you wringing your hands under the table," she said. "My baby boy's got this in the bag, ya hear me?" She gave a bleary wink. "Trust. It'll be fine."

Her tipsy surety felt bracing, somehow. "Thanks, Atsuko," I said.

"Don't mention it." Her other hand swung up, dangling a backpack. "Now take this."

I did so and immediately regretted it. "But this is heavy!"

"Good beer always is!"

She skipped off, cackling, and I had no choice but to shoulder the pack and trudge after her—even though I already carried a backpack, I might add. Not that Atsuko cared, so long as she had her beer. Grumbling under my breath, I followed her as she followed the rest of our group out of the restaurant and into the lobby, where we headed for the door near the front desk. To my surprise, Otoha stood behind the desk wearing a crisp linen suit, typical maid uniform conspicuously absent. I guess she'd earned her original job back, the one she'd had prior to her demotion as maid. Had the business in the casino played in her favor somehow? I wasn't sure, but I sensed I was right when Otoha spotted me, grinned, and mouthed 'good luck' behind her hand. I shot her a grateful smile in return, along with a wave of my own. It was good to see a friendly face, even if I wouldn't be seeing it for long.

We caught up to Yusuke and the others just outside the hotel, our party a loose knot that had come to a stop just beyond the hotel's glass front doors. I wasn't sure why we hadn't gotten started on our trip to the stadium. Fighting my way to the front to stand at Yusuke's side, I found him staring ahead at a small fleet of… well, glorified gold carts, really. There were three of these little vehicles with no doors and a plastic roof suspended atop metal rods, all lined up in a row along the gravel path that led to the island's various stadiums, and judging by the look on Yusuke's face, he wasn't entirely sure why the hell they were there.

The driver of the first car quickly made it clear when he tipped his blue chauffer's cap at Yusuke. "G'day, Team Urameshi!" he said in a bright, chipper voice—and when a dexterous and furry brown tail lashed around his shiny black shoes, which bobbed high above the cart's pedals, I started to grin.

"Long time, no see," I said to the young monkey demon.

"Yeah," said Shizuru as she, too, fought her way to the front to stand beside me. "How's it hangin'?"

"And who're you supposed to be?" Yusuke demanded, ignoring us both.

Kuwabara, meanwhile, actually paid attention. "Sis, you know him?" he called from the back of our group.

"Yeah, actually." She puffed her cigarette and grinned while I had flashbacks to the scary-as-hell ride the monkey kid had taken us on when we first arrived on this island. "Long story."

The kid tipped his hat again. "I'm Tobi, and I'll be Team Urameshi's driver this morning," he declared. "If you would please board—"

Kuwabara sputtered. "You're gonna drive us to the tournament?" he said, elbowing his way forward. His eyes had narrowed, and he looked Tobi over with undisguised suspicion. "Gonna make a pit stop and chuck us off a cliff on the way there?"

"That wouldn't be very sporting, I'm afraid," Tobi chided, childish face unnervingly mature—like a nanny taking care of a kid, almost. "Not to mention in breach of my contract."

Hiei harrumphed. "He's right. It's the final round," he said, sneer crossing his sharp features. "Those greedy tournament drones wouldn't want to spoil their fun."

Kurama hummed. "That is only logical."

"No way!" Kuwabara sputtered again, gesturing at the line of cars with an indignant hand. "You're really gonna let them take you there, Hiei?"

Hiei's stare could've melted glass. "Who do you think you're talking to?" he spat. "I'm a demon. I'll run."

He wasted no time in doing exactly that, flitting from sight with a crack of flapping cloak. Kuwabara threw up his hands, but in spite of his grumblings, Yusuke climbed into the cart without a word and slumped into the seat beside Tobi. Kurama and the rest of our party joined him, crowding into the carts one by one. I sat on the very back bench seat, my back to the cart's driver, and as we began to trundle over the dirt path that led to the second stadium, I kicked my heels out over the trail and tried not to feel nauseated at the sensation of flying backward down the road.

It helped that we weren't the only ones already heading to the site of the tournament finals. A good number of demons walked toward the stadium as the sun climbed over the treetops. They chattered excitedly to one another, fragments of conversation drifting to my ears on the damp morning air. Most conversation stopped when we rode by, the distraction of seeing the tournament competitors up close too tempting to ignore in favor of idle gossip. When I twisted to look, I saw Kuwabara waving at a few of them, pretending to be some sort of celebrity despite the looks of aggression shot his way by most of the demons on the road.

Although not all of the demons looked at us with ill intentions. We passed a group of demons wearing pale pink t-shirts emblazoned with a picture of Koto's face; her fanboys, who waved at us as we drove by, grins on all of their mismatched and technicolor demon faces. They liked Yusuke for sticking up for Koto during the match against the Shinobi, if I had to take a wild guess. And we even passed the dog-faced demon who had helped me out in attracting Jin, who saw me and did a double-take before grinning and waving, too. But something told me they might be the only ones who favored us over the competition…

Eventually our transportation slowed, coming around a bend just as the bulk of the stadium rose over the forest. That horrible black dome, with all its jutting spires and insectoid angles, filled me with as much dread then as it had when I first laid eyes on it. I shivered in spite of myself, arms wrapped tight around the two backpacks sitting on my swaying lap, dreading the moment we'd near the stadium entrance and disembark into its open maw. As we neared it, we came upon a throng of demons at least fifty deep, the lot of them clamoring for the doors to open and let them inside. I found myself wondering if we'd have to fight our way through them just to get inside, but instead of driving us into the hoard, our driver made an unexpected and sharp turn. We circled the stadium on the concrete path that ringed it, heading toward the opposite side and an unobtrusive door flanked by two towering demons in rent-a-cop uniforms, well away from the crowd of demons thirsty for the sight of spilled blood. Hiei was there, lurking in the shadows of some nearby trees. The guard demons looked us over with undisguised contempt, but after a sharp look from Tobi (who I guessed had to be much older than his face suggested), they opened the doors and let us through.

Good, I thought. Wasting energy before the finals fighting nobodies was not a good idea.

As we disembarked and headed inside, Tobi gave me a nod and a smile as I passed. "Good to see all of you again, miss. We'll be here if you need us," he whispered, tipping his cap—but rather than reassure me, his words put a pit in the bottom of my stomach.

If we lost, we wouldn't need him, because we'd all be stone cold dead.

I tried not to think about that as we entered the stadium. The back door admitted us into a long hallway lined with doors, walls and ceiling and floor tiled with sterile grey slate. One of the guard demons led us down the hall and to a shockingly mundane locker room complete with showers, benches and lockers. Like this was some sort of high school sporting event and not the most vicious tournament in the world. The contrast sent another shiver through me, and as we set down our things and milled about, I tucked myself into a corner and tried not to look as sick as I felt.

Judging by the looks on everyone else's pinched and sallow faces, they might've felt the same way.

Kuwabara was the first to break the tense silence. "Where the heck is Genkai, anyway?" he said, deep voice ringing like a bell in the reverberant chamber. "I asked on the way down to breakfast, but nobody seemed to know."

Yusuke, sitting on a nearby bench with elbows on his knees, head bowed, grunted a curt, "Not feeling well."

"But it's the final match!" Kuwabara protested.

"Last night you said you felt bad for outnumbering them," Kurama said in his soft, musical voice. "Perhaps the universe heard you."

Kuwabara shot him a glare. "That's not funny, Kurama," he said. "You know I didn't mean—"

Kurama cut him off with a chuckle, turning on his heel and heading toward the door, leaving a gaping Kuwabara standing there in confused silence. The laugh hadn't sounded like a normal Kurama laugh. It was… hard, somehow. Like a laugh made of thorns. As Kuwabara continued to stare, I dogged Kurama's steps, following him out of the locker room and into the hall.

"Hey," I said, catching his sleeve so he'd stop. "You feeling all right?"

He looked at me askance, barely turning his head. "As well as can be expected. And you?"

"Same." I forced a smile. "But I'm not even fighting and I'm nervous."

Finally he turned my way completely, eyes softening the smallest bit. "There's nothing to be nervous about."

I stared at him.

"… so there are a few things," Kurama relented. "But you still shouldn't worry. We can take care of ourselves."

"Cold comfort considering I'm an albatross. I like to take care of others; it's sort of my thing."

His eyes narrowed as he smiled. "I remember."

Neither of us said anything for a moment. I crossed my arms over my chest and breathed deeply of the air. It smelled of cleaning solution; of bleach, and perhaps the faintest tang of old blood.

"You'll go first?" I muttered, not daring to look at him.

Still, I saw him nod. "I was thinking of breaking the ice, yes."

"Well." Shifting from foot to foot, unease rising high in my chest, I told him, "I'd tell you to break a leg as well as the ice, but under the circumstances…"

He laughed again. It sounded different from before. Still hard, but… not as biting, somehow. The laughter died when Kuwabara's voice rose loud enough that we both could hear them through the locker room door, however.

"Seriously though, where is Genkai?" he demanded. "I wanted to ask her about something, but—"

"She's not coming, all right?" came Yusuke's barked reply. "Give it a rest."

"Not even to cheer us on?" Kuwabara said, sounding perfectly aghast. "You can't be—"

"So no one's told him, then," I muttered while his voice droned on. "Thought so."

Kurama's eyes were hooded and dark, green a mere flicker beside his pupil. "You know what happened to her, then?" he asked, although it was barely a question.

I stared at him again.

His mouth thinned. "Of course you knew." Kurama took a sharp step toward me, head bowing in a fit of secrecy. "Tell me, Kei. Are we meant to keep this a secret?"

Swallowing down the guilt in my throat, I nodded. "Yeah. But no worries." I smiled at his look of confusion. "It won't stay secret for very long."

The notion didn't appear to bring Kurama any comfort. He glanced at the locker room door without speaking, eyes narrowed above his pursed lips. He wiped the look away, however, and replaced it with a carefully neutral mask just as the locker room door swung open. Botan stalked out of it, expression drawn and withered—but when she saw us looking, she pasted on a smile almost as fake as Kurama's cultivated detachment.

Fakers, all of us.

"Well, girls," Botan said, both to me and to the women trailing in her wake. "Let's get moving before all the best seats are taken, hmm?"

She didn't wait for an answer. Botan just marched off down the hall while the other women bid the guys goodbye. I stuck my head inside the door long enough to smile and wave at each of them, deciding against any tearful well-wishes or maudlin declarations. Lord knew I'd made enough of them lately, and Yusuke didn't seem in any mood to tolerate any of my mushy crap. I just gave him a thumbs-up, which he eventually returned, and made sure to shout a chipper, "Give 'em hell, boys!" before leaving the locker room behind.

The tunnels beneath the stadium were like a rabbit's warren, pathways an inscrutable labyrinth we navigated with the help of some handy signage pointing the way to the stadium's public areas. The door to the public areas was well-hidden behind a kiosk selling roasted meat on a stick, air smoky and thick, and not a single demon stood around apart from the kiosk's employees. They didn't pay us any mind as we headed to the seats on the stadium's lowest level, picking our way down to only a few rows away from the very front. Although it was clear that the main doors hadn't been opened yet, a few demons had managed to sneak their way inside, taking up the first three or so rows all around the first level. The spot we snagged sat just behind a weird booth-type-thing jutting out onto the arena floor, cordoned off by tall Plexiglas walls to keep the general public at bay. Koto's announcing booth, if the microphone on a table within the booth was any clue.

A minute after we were seated, a chime sounded over the stadium PA system, and a dull roar split the air. Soon demons streamed into the stadium from all directions like something out of a zombie invasion film, figures running just out of sight above the rows of seats, the sound of feet slapping like thunder against the walls and high ceiling. I fidgeted, watching the hoard run and push and shove each other for the best seats, feeling glad that the few demons who came near us immediately spotted Shizuru and turned tail to flee in the opposite direction.

"Are y'all nervous?" I said, almost yelling thanks to the new noise. "Because I'm nervous!"

Shizuru only shrugged. "Not really."

But Yukina understood. "I am nervous, too," she said, hands twisting inside her kimono's sleeves.

"As am I," said Botan. When our eyes met, she leaned toward me in alarm. "But Keiko, you look pale!" She patted my knee and gave a sharp nod. "Our boys will be fine; you have to have faith!"

Easier said than done. "It's just, I haven't actually seen but one or two fights from the stands, y'know?" I said, knee beginning to bounce up and down in agitation. "I've been stuck outside the stadium, or running through the stadium, or… so I don't know what to expect. Not really, anyway." I shifted in my seat, eyeing just how close the edge of the fighting ring came to the edge of our section of seats. "And besides. These seats are basically in the splash zone, and I didn't bring a raincoat."

Atsuko, a seat away from me on Botan's other side, threw back her head and laughed. "Splash zone! Ha! Good thing I wore red!"

"Seriously, though," I grumbled, not sharing her cheer at all. "Only way we could be closer is to be down there in the dugout or whatever it's called. Ringside. Whatever."

On my other side, Yukina frowned, looking from me to Shizuru. "Oh, that reminds me," she said. "Shouldn't you be with the team, Shizuru? In the event they need your help?"

Shizuru just shrugged again, blowing out a puff of grey-blue smoke. "I can jump in there if the going gets tough," she said, tapping ash carelessly into the (as of yet unoccupied) seat in front of us. "Don't wanna leave you without backup." She paused for a second. "And besides." Dark brown eyes drifted lazily in my direction. "Keiko might need help in a minute or two."

I blinked. "Help with what?"

"'Ello, love!"

Strong arms slipped around my waist, stomach lurching in a sickening drop as something yanked me upward and into the air. I would've shrieked aloud, but when a bright laugh sounded in my ear, the impulse died as quickly as it had been born. Jin was comforting like that, and as he planted a kiss on my cheek, we drifted like dandelion down on the wind until his feet came to rest on the back of one of the stadium chairs. My own feet dangled ineffectually in the air, kicking at his knees—because Jin was still hella freakin' tall, and Keiko was something of a shorty. And although the refreshing wind around us blew cool, my cheeks felt like they'd caught fire as my friends stared at us, each one of them (aside from Shizuru, of course) agape.

"Jin!" I wriggled, worming my hands between us so I could push him back, leaning backward over the brace of his encircling arm. "What are you do—well, obviously you're here to watch the fights, but—"

"Wouldn't miss 'em for the world, sweet girl!" he chirped, grin wide and ears wiggling. "And here you are with your dear friends, all together in a merry band to cheer on the Urameshi boys. They'd be lost without you lot, if ya don't mind my sayin' so, which means it's a good thing you're—"

"Jin!"

The voice that spoke his name didn't come from my friends, but from farther up, toward the back of the stadium. Craning my head over Jin's broad shoulder revealed Touya standing not far off upon the stadium stairs—and although I hadn't seen Touya outside of his hood yet, he was hard to mistake for anyone else. His bright blue and green hair had been shellacked into a slicked-back wash of aquamarine, bangs hanging over his forehead bringing out the wintry chill in his skin and eyes alike. They were oddly fiery, his eyes—fiery and empty, lacking any recognizable pupil whatsoever. He didn't look particularly amused, mouth thin and arms crossed over his black-clad chest, strange eyes narrowed almost too much to discern their color.

When he spotted me, however, his lips twitched. But he smoothed the smile away fast, indeed.

Not that Jin was at all perturbed by his friend's dour expression. "Oi, Touya!" he said, clearly delighted. "Come down for a chat, eh?"

One blue-green brow shot up. "Did you forget we have business to attend to?" he murmured in a soft, cool voice.

Jin tittered. "If I say yes, will you let me stay?"

"No."

"Well, you're no fun." Jin rolled his eyes, and with a flex of his muscular legs we shot skyward—but only so we could once more drift, almost weightlessly, down onto the nearby stadium steps. He didn't put me down right away, though, arms curled around me still. "Gotta run, Keiko. Duty calls." He winked, ears twitching again, face comically serious. "Save me a dance?"

I couldn't keep a smile off my face. "If I hear music, I'll give you a call."

And then he was grinning again. "That's the spirit!" he said, and he pressed an enthusiastic kiss to my cheek before putting me gently down and zooming away with a burst of bracing air. He blew another kiss over his shoulder as he and Touya walked away, and when Touya muttered something to him, Jin threw back his head and laughed. I found myself smiling on reflex.

But then I felt the eyes on me, and elation turned to instant anxiety.

Walking back to my seat felt like walking a runway, only instead of flashing cameras, my friends stared with expressions ranging from confused to scandalized to gratified. Atsuko leaned over Shizuru to offer me a fist-bump once I sat down, which I only returned so she'd wipe the smug-as-fuck grin off her face. But she wasn't done, eyebrows wiggling over her forehead like caterpillars doing the Macarena.

"So-o-oh," she said, dragging out the word. "Collecting redheads, are we?"

"Shut up!"

She sat back with a cackle. But before anyone else could start up and make me implode in embarrassment, another voice cut the stadium din.

"Well, well, well," she drawled. "Looks like you've been making yourself right at home, huh?"

It was Koto, of course, who stood upon the nearby stairs in her heeled shoes and trench coat, a silk scarf wrapped tightly around her hair. Despite the sunglasses covering 90% of her face, it was easy to tell exactly who she was—even for the normally not-so-observant Atsuko, who let out a bark of laughter as Koto sauntered down the stairs and opened the door to her announcer's box.

"Koto!" Atsuko said. She reached beneath her chair and grabbed a beer from her backpack, cracking it open so she could toast to Koto. "Good to see you!"

"Same to all of you," Koto said. She opened the door to her Plexiglas box, but she didn't step inside. "So here we are. The final match." Green eyes flashed with emerald fire over the edges of her sunglasses. "Your team up for the challenge, or are my commentating days going to be short-lived?"

Atsuko scoffed. "Trust me, honey. They'll put on quite a show."

"They'd better." Stripping the scarf off of her head, she patted her hair and swiped the glasses off her face. "They don't exactly have home court advantage. Hiei and Kurama are demon traitors, and the rest… well, the humans are even worse. Especially that Genkai." Eyes rolling, Koto tossed her accessories onto the table inside the announcer's box, beside the microphone and headphones resting upon it. "Why you thought to put a demon boogeyman of all people on—"

She chattered on for a bit, seemingly enjoying the chance to talk about tournament optics. But while Atsuko, Yukina and Shizuru were all quick to engage, Botan shrank down in her seat, staring out at the ring with her hands wrapped tightly around one another upon her lap. She looked ghastly, if we're being honest. The roses that normally bloomed in her cheeks had disappeared, replaced by an unhealthy porcelain sheen that made me suspect she'd broken out in a cold sweat.

She flinched when I touched her arm, magenta eyes burning beneath her blue bangs. "Are you all right?" she said, but she only sighed and patted my hand.

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine, Keiko. I just—I had a hard day yesterday, is all," she finished with unconvincing forced cheer. "Nothing to worry about."

I hesitated. Should I admit that I knew the truth about Genkai and try to offer her some specific comfort? Or would that be too revelatory, and too much salt in the wound on top of it?

Because I couldn't be certain, I settled for squeezing her arm. "If you want to talk about it, I'm here for you," I offered, with as much sincerity as I could muster.

"I appreciate that, Keiko." Botan's eye clouded, head hanging on the end of her bent neck. "But I'm afraid there's no feeling better for me. Not today."

I wanted to comfort her. To give her a hug and tell her it would be OK. That the boys would win, and that they'd wish to bring Genkai back, and that their wish would be granted.

But I did not know if those canonical events were meant to be in this universe, this lifetime—so I only squeezed her hand again and said, "OK."

I caught Shizuru eyeing us sidelong when Botan pulled away. Eventually Koto said goodbye and sequestered herself with her booth. More demons trickled in, filling the stadium to the bursting with their raucous cries for blood and gore. Atsuko drank, and Yukina asked her questions about the human constitution. Koto talked with a demon with a clipboard about sound quality and some other tech specs, voice muffled behind a plate of Plexiglas. I scanned the crowd for Jin's fiery red mane, but I did not see him. I found myself wondering what business he and Touya had to attend to, but just as I began to voice the question aloud, Botan muttered that she needed to use the restroom. Politely she excused herself, trudging on slow feet out of our row and up the stairs. I started to tell her there was a reason that girls usually went to the bathroom in packs, but Shizuru beat me to the punch. She followed Botan without a word, the pair of them soon lost within the eddying crowd of demons.

It didn't take them long to return. When they reappeared, Botan's eyes were red-rimmed and glassy—but her smile seemed genuine as she sat down at my side, voice sweeter and more solid than before.

"Think the fights will start soon?" she asked, expression unexpectedly serene.

And as if in answer, Koto leaned over her microphone to declare, "Ladies and gentlemen! You might wanna get to your seats, because this match is about to begin!"

"Oooh, I'm excited!" Atsuko said as Koto's booming, PA-amplified cry faded into echoes. She chugged down the remains of her beer and chucked the bottle over her head, grinning when a demon cried out in pain. "How about the rest of you, huh?"

As the others spoke their agreement, I muttered under my breath, "Just thrilled."

If anyone caught the sarcasm, they did not mention it aloud.

Watching Kurama's match against Karasu soon revealed itself as an exercise in self-flagellation—in self-inflicted pain so extreme, it bordered on outright masochism.

In my first life, I became a fan of horror movies at a questionably early age. My dad had rented Alien on VHS (from Blockbuster, that movie mecca lost to time and capitalism) and watched it late one night on the couch. My seven-year-old self woke up sometime during the first few minutes, and I successfully snuck to the end of the couch— specifically in my father's blind spot—to view it with him. Through cracked fingers I watched the crew of the Nostromo fall to the eponymous and bloodthirsty alien, picked off one by one until only the intrepid Ripley (and her fluffy companion Jonesy) remained. I was enthralled, and in the exact moment she flushed the alien out of the airlock, I fell in love with Ripley, the Xenomorph, sci-fi and horror all in one fell swoop. More horror followed after that, a love affair nurtured by my father's taste in Stephen King adaptations, Hitchcockian nightmares and late-night, B-movie schlock.

But that doesn't mean I loved all horror movies with the same passion I had for Alien, The Shining and Rear Window. I hate the Saw franchise, for instance—mostly because while gore can enliven a scene and make it truly horrific, gore for gore's sake had never appealed to me at all, rendering that entire franchise unappealing. I always watched gory scenes from between my fingers or over the top of a pillow, ready to look away the second it got too intense. My aversion to gore only deepened after my accident in my old life; once you've seen your own bones, it's not easy to want to look at them again, and this aversion deepened to outright disgust after my death and rebirth. I loved the tension of thrillers and horror films, the way that horror viewed the human condition through clever use of allegory, but I felt that gore was meant to be like seasoning in a horror film—not the main course. And while it was thrilling to watch the Final Girl flee a serial killer, find her inner warrior and kill him before he could kill her, I tended to look away as she swung the knife home and got her comeuppance at last.

I had never liked gore, and I hid my eyes when it appeared in movies.

But watching Kurama fight Karasu, gore flying left and right, I couldn't bear to tear my eyes away—not even for a second.

He must've drunk the potion before entering the ring, because I didn't see him take a sip when he stepped into it, hair flying behind him in a blood-dark flag. Kurama stayed far away from the demon Karasu, hugging the outer portion of the ring, and as the new referee—Juri, canon character appearing at long last—called the match to order, he lifted his hand and blew on it as if scattering seeds to the wind. And perhaps he did just that. A maelstrom of pink petals erupted from Kurama's hand, filling the ring to overflowing with deceptively sharp shards of organic matter. Soon one of them sliced Karasu's cheek above the edge of his metal mask, image broadcast in larger-than-life clarity on the jumbotron above the ring, flesh split and gaping over bone.

I winced at the sight, but I did not look away.

Karasu shrugged off the attack with naught but a toss of his long black hair, wound closing on his cheek like the video had played in reverse—and then the petals across the ring caught fire, exploding into minute points of conflagration in the air. Shock showed on Kurama's face, but Karasu was already streaking across the ring, and Kurama had no choice by to flee. Karasu wasted no time in his pursuit. His lapels trailed behind him like the wings of the crow for which he'd been named, an omen of death in name and vision, both. Yet Kurama maintained his distance, and for one split second, a look of grim satisfaction played across his features at this victory. But Karasu did not need to touch Kurama to maim him. He was a dog herding a sheep, and soon he herded Kurama exactly where he wanted him to go.

He herded him, of course, into an explosive trap—an invisible bomb that exploded on contact with Kurama's arm, bursting into green-tinted fire that seared flesh and sent blood spattering across the ring floor. Kurama staggered with a cry of pain, arm hanging limp and useless at his side, feet still beneath him, blood blooming crimson upon the shredded remains of his snow white sleeve.

I gasped at the sight, but I did not look away.

Smoke from the explosion billowed thick around him, soon obscuring the sight of torn flesh and flowing blood from view. Another something exploded in the smoke, that green fire flickering again—but when the smoke cleared after that onslaught, the red was gone, and in its place stood silver and white.

Youko emerged from the smoke in all his transcendent glory, red blood pouring from a wound on his temple, slick matting silver hair against his cheek in a sticky stream. But although the crowd gasped and Koto shrieked her approval at this transformation, he did not pause to revel in their reaction. Youko Kurama lifted his hands, and around him the ring crunched and crumbled, enormous carnivorous plants with thorny teeth emerging from the cracked concrete in a lurching lunge. The jumobtron displayed a single frame of Karasu's panic-widened eyes before Koto began to scream a play-by-play, narrating as Karasu ran, her voice a bloody shriek echoing the way the plants whipped at Karasu with feral cries of hunger and rage.

And beyond it all, Youko Kurama stood in silence—smiling, hair flying like spidersilk on the screaming breeze.

Karasu put up a good fight. His bombs, invisible to my mundane eyes, struck many of Kurama's plants, exploding their snapping maws with bursts of green fire and black smoke. But they were too many and Karasu's bombs were too few, and soon a plant erupted from the concrete at his feet and swallowed him whole.

Koto crowed.

The demons watching howled.

Kurama grinned.

But his grin faded when the plant's body buckled and distended, flying outward in shreds of flesh that bled sap like a severed limb. They hit the ground with wet smacks, and as the last of the flesh peeled away, what remained was no plant at all.

All that remained—hair now blond, mask missing, suit as black as death—was Karasu.

He had powered up, I knew from canon. The mask was a limiter, not a shield, and its removal had spelled the doom of countless strong demons in the untold time he'd been alive. Recognition of this fact shone bright in Kurama's wide golden eyes, and as Karasu lifted a hand to aim a deadly strike, it was all Youko Kurama could do to raise his hands to protect himself. The strike hit Youko Kurama dead on, and behind him, an entire wall of the stadium blew away in a riot of green fire I felt the acrid, acidic heat of it even on the stadium's other side. I leapt to my feet in spite of myself, crying his name in panic and in fear—but as the rubble fell and the smoke cleared, Kurama appeared again.

Only his hair was red again, the form of Youko Kurama vanished as completely as the obliterated section of smoking stadium.

Karasu took his time after that. I could not see the bombs, but I saw the devastation they wrought on my Kurama's body. They ignited with green fire and splatters of scarlet blood, colliding first with his arms, and then his legs, and then all of them over again a second time. Blood fell in great gouts to the stone of the ring, sluicing down his torn flesh and broken body like a dam reduced to rubble by a well-placed stick of dynamite. The jumbotron took great delight in broadcasted the details to the audience, which roared its approval as they saw exposed muscle and shredded skin.

A scream ripped from me at the sight, but still I did not look away.

It was almost a relief when Kurama fell to his knees upon the ring—because while I did not want him to lose, I wanted this to all be over. Arms wrapped around myself as if I might fly into a million pieces, I could only watch in horrified, sickened, terrified silence as the demons roared and screamed and gibbered, Juri beginning a ten-count that would surely see Kurama declared the loser of the match—only Karasu had no intention of letting Kurama go that easily. He lifted a hand above his head to ready a final, killing blow, face a contorted mask of frenzied bloodlust.

But when Karasu lowered his hand to send his final bomb flying, Kurama erupted with green light: light the color of dark forests, new leaves—his eyes. Plants the deep purple of blood in a vein burst from his kneeling form in a furious flurry of razor leaves, slicing through the air toward Karasu like swords thrown by an expert hand.

The jumbotron captured Karasu's agonized face for only a handful of moments before he fell beneath the voracious vampire plants, utterly consumed—and behind him, Kurama staggered to his feet just as Juri finished her count.

The plants made short work of Karasu, draining his body of its fluids before ripping desiccated flesh from bone with eager teeth and sucking stamens. Kurama looked stunned to still be standing, bloodied legs buckling, watching Karasu's drained-to-nothing body fade underneath the vines of the hungry vampire plant. The silence in the ring said that the rest of the demons were stunned, too. But all I could pay attention to just then was Kurama's face, broadcasted so perfectly and proudly upon the screen, his eyes wide with shock that he had performed his final, last-second gambit successfully and had not died in the process—which, I knew from canon, he had fully expected when he loosed his final blow.

A smile spit my features, a gaping wound of raw delight.

I did not look away.

And then Juri's voice rang out, and she declared Karasu the winner.

The demonic crowd hadn't even had time to process or react to Juri's call by the time my friends and I started running, vaulting out of our seats toward the top of the section, where the hidden door to the locker room lay waiting.

Koto's voice declared that they'd be taking a short intermission to patch the broken ring back up. Despite the PA boosting her voice to unnatural volume, I barely heard her over the screams of approval ringing up from the demons below us. Down in the ring, Yusuke's face had displayed shock at the announcement, and Hiei's and Kuwabara's had been arranged similarly as they dragged Kurama from the ring. The girls' faces, too, told me they hadn't seen this coming. Not like I had. This was exactly how the manga had played out, after all: Karasu would die, and Kurama would live, but because Kurama's 10-count had elapsed by the time Karasu died, he was technically still the loser. It was the first time in history that a victor died while the loser lived, as Koto was saying over the loudspeaker. It was the first time in history, and therefore unprecedented.

She was only wrong about one thing: It was not unprecedented to me. But my friends were another story.

"I can't believe this!" Botan shouted above the jeering demons, fury evident in her strained voice. "The nerve of that committee, declaring him the loser! Why, I ought to—"

"Say no more!" Atsuko bellowed back. "We'll beat their asses together!"

"Yukina." Somehow Shizuru didn't sound at all labored, running and talking at the same time. "Think you'll be able to heal Kurama up? He looked like he was in bad shape."

Yukina had to expend more effort to speak, legs constrained by her tight kimono. "I… can try," she panted, pretty face flushed, and she fell quiet to concentrate on running.

I didn't join in on the conversation. I was too busy grinning, and on leading the way so they wouldn't be able to spot it. Despite how damn happy I felt inside, I had no idea quite what I'd do or say when we met up with the boys. This was how canon had been fated to run, pretty much down to the last detail—and while it had been horrible to watch Kurama be so viciously maimed, elation still bubbled in my chest. Canon went to plan! Things are looking up! Kurama would still need cheering up, of course, as would the rest of the team, but canon had gone to fucking plan, and Kurama had lived, and that's what really mattered. But the bit about cheering people up remained. What joke could I tell to lighten the mood? Something about explosive action? That Kurama looked drained, since he used a vampire plant? Or—?

I developed big plans, as we ran to meet the team.

But then we reached the locker room—and I saw him.

He sat on one of the benches, sleeves and pants in shreds. What was left of the fabric had been stained dark brown, sodden and heavy with blood. It pooled beneath him on the floor, slicking through the tips of his hair, streaked across his cheeks and forehead in dark swaths. Yusuke and Kuwabara held him upright, carefully minding the crumbling lacerations gouged into his skin. By the time the locker room door fell shut behind us, Yukina was already halfway across the room, running toward him with outstretched hands already aglow.

I froze solid at the sight of him.

I did not look away.

The others reacted similarly, or at least better than I did. Botan gasped, but she quickly tried to compose herself. Atsuko winced and made a sound of revulsion and sympathy. Shizuru didn't even falter, though. She walked across the room and looked him over in a quick sweep, features more composed than I thought she had any right to be.

"Hey," she said, voice soft. "You feeling all right?"

"You look terrible," Atsuko chimed in.

A smile ghosted across his face, in spite of everything. "Always to the point, Atsuko," he rasped, and the words gave way to a coughing fit.

Yukina pulled back until he finished, then resumed running her hands over his arms and legs. Lines marred her otherwise perfect brow, and she paid no mind at all to the blood staining her long sleeves. All she said was, "These wounds are deep, and pulsating with that demon's energy. I will need to extract that energy before I can begin any true healing."

Kurama took a deep breath, and again he started to cough. "I will attempt to expel the energy on my own. You needn't—" A cry cut the air, and his face swung toward me, eyes wide. "Kei?"

For a second, I wasn't sure why he'd looked my way. I just continued to stare at him, and at the droplets of blood still pattering rain-like into the growing puddle below Kurama's bench. I just continued to stare at his torn and bloodied clothes, clinging to his broken skin like the hands of some demented lover. I just continued to stare at the blood open his face, scarlet almost as dark as his hair.

Again, a cry cut the silence.

Kurama said my name again.

And I realized that that horrified, terrified cry of pain had belonged… to me.

I turned around and walked away.

They shouted for me, but I paid them no heed. I ran stiffly from the locker room and down the hall, and by the time the door slammed shut somewhere in the distance, I had already turned a corner and leaned my heavy, leaden body against the wall. My knees gave out only a moment later, sending me in a painful slide down the wall, cracking my tailbone against hard tile—but I barely felt it, because how could I feel anything with the sight of Kurama's blood still etched so firmly on my mind's eye? Elbows on knees, head in my hands, I carded my fingers through my hair and tried to breathe. In through my nose, out through my mouth. In through my nose, out through my mouth. In through my nose, out through my—

I smelled something salty. Salty and thick, reeking of iron.

My eyes cracked open.

Blood stained the tips of my shoes. Kurama's blood, tracked in gory footprints down the hall.

I slammed my head back into my hands, fingers pulling so hard on my hair that I saw stars. Bile rose in my thickened throat, a hollow numbness spreading cold inside my limbs and chest. In through the nose, out through the mouth wasn't working, because it made me smell blood. Instead I pulled harder on my hair, concentrating on that pain, trying to block out the memory and the smell because even though watching from the seats had almost given me an ulcer, the high of winning had made me forget that, if only for a moment. But seeing the ragged skin and exposed muscle up close, on my goddamn Kurama, was too much to even—

"Kei?"

I lifted my head.

And there he was.

He stood a few feet away, hand on the wall, clutching the wound that had opened a hole against his ribcage, hair as red as the blood staining his ruined clothes. I stared in shocked horror, unable to move or think or even breathe as he took a single step in my direction—and then he staggered. But I was beside him quicker than a breath, trying to keep him upright.

"Kurama?!" I cried, not sure where to hold, because there was so much blood and surely I would only hurt him. "What the hell are you doing?!"

He gasped, staggering again. "Yukina stopped the bleeding. I—"

"No, don't talk!" I said as his words deteriorated into a hacking cough. "You're in no condition to—"

But unlike Youko, this Kurama was not pretending to feel weakness, and his legs gave out completely. He collapsed, pitching forward onto me with such force I could hardly keep him standing, forced to go down into a heap underneath him to at least cushion the blow of the fall. He felt like lead on top of me, and it took every ounce of my strength to push him up and settle him against the wall. I told him that I needed to go get help, that he should just sit tight and wait, and—

Kurama's hand lashed out, and with surprising force he grasped my wrist.

"Kei," he said, words rasping in his throat. "Wait."

"Nope. No way, sir. Not happening," I babbled. "I'm gonna go get—"

"Wait. Kei, wait," he said, pulling harder on my wrist. "Look at me. I'm fine."

"Considering that you are actively bleeding onto my shoes at the moment, I very much doubt that!" I said, voice rising to pitch hysterical. "Let me just go get Yukin—"

"Kei. You aren't listening."

"I hear you just fine, now let me—"

"But you aren't listening!"

Every time I pulled away, he grabbed onto me again, jostling himself with every touch. Afraid he would hurt himself even more if I didn't comply, I reluctantly settled down, looking anywhere but at him as he finally let go of my arm.

But he only put his hand to my cheek, instead, and then I couldn't help but look anywhere but at him.

Kurama's eyes burned like liquid jealousy, their color all the more intense beside the crimson blood splattered across his cheek. "I am hurt," he said in a voice to match. "I am hurt, and I lost my fight. But I will live, and I am stronger than I was before." His fingers spasmed on my skin, face echoing their motion, eyes narrow and mouth thin. "It is not the victory I wanted. But it is a victory nevertheless." And then a solidity I could not name turned his eyes to firm malachite, sincerity and stoicism as hard as chips of jade.

I didn't speak.

"I am fine, Kei," Kurama said, voice low and warm and soothing. His thumb traced my cheekbone, soft as a breath. "You needn't worry anymore."

I didn't speak. I just stared—and then I sighed. My eyes drifted shut, and my head drifted forward, and soon my forehead pressed against his. I didn't care that blood had turned his skin to a sticky, tacky mess, nor that the iron tang of blood masked his usual scent of evergreen. I just cared that his skin was warm.

"I'm never not going to worry about you," I told him. I opened my eyes a crack, only so I could glare. "Not when you make a point of getting maimed every damn time you fight."

Kurama smiled. "What can I say? Old habits."

"Get a hobby, then."

"Why, when I could spend my time worrying you?"

"Don't be cute. You're too bloody to act cute." I swallowed, staring at him from a hair's breadth away. Every word proved a battle monumental, but somehow I managed to grind out, "You've gotta—you've gotta promise me you'll start being careful, all right? You do what you have to, I know, but if you go and get yourself k—"

I couldn't say it. But he knew what I meant. His hand slid back, winding into the hair on my nape, thumb tracing the skin beside my eye.

"Promise me," I said.

"I promise." But then he hesitated, damn him. "As much as I can promise such a thing."

I harrumphed. "And you called me the infuriating one," I said. "I am going to worry until this tournament ends, and I am going to keep worrying until I give myself an ulcer." A shaky smile curled my lips. "But you won. I can comfort myself with that." I pressed my forehead to his a little harder. "You won."

"No, I—"

"I know you lost," I said, shushing him. "But you still won."

We sat like that, holding the moment, in silence. His hand on my face and neck burned, affirmation that blood still filled his veins as well as the cracks in the stadium floor. It was nice, to sit like that with him, his fingers in my hair, thumb tracing that tattoo of comfort into my skin—but soon Kurama grunted, pain flashing across his face, and I had to pull away.

"Fine or not," I said, "you need healing."

He grimaced. "I could live with that."

"You mean you couldn't live without that, Mister Actively-Bleeding-on-My-Shoes."

He laughed, but the laugh made him cough, and the moment had to end. I helped him up and half carried him back to the locker room, not caring about the blood seeping into the side of my jeans and shirt. Because I hadn't been lying when I said that he'd won. He might've lost his match, but this fight was still a victory.

Canon, after all, had happened just as it should.

Kurama might not have understood that victory, but I did—and the knowledge lit a flare of hope to smolder inside my chest.

That fire warmed me, for a while.

I had no way of knowing that soon—sooner than I could have possibly expected—that light would be snuffed out.

Notes:

So, a few things.

This chapter is shorter than normal, but that's because I'm going to update NEXT WEEKEND, on Sunday, March 29, with another chapter! Figure I should probably release more content faster while many people are in lockdown due to COVID 19. It's the least I can do, basically.

I'm also updating next weekend because… I'm extending the Chapter 100 giveaway!

Why am I extending it? It's because I received a really nice offer! Moongeist is adding a $25 Amazon card to the prize pool, which is just wild to me? EVERYBODY THANK MOONGEIST! But since that prize wasn't announced in chapter 100, I figured I'd let people know about the extra prize here, and I further thought that extending the entry deadline a tad might be in order.

So! New "Chapter 100 Giveaway" details here:

Comments on chapter 100 must be submitted by the end of Saturday, March 28 (US Central Standard Timezone), because that's when the entry deadline will come to an end. All entries must be made on chapter 100 (AKA, comments on chapter 101 won't enter you into the drawing).

Sunday, March 29: Chapter 102 goes up, where winners will be announced.

MANY THANKS to everybody who chimed in on chapter 100 (so far)! I will list out all your names in chapter 102, just in case a few more of you decide to enter the drawing between now and then. But for now, please know that each and every one of you has ALL OF MY LOVE AND ADORATION. You made celebrating chapter 100 a very special occasion, and for that, I simply can't thank you enough.

See you all next week on Sunday, March 29, 2020! AND REMEMBER TO WASH YOUR HANDS! AND STAY INSIDE (unless you're crucial to the function of society and are needed elsewhere)! I couldn't bear it if anything bad happened to ANY OF YOU, so please be safe! All my love!

Chapter 102: The Dark Tournament Finals, Round 2

Summary:

In which NQK faces the music.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The tree cast shadows like the ghostly fingerprints across my skin. Wispy and cool, smelling of distant rain and fresh sunshine, the dappled shade undulated and pulsed nearly in time to the music buzzing in my left ear. In my right ear, the screams of the demonic crowd inside the stadium thrummed like a colony of unseen, angry bees. I ignored them. Sitting with legs crossed, elbow on knee, head resting on my hand, I was too absorbed in the sounds issuing from the headphone I'd snaked up my sleeve to pay them any real mind.

It felt shameful, in a way, to listen to my music with such secrecy. I hadn't done the headphone-concealed-in-sweatshirt-sleeve trick since high school study hall in my old life, but here I was sneaking a hit of My Chemical Romance when no one was looking. I hadn't been able to resist. If anything could comfort me now, it was "Welcome to the Black Parade."

Minato would be furious…

After our moment in the hallway, I'd dropped Kurama off at the locker room without a word. Our friends stared at us like we had declared that we'd just robbed the national treasury but hadn't taken a cent: disbelief, shock, horror, more disbelief, all cycling through each other in a loop. Botan and Yukina soon recovered enough to swarm him to administer more healing—and as soon as people stopped paying attention, I'd booked it out and headed for the door to the outside. Tobi (still lingering there with the cars) gave me a look of worry as I passed, but he said nothing as I installed myself underneath a tree and pulled out the iPod in its camouflage cassette player, threaded the headphones through my sleeve, and commenced with listening. Music quickly calmed me down, but it was cold comfort nonetheless.

I wouldn't be able to hide out here forever.

Right on cue, a voice said, "If you're going to have a nervous breakdown, at least try to spare us that agony until after we've won."

My head jerked off my hand, but it was only Hiei. He stood before me with head held high, hands in his pockets, feet spread confidently beneath him upon the grass. I tucked my headphone deeper into my sleeve as we traded a long, lean stare. Hiei wasn't quite glaring, but he wasn't not quite glaring, either.

When he didn't say anything else, I sighed, head falling forward as I dragged a hand through my hair. "Sorry," I muttered, cupping the back of my neck. "I didn't mean to be distracting."

"No," he said at once. "But that's just who you are, Meigo. I shouldn't expect any differently at this point."

I really glared, then. "If you're going to call me a drama queen, just get it over with already."

Hiei harrumphed, but he didn't say anything else. He pivoted on his heel and stalked off, back toward the guarded door near the locker room. The action irked me more than it should. He'd basically come outside just to through an insult and tell me not to wreck his match the way I'd wrecked his matches in the past, and while it was just like Hiei to cut right to the damn point, it was still annoying.

But to my surprise, Hiei stopped walking. He didn't turn around, standing with his back to me just outside the circle of shade cast by the tree above my head.

"If you're feeling ill," he said, voice hardly louder than the roar of the distant demons, "I'd suggest staying out here for the duration of the next match."

"Huh?"

"Because the next one is mine." His head turned; he smirked, lip curling beneath his vivid scarlet eye. "And I guarantee that whatever disgust you felt at watching Kurama's display will multiply a hundredfold when I'm finished with my opponent."

"Um. OK." My brow furrowed. "But why are you telling me this?"

"I want to avoid having to clean your vomit off my shoes, Meigo," Hiei curtly intoned. "Why else?"

He didn't wait for me to reply, question clearly intended as rhetorical—but as he walked away and vanished inside the stadium, I had to wonder if that was really it. Was he just plain tired of my theatrics and wary of gross human drama queen vomit, or was he trying to keep me from another breakdown for my sake? Tough to say. Something made me suspect the former. But what Hiei didn't know was that there were other reasons I didn't want to go back into the stadium. Reasons far more pressing than the beating he intended to give to Bui, or even my desire to avoid another breakdown. Not that he'd stuck around to ask.

Alone again, I leaned my head on my hand and shut my eyes.

Much though I wanted to see canon play out—it was time to wait.

"So tell me again why you want to wait for the match to end from out here?" Botan asked, good-natured incredulity ringing in every syllable.

Yukina looked curious, as well, though she hid her expression behind the cup of water she'd been sipping from. Botan, Yukina and I sat upon the blanket I'd brought with us, sharing some of the snacks I'd jammed into my backpack. They'd come to check on me not long after Hiei left. The rest of the group, they said, went to watch Hiei's match. It was an interesting division of personality types, I mused, considering who worried the most about their friends and who prioritized the fights—not that it mattered to me either way. I was just glad to eat something, which helped settle my nerves.

"Oh," I said with a shrug as I reached for a container of grapes. "No reason, really."

Yukina smiled. "To be honest, I'm almost glad." But then her face fell. "Seeing Kurama-san so brutalized was…"

"Oh, Yukina, I'm so sorry." Botan reached of her, gripping the ice apparition's shoulder and giving her an expression of utter sympathy. "That must have been quite a shock."

"No." Yukina shook her head. "The reputation of this tournament is well known. But I have grown to become friends with all of you, if you don't mind me saying so. Seeing a friend in that condition…" She hesitated, but soon she added: "I can understand why Keiko reacted the way she did."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Well, I'm glad I didn't seem like a complete psycho."

"I suppose that answers my question," Botan muttered, looking at me askance. "Given how cut-throat Hiei can—urp."

Botan froze shortly after her hand flew to her mouth. Her magenta eyes held panic in their pupils, worry and fear in their irises and sclera. She tried not to shoot a furtive glance at Yukina, but she mostly failed in that regard. If Yukina didn't already suspect Hiei was her brother, then that reaction probably didn't help the preservation of secrecy much at all.

But Botan recovered as best she was able, soldiering on with panicked cheer. "What I mean is that we know next to nothing about this Bui character, so of course Keiko doesn't want to watch Hiei fight him!" Botan said, nervous laughter pouring from her lips. "If there's any chance of more bloodshed like we just witnessed, I don't blame you one bit for sitting this round out. Perfectly reasonable, says I!"

I swallowed the grape I'd been chewing, rolling another one back and forth between my fingertips. "That's… not the only reason," I said.

Yukina's head cocked to one side, strands of wintergreen hair falling softly across her cheek. "Oh?"

"What do you mean?" said Botan.

"Let's just say that out of all the power-ups that have happened in the past day or two, Hiei's is the most… dramatic."

As if summoned, something rumbled. Deep in the earth, reverberating through the air, the bottomless pulse seemed to buzz in my teeth like some cosmic electric drill. Botan and Yukina clearly felt it too, if the shock on their faces was anything to go by—and the shock deepened into horror as the sun above turned dim, clouds rolling and rushing too swiftly across the sky. Lightning cracked, platinum bolts striking down from the heavens in flashes of neon lilac and flame-heart blue. If we hadn't been sitting on our blanket, it surely would've been blown away by the force of the acrid and scorching wind that stripped past, turning Botan's powder blue hair the color of a drowned face in the odd and alarming midday twilight—and then there came the crash. A great booming crash that echoed through the earth, vibrating the ground beneath us with the force of shifting tectonic plates. Botan cried out and pointed upward into the air above the stadium, and when I turned to look, I beheld a column of dust rising from the structure like a swarm of locusts.

And then there was the Dragon.

I had seen the Dragon of the Darkness Flame before, just once, back in Hiei's botched match against Zeru. It had been an impressive sight, awe-inspiring and fear-inducing in equal, terrifying measure. This Dragon, however, put that former beast to absolute shame in both scope and size, power obvious even from a distance. It launched upward like an arrow fired from an enormous bow, pitch blame and glittering with crackles of dark blue and purple energy as it pierced the sky, flying heavenward with a roar that sounded like a million enraged screams all crying out at once. Yukina clapped her hands over her ears while Botan stared slack-jawed at its undulating form—and when it turned back upon the stadium, all three of us scrambled up and backward, sheltering with each other beneath the tree as it headed for the stadium again at full tilt. Another rumble and an even louder crash cut the air as it appeared to collide with the stadium, vanishing from view as it apparently returned to its master on the stadium's opposite side. Another cloud of dust rose from the building at that point, staining the purple sky with specks of destruction.

"How much of the stadium do ya reckon that destroyed?" I asked when the sky began to lighten back to blue, first navy and then royal, and finally to the pale of normalcy. "A quarter? A third? Maybe even half…"

"My word!" was all Botan could say.

Yukina tugged on my sleeve. "Is that…?"

"The Black Dragon," I told her. "Hiei's power."

"It's enormous!" said Botan, eyes still locked on the sky and the dust rising dark against it. "He managed to conjure it in the fight against Zeru, but to master it like this…. To unlock this much of its power…" Her eyes widened, a smile threatening her mouth. "After all the work he put into it, he must be just—"

"Had he been working on this for a while?" I asked.

"Since before I began training with him. I watched him make some initial attempts to summon the beast. But this…" She shook her head, as if struggling to understand what she had just seen. "That is so much more than the fight against Zeru."

"Do you suppose he won?" Yukina asked, voice hushed and tentative.

"With a blast that size, it's difficult to imagine that he didn't." Botan hopped from foot to foot, and then a grin truly broke across her features. She leapt in place, fists flying skyward. "Way to go, Hiei! You show 'em who's boss!"

Yukina waited for her to come back to earth and calm down before asking another question. "Botan," she said in that same, tentative tone of voice. "I realize this is not an opportune time, but may I ask you a few questions regarding Hiei's powers?"

"Oh?" Botan blinked at her, then smiled. "Well, I suppose that's fine."

Yukina nodded, matter-of-fact. "Hiei wields the Darkness Flame. I understand that is through the use of his Jagan Eye."

"That's right," Botan said.

"But he also has used mundane fire in combat." Fiery eyes so at odds with Yukina's cool demeanor searched Botan's face. "Is that accurate?"

"Yes, it is," Botan said, nodding like a bobblehead. "It's much easier to manipulate, especially in Human World—something Hiei had to experiment with for quite some time to find out."

Yukina considered this a moment. "Does that mean that Hiei is a fire apparition? He clearly has a natural affinity for flame."

Botan froze. "Oh. Well. Um." Her smile took on a slightly manic quality. "You'd have to ask him! I don't actually know much about Hiei's background, you see, and—"

"Don't you train with him?" Yukina said, voice a touch harder than before—and then her cheeks colored, hands flying to her mouth. "Oh! I apologize if I'm being presumptuous. I just thought…"

"It's fine, Yukina, really!" Botan said, doing her best to look breezy (though she undoubtedly didn't feel that way). "It's just… Hiei isn't the type to talk about himself. Or about anything, really." Her lips pressed together. "Unless it's about not following through when I swing a weapon, of course. If it's about that, I can't get him to stop talking."

"… I see."

Yukina fell quiet after that. Although she tried to hide her disappointment, the tense set to her eyes and lips gave the game away. I'd been glad she'd chosen to grill Botan instead of me about Hiei, considering the magnitude of the secret he demanded we all keep for him, but I still found myself stepping into the conversation at the sight of her bowed head. Curse me and my weakness for puppy eyes…

"Say, Yukina," I said. "What's got you so curious about Hiei and his powers?"

Her smile returned, if only a little bit. "Hiei is something of an enigma. Out of everyone I've met, he's the one I know the least about." Here she looked curiously at Botan. "Including why the two of you began training together. Yusuke has suggested it's quite the story, but…"

"It is." Botan looked away. "I just pray you never have to see why firsthand."

I wasn't accustomed to seeing Botan look quite so morose, so the tense cast to her expression struck me momentarily mute. Before I could ask what was eating her, however, a dull roar rose into the air—an angry roar, hundreds of voices all crying out with the same single-minded fury. But that could only mean one thing: Hiei had won, pissing off everyone rooting for Toguro (which basically meant everyone). Botan grinned at the sound, stretching her arms over her head with a groan of satisfaction.

"Well. That's our cue, if I've ever heard one!" she said. "What's say we head back in and survey the damage, girls?"

"Yes." Yukina nodded. "I would like to see how Hiei fared, myself."

Botan giggled, swiping the picnic blanket and food pack off the ground with a flourish. "And with that, we're off!" She pressed a hand between my shoulder blades, nudging me forward. "Lead the way, Keiko!"

"Oh. Uh, sure."

Inside, the first clue that something catastrophic had happened was the dust on the floor. A light hung from its socket in the ceiling from a single wire, gently swaying on the still air. The hallway leading past the locker rooms and to the general stadium was partially blocked by a demon who looked quite unconscious, trapped as he was beneath a long fluorescent light, metal casing and all, that had tumbled from its mooring and onto his unsuspecting shoulders. A few demons had gathered around him, quietly muttering about what to do. A large pushcart of water bottles lay upended and scattered throughout the hall, clearly having gone out of control when the light fell and struck its tender. We picked our way over the dust and past the fallen demon with care, heading for the secret door behind the concessions stand outside, and from there we headed for the stands—but even before we reached them, it was obvious something had changed. Bright light filtered into the part of the stadium underneath the upper levels, the concessions stand bathed in much more potent illumination that before.

But that was understandable consider Hiei had destroyed, at minimum, an entire third of the stadium.

The destruction began only a few sections away from where we'd originally been sitting with Shizuru and Atsuko. The walls and roof of the stadium were gone, edges ragged and full of precariously balanced chunks of stone and rebar. It was through there the sunlight poured, dust motes drifting like fireflies on the sunshine, and as we stood at the top of our seating section to marvel at the chaos, I had to shield my eyes from the sun. The ring in the stadium's center was in pieces, too. Not too far away from the wreckage of the ring, I spotted a group of figures I recognized. Gesturing to Yukina and Botan, I led the way down our section's stairs, mindful of the chunks of stone that had somehow landed upon them. A few demons in the section nursed wounds to their heads and shoulders; clearly I'd been right to not wait inside, because we surely would've suffered at least a little damage thanks to Hiei's vicious dragon.

And Koto agreed, apparently. She stuck her head out of her announcer's box when we neared. She wore a headset, and when she spoke, she curled her hand around the mic to muffle her voice.

"You were right, it turns out," she said. "They can hold their own, and I love it!" She shot the demons in the crowd behind us a look of savage joy. "Even if some of the fans are a little miffed that their odds-on favorite isn't in the lead already, of course, not to mention that Hiei sent half of them to the coroner."

I grinned. "Well, we aim to please."

She grinned back, but before we could really start talking, her grin faded. She pressed her hand to her headset and barked something into her mic, turning her back on us. She had work to do, it seemed, so we left her behind and jumped over the partition and onto the stadium floor. I kept a close eye on everyone who came close as we trekked over to our friends, but I didn't spot any signs of Team Toguro. Even Bui was missing, which made me a little sad. Would've been cool to see an underrated canon character in the flesh, but it wasn't a big deal. I had much, much bigger fish to fry just then.

As we came upon the rest of our group, I heard Atsuko give a loud moan. "Oh, man," she was saying as she stared forlornly at the busted ring. "A delay, and I'm all out of liquor."

Shizuru rolled her eyes. "Told ya to pace yourself."

"Geez, Mom," said Yusuke. "How much did you even drink?"

"Not enough. Not nearly enough!"

"Wait—you had a lion's share of alcohol left when we left earlier," Botan said. "Atsuko, did you really drink it all?"

Our friends turned to us, then, with various waves and hands lifted in greeting. Kuwabara scurried forward with a grin on his face. "Oh, hey Keiko! And Botan, and Yukina," he said. "Glad to see you back!"

Ignoring him, Atsuko gave another moan and informed Botan, "When Hiei got serious, demons panicked and ran away, and my stash got trampled!"

I grimaced. "Shit. Talk about a party foul."

Kuwabara blinked at me in confusion. "A what?"

Even Kurama looked confused. "I speak English, and even I'm not sure what that means."

"It's just an expression," I was quick to tell them, and I was even quicker to change the subject away from my unintended use of English slang. Trying not to look as nauseated as I felt, I said, "So, uh. At the risk of me having another breakdown, how'd that fight go?"

"Hiei won." Yusuke's head dipped, lips thinning into an inscrutable line. "But…"

My heart leapt into my throat. "But?"

"Well…"

He hesitated a moment longer, not meeting my eyes—but then his mouth twisted, one eyebrow rising, and the sound of a tire leaking air hissed from his nose. He couldn't keep a straight face for another minute, and soon even Kuwabara was chortling under his breath. They got their acts together when I glared daggers, telling them with my eyes to quit fucking around, and soon they jerked thumbs over shoulders toward something just behind them. I trotted forward, desperately casting about for—

I stopped short when I spotted him, and soon I was laughing, too.

Hiei lay on his back beside the broken ring, head pillowed on a slab of crumbling concrete. His eyes were closed, breathing slow and long and even—dead asleep from the looks of it. And in sleep his face had lost all of its serious creases, all tension and negativity vanished in favor of a shocking innocence that looked both natural and completely out of place on him. Not even Kurama was immune to the comedic effect of seeing Hiei in this vulnerable state, because when he caught my eye, even he couldn't resist a chuckle.

"Exhausted from his efforts, I'm afraid," he said, lips twitching at the corners. "But he won, and decisively at that."

"I'll say the little bastard won!" Yusuke crowed. "Blew the roof clean off this place in the process, too."

Kuwabara gave another chortle. "I'm just trying to keep myself from drawing a mustache on him, personally."

"Same." I put a hand over my heart, faking solemnity. "Just try to stay strong, Kuwabara. Don't want him using that dragon on us when he wakes up."

"I kinda think it might be worth it," he said, edging closer to Hiei. "Just one little mustache?"

"Maybe a monocle?" I said, unable to keep from playing along.

"And a pair of crazy eyebrows and a snaggletooth?" said Kuwabara.

"What happened to staying on Hiei's good side?" said Botan.

We ignored her. "All right, that settles it!" said Kuwabara.

"Who has a marker?" I said, and then our group—all of us; every last one—broke down into a fit of laughter. It felt good, that laughter. Even the dourest among us couldn't stave off the giggle infection, and as we laughed with the thrill of victory and humor alike, relief filled my lungs like a gulp of pure oxygen. I wore my grin without restraint, happiness like electricity in my veins.

Hiei had won his match just as he was supposed to. Just as canon dictated, he unleashed the new and improved Dragon of the Darkness Flame, destroyed half the stadium, and fell asleep with a win under his belt. Just like Kurama's match had gone to plan, so too had Hiei's. Only with far less blood, just as canon dictated once again.

Two fights down, and two to go.

We were so close to the finish line, I could taste it.

Making do with what we had, Kuwabara used a chunk of the broken ring as a makeshift study table. He'd spread his homework out before him in an array of worksheets and study guides, ink and pencil and highlighter dotting the pages like weird, eclectic rain. I sat across from him with the tournament rulebook opened on my lap, reading through it whenever Kuwabara didn't require my attention. I'd tried to persuade him to study in the locker room, rather than the middle of the noisy stadium, but no dice. He liked the natural light courtesy of the enormous window Hiei's dragon had opened in the side of the stadium, he said, and he'd study here.

"And besides," Kuwabara had argued. "What if the committee pulls some bullshit and says we're disqualified because we're late? Nah. Somebody's gotta stay here to keep an eye on things, and that somebody might as well be me."

Kuwabara, it must be said, is a stubborn individual. He camped out while the rest of our group scattered to the winds, most of them promising as they left to be mindful of the buddy system. There's a reason girls should go to the bathroom in groups, as I reminded Botan, Yukina and Atsuko.

But I had bigger things to worry about than my friends. Pointing at Kuwabara's massive spread of homework, I glowered at him and said, "Can't believe you haven't even touched your spring break homework yet, Kuwabara."

He didn't look up from his history papers. "I've had other crap on my mind lately, all right?" he said around the pen he held between his teeth. "Namely not getting murdered in the next fight."

"Wait a minute." My glower intensified. "Did you leave all of this till the last minute on purpose?"

"Well, yeah. Of course!" he said. "If I'm gonna die, I don't wanna have wasted my last days on a stupid English project." When I didn't protest (because he had a point, much though I didn't want to admit it) he shot me a cocky grin. "But since we're currently all tied up and I plan on mopping the floor with that one stringy-haired Toguro brother…"

"You have to get it done, after all."

"Better now than on the boat ride home, right?"

"Probably." I pointed at his homework again. "Though don't let those worksheets get close to the ring. Hard to explain bloodstains to your teachers."

"Duh." Kuwabara rolled his eyes. "I know that much from experience."

As he lapsed into silence, concentration keen on his homework, I leaned back against a chunk of stone that had formerly been a part of the fighting ring, fingers thumbing the edges of the rulebook sitting on my lap. It had been several hours since Hiei's match, and he still hibernated right where I'd found him when I returned to the stadium. He needn't worry about missing anything in order to nap, though. The busted ring had prevented us from proceeding to the next match. I knew from canon that Toguro would eventually cart the old ring from the first stadium all the way here, but I wasn't entirely sure how long that feat would take. Had it been four hours in the manga, or six? I couldn't quite recall. I just knew we had a long road ahead, and that studying the rulebook would keep my mind off of what was sure to come.

Kuwabara's match was next, after all. And it was going to be quite a doozy, to borrow a phrase from Botan. Just wished we didn't have such a long break between matches, because all this waiting was driving me a bit batty.

Not that Kuwabara agreed. "Remind me to thank Hiei when he wakes up," he said after a few minutes, tapping his homework with his pencil. "This break sure is nice… although putting off the inevitable kind of sucks, too."

"Just focus on your homework," I said—both to him and to myself. My hands tightened around the rulebook's cover. "Any idea if Yusuke's completed a single bit of his?"

"Ha!" Kuwabara slapped his knee. "Who the heck do you think you're talking about?"

"Point taken." I glanced around. "Where the hell is he, even?"

"Said something about taking a walk." Kuwabara shrugged. "Said he'd be back soon, though."

Unfortunately, he was not back soon, which meant I couldn't nag him about doing homework with us. About an hour passed and I saw no sign of him, though I continued to look every few minutes in case he decided to show his face. Nothing changed, though. Hiei continued to sleep on his rock pillow; Kurama sat near Hiei while reading a book, green eyes fixed on the page. I looked over at the pair of them more than a few times, and eventually one of my glances coincided with Kurama looking up. Our eyes met, and he gave me a quick nod. I waved back, then quickly buried my nose in the rulebook once again.

"Hey. Keiko?"

I jumped at the sound of my name, but it was only Kuwabara. "What's up?" I said, hoping like heck that I wasn't blushing or something embarrassing. "Need something?"

"Don't look and give it away, but…" He leaned forward, closing a little of the distance between us. "Can we talk about Kurama?"

I'm ashamed to admit that I froze solid, a chill skating up my back at his request. My anxiety brain spiraled to the worst case scenario at once, and for a terrifying second I wondered if he'd somehow seen the exchange Kurama and I had shared outside the locker room. Kuwabara's head hung low, expression dark, teeth worrying his lower lip. Oh god, had he seen it? I took a deep breath on reflex, not sure what to say, not daring to hope that I was wrong.

Luckily Kuwabara didn't leave me in suspense for long. He took a deep breath of his own, paused, then asked, "Does Kurama… does he have an issue with me or something?"

My mind went blank. "Huh?"

"You know." He shot a furtive glance my way before looking once more at his homework. "Does he have an issue with me? Like, does he not like me or something?"

"What are you talking about?" I said, flummoxed. "Of course he likes you. You're friends!"

But Kuwabara just sighed. "I thought that, too, but…"

"But what?"

"It's nothing big." Kuwabara shrugged. "Nothing I can really point at with a spotlight, if that makes sense. I've just been getting this feeling that Kurama… that he has some sort of problem with me."

"You don't have any examples of what you mean?"

His face grew a little ruddy at the question. "No, I do, it's just—it's just that they're small, so it might be that I'm overthinking everything. But I don't think I am." He waved vaguely at the air. "Last night in the team meeting, for instance, I said something about all of us getting killed, and he just… shrugged."

"He shrugged," I repeated.

"Well, I mean he said something, but it was basically a shrug," Kuwabara said. "Normally he'd say something kind of funny and smart that made me feel better, but he just didn't." His eyes darkened again, two black points in his lean face. "And then there was this morning."

"This morning?"

"Yeah, in the locker rooms. He brought up something I said last night, and then he just kind of laughed and walked out of the room before I could explain what I'd meant."

"Oh." My face screwed up as I thought back. "I think I actually remember that one."

"You do?" Kuwabara said, relieved. "I'm glad it's not just me, then."

"Yeah, but I thought he was just stressed, not that he was mad at you or something."

"Well, it's happened enough times for me to think he's mad, or at least annoyed, or something." His voice dropped lower, nearly to a whisper I had to strain to hear over the murmur of the crowd still left inside the fractured stadium. "And it's been happening ever since we figure out our parents might be dating."

"… I see." It took a bit of effort to keep my face neutral, but I did my best impression of a poker face to ask, "You think he's mad about that?"

"What else could this be about?" Kuwabara said. "He's been off ever since then, like he's icing me out or something." Looking down and away, he admitted, "But I haven't talked to Shizuru about it to see if he's the same way with her, though."

He made a good point. If Kurama really was salty about his mother dating Kuwabara's father, it made no sense that he'd be mad at Kuwabara but not Shizuru. And since Kurama had rejected my offer to talk about the situation regarding his mother, I got the feeling he wouldn't take kindly to Kuwabara marching over and demanding a heart-to-heart.

"I'd talk to Shizuru and see if she's been getting the same feelings as you," I said. "And I'd wait until this is all over to talk to Kurama himself about it." When Kuwabara's eyes narrowed, confusion turning down his lips, I added, "He's already finished with his match, but you can't be distracted during yours, so if this turns out to be a big deal, I don't think it's wise to go digging just yet."

"That makes sense," he relented, and then a smile broke across his face. "You always know what to do, huh?"

"Not always," I said at once. When he looked a little surprised at my vehemence, I smiled. "It's easier to see someone else's issues than it is to see your own, and it's much easier to give advice than it is to take it. Especially when that advice is your own. I don't always give myself the best advice, basically."

"But see?" Kuwabara said. "You even knew to say that!"

He started to say something else, but he stopped himself and picked up his pencil again. He didn't start writing, though. He just tapped the eraser against the papers before him, beating a quick, agitated rhythm against the stone beneath. Kuwabara didn't look at me, and the smile had leached from his face like water down a drain.

"What's wrong?" I said, because something obviously was. "Are you OK?"

Kuwabara looked at me from underneath his brow, barely able to meet my eyes. "He really hasn't brought any of this up to you?" he said. "None of it?"

"No." I shook my head. "No, he has not."

But Kuwabara didn't appear convinced. "You two are so close. Everyone can see it," he said after the smallest of hesitations. "So I guess I just thought…"

"I promise that he hasn't said a word, Kuwabara." Voice firm, gaze steady, I tried to look as sincere as possible, because something told me that's what Kuwabara was looking for. "It's true that we're close, but that doesn't mean he's in the habit of spilling his guts about everything, either." A beat, and then I admitted, "I did ask him about all of this, though."

Kuwabara's head jerked up. "You did?"

"Yes. And he changed the subject almost immediately." I smiled a smile that I hoped didn't look like a grimace. "Maybe he's waiting for all the dust to settle before talking to you about it, too."

"You're probably right," Kuwabara relented after a few seconds' thought. He made a face like he'd swallowed a mouthful of coffee grounds. "Though putting off telling the truth puts a bad taste in my mouth, even if I think it's the right thing to do."

My heart stuttered. "I can imagine," I murmured—and I tapped his homework with a fingertip, uncomfortable. "Now enough about that. You want me to check your work?"

"Would you?"

"Sure."

Gratitude filled his eyes and voice alike, warm and overflowing. "Thanks for everything, Keiko," Kuwabara said. "I mean it."

My brows shot up. "Hmm?"

"Just… thanks. For being there for me." His earnest expression had lightened his eyes up again, all traces of his earlier trepidation gone. "I'm glad we're friends. I'm glad we met when we did. And I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad to be here, too," I said—and because that look in his eye was far warmer than I wanted, I once more tapped the papers on the stone. "Now back to your homework."

"Right!" Lifting his pencil, Kuwabara declared with determination, "I'm gonna defeat it the same way I'm gonna defeat Toguro, just you watch!"

I knew in my gut he was right about that.

He had to be right about that—for all our sakes.

I was ready and waiting when Hiei's eyes finally cracked open, displaying ferocious red lines across his cooper skin. He didn't move for a moment. He lay perfectly still, surveying his surroundings like a cat stalking a bird—but when I leaned over him, he flinched.

"Hey, sleepyhead," I said. "You hungry?"

Hiei harrumphed and sat up, glaring at me until I produced a rice ball and a thermos of tea from my backpack. These he took without a word, but he didn't start eating. Instead he studied the thinned crowds of demons and the slant of the late afternoon sun, eyes widening a fraction when the reality of this sank in.

"What happened?" he demanded. "Did we win or lose?"

"Neither," I said. "Nothing's changed since your fight against Bui six hours ago."

"Six hours?" Now he really looked awake, eyes red and wide and full of fury. "Then who won the tournament?"

"No one." Kurama, who had walked up behind me, gave me a brief nod when I jumped, unnerved by his silent approach. "After your win, they called a halt to clear up the mess you made of the place."

Kurama looked pointedly behind Hiei at that, and Hiei turned to behold the missing section of stadium with a snort and a smirk, looking distinctly proud of himself. Like a cat that had successfully eaten a canary and would apologize to absolutely no one about it, more or less.

"Additionally, you kind of broke the ring into a hundred little pieces," I said, jerking my head toward the empty center of the arena floor.

"At first they were going to bring equipment in from the mainland to transport the ring from the old stadium to this one," Kurama added, "but Toguro volunteered to bring it, instead." His lips twitched at the corner as he suppressed a smile. "A tribute to your stunning efforts, Hiei."

"They've been busy clearing the rubble away in the meantime," I said, "and we just had a 30 minute warning to get to our seats. But we haven't actually seen Toguro and the ring yet—oh!"

I'd spoken too soon. A vibration lanced up my foot from the earth below, and then another followed, and another. Soon the thuds echoed on the air, too, audible as well as tactile as something very heavy plodded toward us. I knew exactly what it would be, and with my heart in my mouth I turned toward the broken portion of the stadium to watch Toguro's grand entrance. A hush had fallen over the crowd, and as the minutes wore on, soon a strange column of stone rose as Toguro climbed the slight incline leading into the broken side of the stadium. The enormous stone ring from the other stadium, perhaps two hundred feet in diameter, had been balanced precariously between the huge man's shoulder blades with precarious precision. He looked like an ant lugging around a manhole cover without effort, and as he toiled his way into the stadium, the demons began to howl their approval.

Out of nowhere, Yusuke and Kuwabara appeared, skidding to a stop beside us as they stared with open-mouthed amazement at Toguro's feat of strength. The girls arrived not long later, and only Shizuru had the self-control to keep her mouth from falling open at the sight.

"Holy cow!" Yusuke said.

Kuwabara had hone a bit pale. "What a monster."

"We heard him coming from all the way in the locker room and came running," Botan said, only a little out of breath. "And I'm glad we did, because I wouldn't believe this if I wasn't looked at it with my own two eyes!"

She was right about that; it was an utterly unbelievable event to witness, even more impressive in real life than it had been when rendered in the anime series. We watched in silence as the demons in the remaining stands hollered and hooted and carried on, cries growing louder and louder the closer Toguro came to the laying down the ring. Despite the baying demons, this felt like the calm before the storm. Clearly once this was over and the new ring had been installed, events would move at a blistering pace.

Was everyone ready for that?

Was I?

Yukina tugged on Botan's sleeve. "So does this mean the next match is about to start?" she asked. When Botan nodded, Yukina said, "We'd better go find our seats."

Shizuru tossed her cigarette butt and ground it into the arena dirt with her heel. "I'll walk you."

"Thanks," Botan said. "Well, girls. Let's—"

Before she could finish, Yusuke's eyes swept over us. "Hey, wait a sec—where's my mom, anyway?" he said as he took a few steps in our direction. "Wasn't she with you?"

Botan rolled her eyes, looking for all the world like a tired kindergarten teacher. "She heard a rumor about someone selling moonshine on the upper decks, and she ran off before I could catch her."

And Yusuke rolled his eyes, too. "That booze hound," he said, but without any venom. "Can't even watch her own son's match without chugging something alcoholic!"

"She'll be back," I told him with a smile. "She wouldn't miss this for the world."

But he didn't look particularly convinced. "She'd better not," was all he said, and he turned to march to the edge of the arena, where he waited with back pressed against the partition between the audience and the fighting ring.

It was a clear dismissal, if I ever saw one. Waving at Yusuke (who only nodded in return), I gave Kurama and Hiei a nod before favoring Kuwabara with a winning grin. He shot me a thumbs up and an enormous smile at the sight, cocky as I'd ever seen him.

"Don't sweat it, Keiko. I've got this one in the bag!" he said.

"I know you do," I said. "See y'all on the other side."

"Kick their butts!" Botan added.

"Good luck," said Yukina.

"Try not to die, baby bro," Shizuru said—and when he sputtered something about jinxing him, she laughed and led the rest of us away, back toward our place in the stands.

Not long later, there came a terrific crash as Toguro lowered the ring to the ground. He had perfect control of the heavy circle of stone, but given how heavy the ring was, dirt born on a cold burst of air still stung our faces and back. I shoved Yukina and Botan ahead of me, trying to shield them a little from the wave of debris. When it died down, I turned to ask Shizuru if she'd fared OK—but she wasn't just behind me like I'd thought she was. Instead I found her a good twelve feet behind us, staring back the way we'd come at her brother's retreating figure.

"Shizuru?" I said. "What's wrong?"

She didn't turn around. "Just hoping my brother pulled a leaf out of your book and meant what he said."

"What?"

She shook her head. "The elder Toguro approached him earlier, after Hiei's match. You were still outside when it happened. It was an act of intimidation, and I hate to say that it worked. Kazuma's been jittery ever since." She looked at me over her shoulder for a moment, but only just. "You calmed him down a little, though."

I looked away, embarrassed. "He's gonna be fine. Promise."

Shizuru didn't say anything for a little while. Her hands wandered to her pockets, and she pulled out a cigarette and lit up with easy, practiced fingers.

"I hope you're right," was all she said. "You usually are." A breath of blue smoke filled the air, hazy and dim. "But this time, I really need you to be right."

Without another word, she walked past me and up the steps toward our seats in the stands. Yukina and Botan were already there by the time we caught up; our seats had been saved by a few demons Shizuru had intimidated into subservience, so we had no issue sitting back down and preparing for the next match. There was no sign of Atsuko, however, but she was typically late to most things, so this wasn't terribly alarming in and of itself. I put her to the back of my mind as we fell into tense silence, watching and waiting as demons filled the remaining seats across all of the unbroken sections still left in the dissected stadium. On the die of the stadium now missing… y'know, walls and stuff? Demons filled the gap there, held back from rushing the ring by a strand of guards in blue uniforms. These demons cried out the loudest, screaming to be let in closer so they could smell the rotten humans' blood.

My pulse beat a little quicker when I picked up on a chant rising from some of the demonic onlookers. 'Kill Yusuke, kill Yusuke!' rang out like a hundred struck bells, and my knee began to jiggle up and down in time with their horrible cries. My heartbeat ran at an exhausting pace to match. All at once I could smell roasting meat from various concessions stands, and the reek of unwashed bodies, and the scents of old blood and disturbed earth. My mouth tasted of dust and stone and the sour taste of anxiety. The air felt cold despite the spring day outside, and the light streaking into the stadium burned my eyes like they'd been doused in saltwater.

It's no wonder, then, that I noticed when the lights inside the stadium dimmed; even the smallest reduction in light felt good, although the effect of that was somewhat diminished when the jumbotron above the ring flickered to life. The TV was badly damaged, picture on it thread and full of static, but we could still discern the shape of Juri's pretty face as she raised a microphone to her mouth.

"And now," she said, words full of grave importance, "the moment you've been waiting for… the third match of the Dark Tournament finals is about to begin!"

The reaction was as immediate as it was unmistakable: The demons in the stadium flipped the hell out, screaming and roaring and booing and cheering in a cacophony of discordant noise. They roared louder when a spotlight in the rafters burst into being, illuminating the forms of the two Toguro brothers and Sakyo standing to the north of the ring. The short and slender form of the elder Toguro separated from them a moment later, leaping into the ring before stalking slow toward its center, spotlight trailing him all the while.

"And in this corner," Juri said, "we have the representative for the favorites to win this whole thing—a fighter known for his brutality and viciousness, it's the elder of the Toguro brothers!"

The demons around us screamed even louder than before. Botan grabbed my hand and gripped it tight, fingers digging into my palm like a warm and fleshy vice. But then another spotlight flickered on, pool of illumination trained upon the shapes of Team Urameshi standing to the ring's due south.

"And opposite him, we have the fighter from the tournament's dark horse team, and one of only three humans participating in this year's matches," Juri said, voice booming over the PA system as Kuwabara broke away from his friends. "He's an underdog with a shoddy track record, but still—give it up for Kuwabara of Team Urameshi!"

As Kuwabara climbed into the ring, the demons screamed again. The tenor of these screams rang differently than the previous, peppered by booing and hissing and screams for death and the breaking of bones. Kuwabara met the screams with two middle fingers to the sky, strutting into the ring with the ends of his white coat billowing behind him on an unfelt wind. I laughed aloud at the sight, although the sound vanished beneath the tide of the demons' roar. Shizuru, meanwhile, stared a few nearby demons into silence. These demons raised a meek chorus of cheers for Kuwabara, instead, though hardly anyone could them.

"It's a match with a clear favorite to win, but we've been surprised before, and anything can happen here at the Dark Tournament." Koto's voice boomed above the demons' like thunder. "So without further ado… let the third match of the final round, begin!"

Botan's hand tightened around mine, and this time, I gripped it back—because down in the ring, Kuwabara had reached into his pocket and raised something high into the air. The jumbotron depicted the sword hilt in his hand in all its simple glory, but the picture wavered and warped when Kuwabara summoned his Spirit Sword. At once, I could see why. It didn't look anything like the sword Kuwabara had summoned in his previous matches. This one glowed brilliant copper instead of watery yellow, radiating rainbow sparks so bright I had to shield my eyes from its luminous luster. Given the way the others gasped, the sword must have been even brighter in their eyes, and around us, demons innumerable shrank back from the sight, seemingly burned by its light even from a distance.

But Kuwabara was no distance fighter. Sword summoned, he launched himself forward with a yell of fury, sprinting full-tilt across the ring toward the elder Toguro's black-clad figure—and when he brought the sword down in a swinging arc, the elder Toguro brother did not move. The sword cut him in half from shoulder to opposite hip with a spray of bright red blood, discrete halves of his body sagging in opposite directions.

Kuwabara stared at the elder Toguro in disbelief. So did everyone else in the stadium. For a second, no one—demons and humans and announcers alike—said a word. But then Koto's voice boomed once more over the PA, disbelief and bloodlust waging war in her bright tirade.

"I don't believe it!" Koto said. "He did it! He actually did it! Kuwabara lands the first strike with his Spirit Sword, a vicious slash that—wait a second!?"

It's a testament to Koto's reflexes that she saw what was happening with such speed. The ground thirty feet behind Kuwabara buckled, and in a shower of stone that spot exploded, lances of weird, fleshy matter streaking through the air toward Kuwabara's exposed back. Even with Koto's cry of warning, Kuwabara couldn't react in time, although he tried to. The spears that had erupted from the ground struck him in the side and shoulder, piercing his body until blood like blooming roses stained the white fabric of Kuwabara's coat. Kuwabara stumbled, sword vanishing in a crack of light, going down in a heap as the lances retracted, blood spurting from his wounds like miniature geysers. The jumbotron depicted it all in agonizing detail, just as it captured Toguro's cleft-in-twain form disappear, sucked down into the stone ring and out of sight. The stone of the ring buckled and broke, cracking as something moved beneath its surface, Toguro's body and the strange spears meeting only a few feet away from Kuwabara's kneeling form. Then, like a creature from the black lagoon, Toguro rose from the rubble of the ring, body whole and hale.

But his right hand wasn't that—whole or hale or even a hand, really. From Toguro's arm sprouted a bulbous, man-sized mass of flesh shaped precisely like… himself. Another life-size Toguro attached to Toguro's arm in place of his hand, this one cut in two from Kuwabara's strike. The fingers of his other hand were just as grotesque, lengthened past the point of sanity and extending into the cracked ring. These were what he had used to stab Kuwabara, body manipulated into a distorted weapon unthinkable.

"I can't believe it!" Koto screamed. "The Elder Toguro manipulated his body to create a clone of himself—well, a body double extension? I'm not sure what the term for it actually is, people, but it looks like he hid his real body under the ring and made a clone of himself out of his hand, all so he could lull Kuwabara into a false sense of security and attack him from behind!" The jumbotron cut to an image of Toguro's grinning face, stringy grey hair and beady black eyes the very image of sadism and evil—and that's before he started liking Kuwabara's blood off of his elongated fingers. Koto shrieked, "How demented! I love it!"

Shizuru, unaffected as always, only muttered, "He's a sneaky bastard, I'll give him that."

"Kuwabara can't afford to let down his guard again," Botan said, hand still a vice around my own. "But luckily it looks like it was just a flesh wound."

I couldn't reply to either of them. I just stared in morbid silence as Kuwabara rose to his feet, summoning his sword a second time, my heart galloping at max speed against the cage of my too-tight ribs. I gripped Botan's hand right back, my nails digging into her so hard I saw her wince—but before she could say a word, the jumbotron above the ring flickered. I braced myself for some close-up shot of Kuwabara's wounds, or perhaps of his agonized face, but that didn't come. Instead there came a burst of feedback, a ripple of static, and then the image coalesced into something else entirely.

"What the heck?" Koto said over the PA as a single yellow eyeball filled the screen. "Who the hell are you supposed to be?"

The face on the jumbotron pulled back a hair, yellow eye joined by a second, along with a slotted reptilian nose and skin pattered with glittery blue scales. The demon—because it had to be a demon—tapped on the camera lens a few times, fingertip almost blotting out the jumbotron's screen.

"Hey. Hey!" he said, voice a rasp of sandpaper on plaster. "Can you hear me over there?" Another tap or two. "Hello-oh?"

Down in the ring, Kuwabara's hand fell to his side. Even Toguro stared up from the ring with eyes narrowed, intent upon the screen as the lizard-man pulled back a little more. Another lizard stood beside him, the pair crowded into the frame. The new guy was purple instead of blue, but otherwise, they looked almost identical.

"Camera looks like it's on," the blue one said. "But—"

The purple guy tapped at his ear; an earpiece, probably. "Yeah, we got a live feed." He spread his hands out in welcome, staring at the camera with an enormous, toothy grin. "Hi, all you tournament fans out there. Enjoying the show?"

Unimpressed, Shizuru muttered, "What the hell is this?"

"Hey, this is my tournament, not yours!" Koto yelled. "Get off my screen, now!"

The demons ignored her entirely, blue demon picking up where his purple friend left off. "I hope you're having a great time, but it's about to get a whole lot better, because we've got a special message for Yusuke Urameshi we'd like to share."

One of the jumbotron's other screens flashed, bringing up a shot of Yusuke's startled face.

"A gift, you might say," said Blue from the other screen.

"Yeah," said Purple. "A gift from us to you!"

"A gift?" Botan said, staring aghast at the lizard demons. "What in the world are they—?"

The demons stepped aside.

Botan's jaw snapped shut with a click of teeth.

"Oh." Yukina's hands flew to her mouth, covering it with shaking finger. "Oh, no!"

Behind the demons sat a chair, and bound to it with lengths of knotted rope sat a human. A familiar human, head hanging on the end of her neck, curtain of dark hair hiding her face from view. Still, I knew exactly who she was even before a third demon—a red lizard, this time—grabbed her by the chin and forced her face upright. She wrenched her chin away from him and glared, though the intimidating effect was somewhat diminished since one eye had swollen nearly shut beneath a spreading bruise. She continued to glare even as he lifted a clawed hand and placed it at her throat, favoring the camera with a horrible, ghoulish grin.

"Botan." Her name slipped out on an exhale, so quiet it's a wonder she heard me at all. "How long ago did you say she ran off looking for beer?"

"A—a while." Botan's face had paled to the color of sour milk. "But I thought she had just gotten lost, or—"

But Purple started talking again, cutting her off with his booming voice. "For the demons out there who don't understand what this big reveal means, exactly, or who this lovely lady is…"

"This is the fragile human mother of none of than Yusuke Urameshi!" said Blue with undisguised relish. "Say hi to your fans, sweetie!"

Atsuko spat at his feet. "Fuck you!"

"Oh, a spitfire!" said Red, grinning down at her. "We like that in a hostage, don't we, boys?"

"You can say that again!" Purple yelled back, and whatever Blue said after that was lost to the din of the crowd. The demons around us, now caught up and in the loop, had all begun to bellow and scream at once, yelling that this served the dirty humans right and that they should kill the woman and be done with it. As if hearing them, Atsuko shot a middle finger at the camera and then tried to bite a chunk out of Red's arm, but he dodged away before she could sink her teeth in. In retaliation, Red grabbed her by the hair and jaw, grinning at the camera as he smashed his fingers into her bruised face.

"Well, Urameshi! What're you waiting for?" he cooed. "Your dear old mama ain't got much time left, ya feel me?"

"So you'd better hurry, or your mom might not live to see you fight!" Purple added with a cackle.

On his screen, Yusuke's livid face turned nearly the color of Purple's scales. "What the hell kind of game are you playing, Toguro?" he bellowed, voice caught on some hidden microphone and broadcasted for all the world to hear. "I thought you wanted a real fight! This is dirty and you know it!"

Purple (who apparently could hear us, somehow) shook a finger at the camera. "Oh, don't be mad at him, Urameshi. He ain't got nothin' to do with this."

Yusuke retorted, "Then that goddamn committee had better—"

The camera cut away from him and to the younger Toguro, standing beside Sakyo at the edge of the ring. "It's not their doing, either, considering they're all dead. I killed them myself," he said in his deep voice, and murmurs rippled through the crowd at this revelation. "And rest assured that this is not what I had in mind when it came to our eventual faceoff."

The crowd reacted with confusion at that, whispering amongst themselves at this strange turn of events—the turn of events that had turned my stomach to a mass of quivering knots even before they revealed Atsuko strapped to that chair, a hostage held who knows where and by captors unknown. But as the camera cut back to Yusuke's face, eyes colored by grief and fear and anger all at once, the numbness spreading throughout my chest broke into two sharp pieces. I jolted from my seat and took the stairs two at a time down toward the ring, stopping only at Koto's announcement booth along the way. She opened it when I neared, shock on her face almost a match for mine.

"Hey! Hey!" I said, hunkering down outside the booth to glare up at her confused face. "Do you know what this is about? Who's doing this?"

"No. No, I don't," she said, and then her expression turned toward fury. "But I will personally maim and murder whoever did this! We came here to see fights, not family dramas! Forget Yusuke, because I am going to kill—"

Above us, Blue's smarmy voice boomed, "Oh Urameshi? You still there, or are you gonna come rescue your sweet little mommy, huh?"

His taunts sounded satisfied. Oily. Unctuous and self-assured—and as he gave another cackle, and as Koto's eyes lit up with understanding as sudden as it was strange, it clicked for me, too. Although Koto had started to speak to me again, I didn't wait to listen. I already knew what she was going to say, and I pelted away for her and leapt over the partition and down into the ring, bolting toward the spot where Yusuke stood with Kurama and Hiei beside the ring. He had just started to peel away from Kurama and Hiei when I reached him and threw my arms around his bicep, thanking my lucky stars that I'd managed to reach him in time.

"Yusuke," I said. "Yusuke, wait!"

"Wait for what, Keiko?" he said, shoving at me and squirming, trying to wriggle from my grip. "For them to kill my goddamn mom?"

"Just listen to me—!"

"Hey!" said Red, voice a booming sneer in the too-hot stadium air. "We not make it clear enough that we're gonna gut your mother like a fish if you don't come and find her, huh?"

"She's not far away, you know!" Blue jeered. "You could track her down if you tried, we promise."

"But just in case the look on her face isn't persuasive enough…" said Purple.

We looked up in time to see Purple grab the camera, carrying it with a jolt and a bounce in Atsuko's direction. The field of view plummeted and swept along the floor in a dizzying shot of red carpet shot through with threads of gold, and soon he lifted it high and trained it on Atsuko's face. A hand tipped in claws entered the picture a second later, reaching for Atsuko's cheek so it could—

Something in me spasmed. I looked away just in time to avoid seeing them cut her cheek open, but judging from the look of horror and fury on Yusuke's face, he had no such luck. He watched through open, unblinking, irate eyes as Atsuko's bellow of pain rent the air, the demons in the stadium raising a chorus of cheers to the sky at the tortured sound. But then Atsuko's scream quieted, and there came the unmistakable sound of someone hocking a loogie, and I looked up in time to see her spit it directly into Red's disgusted face. Immediately he retaliated with a punch, her head lolling again from the force of his closed fist.

"We like spitfires," said Red with cold detachment, "but we don't like them that much."

"Son of a bitch, get your goddamn hands off of my mother!" Yusuke roared.

But Blue just winked. "Save that fury for us, huh?"

"You'd better hurry, or your mom might not live to see you fight!" added Purple.

"Say bye bye now, sweetheart!" said Red, grabbing Atsuko's hand so he could force her to wave it.

"Bye bye!" said Blue, and then the feed went dead.

The light had died in Yusuke's eyes by that point, too. "That does it," he said with the cold quiet of a killer on the hunt. "Let go of me, Keiko. Let go of me right now."

I didn't reply, nor did I comply. Not right away, at least, and that was too long for Yusuke—for this suddenly dead-eyed young man, whom I had never seen look this way before. But then the chill in his gaze warmed a bit, and there was the Yusuke I knew and loved once more, standing before me with uncertainty and agitation.

"She's my mom, Keiko," he growled. "I gotta go track her down and stick my foot right up those sorry demons' assho—"

"Yusuke, wait!" The words burst forth like a firework, spitting and hot. "You can't go! You'd be giving them what they want!"

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"They're baiting you into leaving. You, specifically—the team captain." I gestured at the stadium, over at Koto, at the jumbotron and the roaring crowd. "If a team captain abandons the stadium for any reason once a match has started, it's grounds for team disqualification."

He did a double-take. "Wait, what? How do you even know that?"

"Koto gave me a copy of the rulebook and I've been doing my best to memorize it," I explained in a mad rush. "I'm just lucky I read the section about this in time; that thing's a doorstopper!"

But Hiei did not appear convinced. "So you say," he said, tossing his hair with disdain, "but Toguro didn't even show up to half of his team's fights."

"There's no penalty if a caption doesn't show up—only if he leaves," Kurama said, looking at me with grim determination. "And the committee, rest their souls, never pulled a card on him the way they enjoyed pulling one on us. They no doubt cut slack, in his case."

"But if the committee's dead, who's gonna make that call then, huh?" Yusuke retorted. "No one, that's who."

"Actually, Koto might. Juri might, too," I said. "They're dedicated to this insane spectacle, committee or no committee. So you can't leave." I clung to him harder, shaking my head over and over again. "I know you feel like you need to, but you can't! You just can't!"

He started to reply.

Someone else spoke first.

"She's right, you know," came that taunting, wheedling voice I very quickly would not be able to stand. He spoke with maddening calm and ponderous pace, every word a knife he meant to twist for maximum infliction of pain. "Leave now, Urameshi Yusuke, and you might just have to watch all of your little friends die… because if we win, their deaths will be the subject of my winner's wish."

The elder Toguro loomed and leered not far from us, just on the edge of the ring nearest where we stood. He greying skin stretched around the shape of his distorted grin, eyes glinting with sadistic glee as he stared down the length of his long nose in our direction. Kuwabara had run up behind him, but he stood a few paces back with sword raised, watching with confusion as Toguro giggled, shoulders jouncing under the cover of his dark suit.

But Kurama wasn't fazed by the giggle, the glare or his cutting words. He just raised his head and said, words cold as a knife in a glacier, "Judging by that ugly smile on your hideous face, you know who's behind this. Don't you, Toguro?"

Toguro laughed again, a cackle that sounded like dead leaves and cracking bones. "My younger brother might want a fair fight, but I have never been one to turn down an advantage."

"So this is your doing!" Kurama spat.

"This is low, even for you!" Kuwabara shouted.

"For once, the oaf and I are in agreement," Hiei said, a wall of heat pulsing from his body in a scalding rush. "I knew you had no honor, but to resort to this spectacle is sheer cowardice and nothing more."

Yusuke moved to the front of our group, walking toward Toguro step by measured step. Even my mundane eyes couldn't mistake the glow building in his fingertip for anything other than what it was; I let go of his arm, watching with hand pressed to my mouth and heart beating like a jackhammer as he stalked toward the man who had, apparently, had some hand in kidnapping his mother.

"What?" Yusuke said, the word an icy bullet—one broadcasted loud and clear through the PA system, his face a mask of cold fury on the jumbotron. "You know we're about to kick your asses, so you pull some lame James Bond villain stunt like this? Not confident enough in your own power; is that it?"

Toguro raised his head with another insane giggle. "It's not my power that's in question."

"The hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you're not asking the right questions, nor are you asking them of the right people." His head listed to one side, angle deranged and smile revolting. "But then again, you've been kept so very in the dark, haven't you, Urameshi?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Yusuke fired back.

But Toguro just smiled. He lifted a finger. He lifted it high into the air, and then he brought it down in a single, decisive point even more deadly than the strikes his fingers had landed on Kuwabara.

He wasn't pointing at Yusuke, though.

He wasn't point at Kurama, or even Hiei.

He was pointing past them—straight, it seemed, at me.

"Why don't you ask her?" Toguro said with another sickening, simpering giggle. "Pose that question to your little friend there, clinging to your arm, fighting so desperately for you to stay. Ask—Keiko, was it?" He laughed again. "Ah, yes. Ask Keiko. Because she knows exactly what I'm talking about."

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then, as one, they turned to face me—and I, at long last, had to face the music.

Notes:

I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS FOR THREE GODDAMN YEARS—

Ahem.

BIG CONGRATS TO ALL WINNERS of the CHAPTER 100 GIVEAWAY! The winners are as follows:

GRAND PRIZE, winner of the YYH Steelbook plus a one-shot: MUSIQUEMER

1st PRIZE, winner of the $25 Amazon card (courtesy of Moongeist) plus a one-shot: MISS IDEOPHOBIA

2nd PRIZE, winners of one-shots of their choosing: MIDKNIGHT OWL, STERLING BEE, KUESUNO and ELEMENTICY

I will be contacting all winners, so please be looking out for my message (or send one to me if you feel like it and are bored, haha) for details on how to claim your prizes. I ended up extending the second place prize from three to four winners because I accidentally pulled an extra name, saw who it was and felt too bad to put it back. I WOULD HAVE LIVED WITH THE GUILT FOR YEARS. What this says about me as a person, I have no idea! XD

Seriously, though: You are all winners in my book. I'm so thrilled to have heard from you on chapter 100, and it seriously made my day to have you here to celebrate this milestone. I am infinitely grateful to each and every one of you for your support. I'll try to hold another giveaway (perhaps at my million word milestone) in the future, because it's the least I can do to pay back this fandom for all of the love it's shown Lucky Child. I love you all to pieces, and to the stars and back!

Huge, enormous, unending thanks to these folks for coming out in support of chapter 100: MidKnightOwl, BastetWrites, CaliforniaArchivist, zoostitcher89, NatsumeCross, allyallyonthewall, SapphireStream, casjowar, Konkubus, Unctuous, Moron1, ShiaraM, Bzzzz, I_Am_IronMaiden, DragonsTower, Paddygirl, MyMindIsTellingMeNo, Tactile, ashez2ashes, Gerbilfriend, FabulousElvinBiatch, RobinMarlesuth, COLRALYION, Alphabeti-Spaghetti, Vinlala, RainbowWordStrings, Sdelacruz, Ms_Liz, meow, Altered-Karma, Second_Lady_of_Shalott, WhitneyWonton, EtherealZenith, Not_Quite_A_Morning_Person, NotQuiteAnonymous, Nollyn, forever_kouhai, rosethornli, SirisDerp, JestWine, musiquemer, Reviewer, sanguinary_tide, Elementicy, Durinsdottir, scallionite, Mitsuneko, TheFictionFairy, SerinSykes, SaveDarkSkies, Cptkitten, theNewDesire, yuuulie, Chaosdreamingsiren, ViviCarLover, Silverfox8080, curaga, forestofbabel, RoseyRed999, Sarcastically Dances, Potterinu, TheInterim_VectorChronos!

And additional unending thanks to these fine folks and friends for leaving a comment on chapter 101: CaliforniaArchivist, zoostitcher89, DragonsTower, silverpaper_toffeepaper, Han, Ms_Liz, Cptkitten, Unctuous, Sdelacruz, sanguinary_tide, allyallyonthewall, Vinlala, JestWine, MidKnightOwl, Not_Quite_A_Morning_Person, Konkubus, ShiaraM, Gerbilfriend, musiquemer, TokiMirage, meow, Mitsuneko, scallionite, mustachio, ChaosdreamingSiren, NotQuiteAnonymous, TheFictionFairy, rosethornli, Empressivallydone, Whitney Wonton!

I think/hope that's everyone. Sincere thanks, once again, because you guys literally make my world go 'round. I could not have written this much this fast without you, and I look forward to the rest of this journey with you. I love you all to pieces. Thanks so much for ready Lucky Child. With you, I'm a lucky girl indeed.

Chapter 103: The Dark Tournament Finals, Round 3 (or "The Wrong Damn Girl")

Summary:

In which NQK tries to make things right.

Notes:

Warnings: Violence

THIS HAS NOT BEEN EDITED. I'll go back and do it tomorrow, but I'm tired, so it'll have to wait. Consider this your warning…

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Emerging from the dark of the wing and into the glare of the spotlight raised gooseflesh on my arms and calves, but I didn't hesitate despite the frantic beat of my heavy heart. My heeled shoes clicked over the wooden stage, sound echoing out toward the almost-empty theater like the tick of a frantic clock. I hit my mark in only a few seconds, although the cross from wing to center stage felt like it took an hour. Once there, I raised my head and pushed my shoulders back, staring forward with a smile forced upon my face.

I said my name, first. I announced that I was a first soprano. And I named the song I would be singing for this audition. Immediately an unseen piano player's fingers danced across some hidden keys, the intro to my song lilting joyfully into the air. I waited for my cue in silence, throat thick, resisting the urge to scratch an itch on my face and wipe away the sweat beading on my brow. God, the spotlight was hot. Was I sweating? Would sweat show on my crisp white shirt, the bland audition garment my mother had painstakingly ironed that morning? Was that iron as hot as these lights? She wouldn't let me iron the shirt by myself. I was only thirteen, after all. Old enough to audition for a musical, but not old enough to—

The piano player stopped playing, because I had missed my cue.

My heart stuttered, worse than before. "Sorry—"

From the audience, a man's deep voice murmured, "Again, from the top."

The pianist struck of the one-man band once more. I waited, clearing the chatter from my head, concentrating on the beats, waiting for my cue—but my heart hammered against my ribs, bile rising in my throat, embarrassment heating my ears near to burning. But I felt the cue when it came, and dutifully I opened my mouth.

All that came out was a croak.

The piano player stopped playing. Someone rustled papers, a pen tapping restlessly upon a table. Someone else coughed, impatience muffled by good manners.

The unseen man in the audience murmured, "One more time."

The pianist played. I waited. When my cue came, I tried to sing.

Nothing came out, that time.

I turned and walked out of the spotlight and into the cool, comforting dark of the waiting wing.

Beside the ring during the third round of the Dark Tournament finals, I stood trapped in a spotlight from which there could be no escape.

My friends were all looking at me. I knew that intellectually, although at the moment I couldn't turn my head to check. The demons in the stadium roared. I knew that intellectually, but I could hardly hear them over the pounding in my chest. My eyes and ears stayed locked on the elder Toguro's thin and leering face, his grimy grey hair framing his face like corded cobweb. How did he know about me—and what was his motive for turning my friends against me? How much did he know, anyway? Although Atsuko's kidnapping was not canon, my alarm regarding that little wrinkle had taken a momentary backseat. Toguro's vicious grin couldn't be denied, but much though I wanted to pepper him with questions and accusations, my tongue had turned to lead in my mouth.

I just stood there. Frozen. Wishing to speak but wholly incapable, caught in a spotlight I hadn't asked for.

And this suited Toguro just fine. He giggled, a sound like a hammer striking fine china. "Your lack of reply certainly is interesting," he said in his simpering, wheedling voice. "An innocent would be angry to stand so accused, but you're nothing but a quivering deer beneath the scorching light of truth." His sharp chin dipped, eyes two malicious golden chips in his sallow face. "Too stunned to try and convince your friends that you have no idea what I'm talking about? I'll bet you'd go so far as to deny to know who masterminded the kidnapping of your dear friend's mother, even though they are a mutual friend of ours."

Yusuke grabbed my elbow, none too gently, but not hard enough to hurt. "You know who took my mother?" he said, voice rising with every syllable. "Keiko, do you know who took her?"

From his place in the fighting ring, Kuwabara called out, "He's gotta be lying! Right, Keiko? Toguro is lying, isn't he?"

I replied to neither of them, still staring at the smirking, sneering, simpering elder Toguro brother. 'A mutual friend,' he'd said. My first thought had been that the committee was behind Atsuko's abduction, given the committee had been so intent on screwing us over in previous matches—but the younger Toguro brother had already said he'd butchered the committee entirely. And this was true, although I'd forgotten that bit of canon until he'd said it. The committee hardly constituted a 'mutual friend' of mine and Toguro's anyway, which made the next obvious choice of abductor none other than Hiruko… but did the elder Toguro actually know Hiruko? And what could my outing at Toguro's hands achieve for Hiruko, anyway? I wasn't sure, but if I had to pick someone other than Hiruko to mastermind Atsuko's kidnapping, who else could it possibly be?

As I stood there, caged in a prison of my own thought, Yusuke and Kuwabara peppered me with questions I didn't have the presence of mind to truly hear. Soon Kuwabara took to yelling at the elder Toguro to shut his damn mouth and Yusuke started saying something about how the elder Toguro could go fuck himself in an isolated corner somewhere, but I hardly heard that, either—because across the stadium, a glint of light on metal had caught my eye. Sakyo stood on the other side of the ring playing with a cigarette lighter, flipping it open and shut with smooth rotations of his nimble fingers and quick wrists. He smiled when he caught me staring, the merest twitch of his lips telegraphing a friendly enough greeting.

Sakyo. Sakyo could be behind all of this, too. He knew Hiruko, and he had learned enough about me from Hiruko to want to abduct me for an interrogation. He could've told the elder Toguro something about how odd I was, and Sakyo counted as a mutual friend of mine and Toguro's more easily than Hiruko. Perhaps he had told Toguro everything. Perhaps he had kidnapped Atsuko and commanded Toguro to out me in an attempt to fracture and distract my team.

Or did it even matter, who was behind all of this? This was happening, whether I liked it or not, and solving the mystery of who had caused it wouldn't stop this train from careening disastrously from its track.

Perhaps he sensed the tang of desperation draping my head like a black cowl, because the elder Toguro giggled again. "You see the truth in her eyes?" he said in that horrible, smug voice of his. "Even now she's too composed, eyes darting this way and that as she searches for an excuse. An out. A justification for things for which there is no other explanation." He grinned, teeth unnervingly sharp in his all-too-human face. "I dare say she even knows where Atsuko is being held."

Once more, Yusuke rounded on me. "Is that true, Grandma?" he snarled.

My voice returned like someone had flipped a switch inside my brain. "No. Absolutely not," I spat back, glaring at Toguro, trying to exude confidence and sincerity—but my hands shoved deep into the pocket of my hoodie, a defensive gesture I immediately regretted. Trying to sound braver than I felt, I added, "I have no idea where Atsuko—"

Inside my pocket, my fingers curled around something unexpected—and I froze.

The elder Toguro didn't notice, too busy leering at Yusuke to pay me attention. "Urameshi. You should further ask yourselves why neither Hiei nor Kurama has said a word thus far." His head listed sideways, deranged and cavalier. "What do they know about your little friend that you don't, hmm?"

Back in the ring, Kuwabara's face screwed up. "That is kinda weird, now that you bring it up," he said, and then he shook his head like a wet dog. "Wait, no, NO! No, I'm not listening to this!" he said, pointing his blazing Spirit Sword at the elder Toguro. "You're just trying to trick us!"

"Maybe," Yusuke said, "but it is weird." Here he rounded on Hiei and Kurama, who stood off to the side like a pair of roosting crows. "What aren't you two saying, huh?"

But I hardly heard any of that discussion, either. I had pulled the object from my pocket, turning it over in my hands, running it between my fingers again and again and again. It was the thread of thick shag carpet fiber I'd pulled off of my throwing knives, mostly red, almost wine-colored, all shot through with threads of gold, discolored at the end from a bath in demon blood. A fiber from the carpet in that wretched room where I'd finally met Hiruko in person.

Red shot through with gold.

Just like the carpet I'd glimpsed in—

Oblivious, Kurama said to Yusuke in his mildest, calmest voice, "I'm assessing the situation."

"That sounds like a line, and you know it," Yusuke shot back.

"No." Kurama's voice held subtle steel, mild no more. "I am merely attempting to—"

"I do know where Atsuko is," I said.

It was like I'd struck a gong, summoning their attention as dead things summon vultures. Kuwabara gaped while Hiei and Kurama appeared surprised and disgruntled, but it was Yusuke who turned to me inch by inch, shock on his face turning swiftly to thunder.

"I know exactly where she is!" I continued, as much to myself as to my friends. "Like—I'm at least 95% certain I know where to find her, right now!"

Kuwabara shook himself again, recovering with a stammer of, "W-what?! But Keiko, how?"

And Yusuke growled, "How the hell do you—?"

"Yusuke!" I didn't let him finish, marching forward and staring him dead in the face. "Do you trust me?"

He blinked, thunder dissipating. "You're bringing up our fight now?" he said, disbelief coloring every word. "Keiko, now's not the time for—"

I didn't wait for him to get going. There wasn't time. I grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him down to my level, and when he struggled and whined something about me being a complete weirdo, I yanked him down again. Our foreheads cracked together with a sound like colliding coconuts, and although my eyes immediately started to water (my head was not nearly as hard as Yusuke's, after all), I held him in place, staring him down with my teeth bared, forehead pressed to his in an aggressive invasion of his personal space. This was not the sentimental forehead lean I had shared with Kurama. This was a knockdown, drag-out display of gravity, and judging from the shock in Yusuke's expression, he damn well knew I meant business.

"Yusuke!" I demanded, eyes streaming and forehead screaming with pain. "Do. You. Trust. Me?"

"Your eyes—" He stopped, staring. "Why are they—?"

"URAMESHI YUSUKE," I bellowed, giving his shirt a shake. "DO YOU TRUST ME OR DON'T YOU?"

"Yes, yes, I do, all right!?" he blurted. "I trust—"

"Then trust me to make this right, goddamn it," I said. "Can you do that?"

His eyes widened. "What are you going to do?"

I grinned, unable to keep the expression off of my frantic face. "I'm going to get Atsuko back," I told him, and then I shoved Yusuke away, walking backwards toward the stadium stands.

But Yusuke didn't appear convinced. "Keiko, wait a minute—"

"The boy is right," the elder Toguro snapped, glaring. "We're not finished here."

"Oh, shut the fuck up you greasy-ass dick-weasel!" I screeched without slowing down. I just pointed up into the ring toward a shell-shocked Kuwabara, not giving Toguro a second look. "Kuwabara, you stay there and kick this asshole's—well, you get the idea. Fuck 'im up for me; can you do that?"

"Uh—I mean, that's the idea," he said, confusion etched in the lines on his brow. "But Keiko—!"

I ignored him, too, pointing then at Hiei and Kurama. "You two, stay here. They'll need backup if this gets ugly, Hiei, and Kurama, you're still in no shape to go anywhere, you understand?"

Hiei bared his teeth. "Meigo, this is—"

"Kei," Kurama said. "I do not think you—"

"And you, Yusuke." My finger swung toward him, shaped like an aiming gun. "You lead this team to victory and don't let up fighting for even a single second, do you hear me? I've got this handled. I promise a hundred times on my life that I've got this handled." When he didn't move or speak, I called above the roar of the impatient demons in the crowd, "Do you understand that you cannot afford to be distracted? That your life and the lives of everyone you love depends on being here, in the now, and not letting up for even a minute? Do you understand how just how damn important you are?"

He nodded once, sharply. "I get it."

"Are you sure, because—"

"I get it, I get it!" he said, wheeling back toward the ring. He pointed at the elder Toguro, then, with a finger far deadlier than mine. "You hear that, dick-weasel? If Keiko says she's got it handled, then she's got it handled! So you can shut your goddamn mouth and get back in that ring to fight, because—"

I didn't wait to hear what he'd say next. I had seen the fire in his eyes, and it was more than enough for me. As he shouted his challenge at Toguro, I turned and ran, sprinting back toward the stands and hauling myself back into them with a grunt and a yell for demons to get the hell out of my way or else get stepped on. I practically vaulted up the stands, demons yelping as I squashed fingers and toes under my shoes, and soon I neared where the rest of my friends were sitting.

Botan spotted me first, standing up and waving to get my attention. "Keiko! What's going on?" she called as I jumped over the last row of seats to stand beside them.

"We only heard some of it on the speakers," said Yukina. "Do you—"

"You three." I looked at Shizuru, Botan and Yukina in turns. "You up for a little adventure?"

"An adventure?" Shizuru said, brow shooting up.

"Now's not really the time for sightseeing, Keiko!" said Botan.

"I'm not talking about a guided tour," I said. "I'm—"

Shizuru drew in a sharp breath. "Oh," she said, looking me over with renewed interest. "I get it."

"Shizuru, what do you get?" said a thoroughly confused Yukina.

Shizuru took the cigarette from her mouth and pointed it at me. "You wanna mount up and rescue Atsuko," she said with one of her subtle smirks. "And you know where to go to do that, don't you?"

I held up the strand of carpet shag. "That's right."

But Botan had no idea what the fiber in my hand was supposed to mean, and planted her hands firmly upon her hips. "Keiko, but how do you—?"

"No time." A thumb over my shoulder. "I made Yusuke a promise to bring Atsuko back—"

"—and you always mean what you say," said Shizuru, taking a drag off her cigarette. "Well, kid. Count me in."

I beamed, turning my stare on Botan and Yukina. "And you two?" Specifically to Yukina I added, "You down for this? Because it's gonna get hairy."

Botan grinned, thrusting a fist into the air. "If you're rescuing Atsuko, then count me in! She took care of me when I was at my lowest, and I owe her at least that much." Her face spasmed. "But Yukina—"

Yukina shook her head, silencing our protests. "I will come, too," she said, soft voice unexpectedly hard. The stony texture faded when she added, "Although I do not know what I will be able to do to help."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Shizuru said. Dropping her cigarette, she stamped it out under her heel and tossed her hair. "Now let's go."

"Excellent," I said, heart picking up a fraction. "Excellent. Then—and I've always wanted to say this—OK, girl squad." I pointed skyward. "Assemble!"

The girls gave me a series of confused and vicariously embarrassed glances, but they obeyed, the four of us turning toward the stairs that would lead up out of the stands of onlookers and back toward the concessions area. We took the steps two at a time (except for Yukina, whose kimono made it harder to run) and booked it for the hidden door behind the concessions stand, slamming through it and running full tilt down the hall past the locker rooms. The cart of spilled water bottles was still there, lying crushed and messy beneath the fallen light fixture no one had bothered to clean up yet. I leapt clear over it, and in a group we rounded the corner that would lead us to the door outside.

A door blocked by a knot of no less than four demons.

They weren't enormous, as far as demons went. Two were furry, one had scales, and the last looked mostly human aside from the horns sprouting from his temples. I only caught a glimpse of them as we barreled toward the door, details of their anatomy captured in one frenetic glimpse.

"Sorry, girls," said the demon with the horns. "Can't let you—"

We didn't even slow down. Botan dropped her mostly-empty backpack to the ground and summoned her oar with a flick of her wrist and a crackle of energy, flying at them with a shriek. She turned at the last second, effectively clotheslining the demons with the length of her oar, and with a series of bellows the demons went down beneath her. She leapt back in an instant, dismissing and re-summoning her oar with another snap and crackle so she could brain one of them over the head with another bellow of fury. I, meanwhile, dropped my bag and wrestled free one of my knife bandoliers, throwing a volley at the nearest demon as Shizuru lit a cigarette and possessed the smoke with a burst of green spirit energy. She set about strangling one of them without a word, and soon the four demons lay in an unconscious heap upon the floor.

But Shizuru didn't seem happy at our success. As I recovered the knives I'd thrown, she barked, "Where's Yukina?"

Instantly Yukina's small, soft voice rang out from around the corner. "Coming!" she called, and then she appeared around the bend in the hallway, Botan's bag clutched to her chest. We waited for her to catch up, her breathing strangely labored, before stepping over the fallen demons and heading outdoors. As we passed through the doors, however, Shizuru stepped into place beside me, moving her cigarette to the corner of her mouth.

"You see it?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said. "I did."

As the door fell shut behind us, we both turned, glimpsing the demons one last time through the crack—or what was left of the demons, anyway. They'd begun to collapse in on themselves, bodies dissolving into pools of red thread that soon dispersed on an unseen wind. Shizuru and I shared a dark glance as the last of their bodies faded from view, trading unspoken assumptions without a word.

But we weren't the only ones to notice. "Wait!" Botan said. She stared past us at the door, eyes huge. "That thread. Is it more of those—?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"So whoever's behind this was behind the other attack?" Yukina said.

"Where they trying to take one of us even then?" Botan said.

"Kid." Shizuru turned to me again. "Is this…?"

"Yeah. It's him." I grabbed the length of carpet fiber in my pocket, tracing the braided strands with a fingertip. "I know it is."

There could be no doubt, after what we'd just seen, but we didn't stop to talk about it. We walked forward, into the sunny afternoon and across the grass outside the stadium. Tobi waited right where I'd last seen him, sitting in his little open-air car as he fanned himself with his chauffer's hat. He shoved the hat back on his head when we all jumped into his cart, Shizuru barking at him to gun it, now, and take us back to Hotel Kubikukuri. Tobi obeyed with enthusiasm, sending us off like a shot over the bumpy roads leading back to the hotel. I sat on the back of the cart with Yukina, digging through my backpack for the bandoliers of knives and other weapons I'd packed into it that morning. Yukina watched this with interest, arms wound tight around Botan's bulging backpack. Would we need to drop Yukina off somewhere to keep her safe if this adventure of ours got more violent? Her willingness to help didn't mean she was suited for this kind of fight, after all…

Botan interrupted my train of thought. "My word, Keiko!" she said, craning back to look at my backpack of weapons. "How much were you able to cram into that bag? Is it bottomless?"

"Sure, why not? Just call it the TARDIS of backpacks!"

"The what?"

"Never mind!" As I strapped knives to my legs and slipped canisters of mace into my pockets, I said, "Yukina! What's in your bag? It was empty when Botan dropped it—"

"Not to interrupt, miss," Tobi called from the driver's seat, "but I'm afraid there are some nasty-looking reprobates in hot pursuit!"

I looked up, and Shizuru and Botan whipped around as Yukina gave a gasp of fright. Behind us, bumping along the rough road in their own cart, a half-dozen demons followed us at a distance that closed bit by bit, and fast. Four demons occupied the cart they had probably hijacked, while another wolf-like creature loped along beside it on foot; another demons, ape-like in form and in the fur covering its skin, swung from the trees lining the road, powerful arms easily chasing our band. They raised their voices in an intimidating bellow when they caught us looking, two of them shaking large clubs as they stood up and leaned out of the cart, grabbing onto the roof for purchase.

I snatched up a knife at once, but I hesitated before throwing it; I wouldn't be able to recover anything I lost during this drive, putting my long-distance weapons attacks at a clear disadvantage. Luckily I didn't have to hesitate for long, because Shizuru stood up and grabbed onto the bar holding up the cart's roof.

"What are you doing?" Botan yelled.

"Evening the odds," Shizuru said, and she swung herself over the roof and onto its broad expanse. Not too long later, a whip of green-tinged smoke lashed through the air, striking the demon swinging from the trees and sending him to the forest floor with a crash and a cry of pain.

"Hey—save some fun for the rest of us!" Botan cried, and she stood up, too. "Looks like that's my cue!"

I reached for her arm. "Botan, wait a—"

"Can't hear you, I'm flying!"

She had summoned her oar and zoomed off in the span of a breath, flying down the road back the way we'd come before leaping off and skidding along the pavement right in the path of the loping wolf-demon. He couldn't redirect himself in time, practically shoving his face into Botan's oar when she swung it at him like a blue-haired Babe Ruth. The resulting, sickening crack made me wince, but my revulsion only lasted until Yukina stood up, wobbling as Tobi hit a pothole and the cart gave a violent wobble. I cried her name and threw my arms around her waist, hoping she didn't go tumbling out of the cart, but she didn't sit back down even when I yelled at her to do just that. Instead she reached into her weirdly overstuffed backpack and took out a water bottle, of all things, which she uncapped and chunked as hard as she could into the road behind us.

It didn't go far; just a few meters, and mostly thanks to the moving cart, although it hit the ground with a terrific splash and a spray of bright liquid. As she stared after it with disappointment, something clicked inside my head.

"Yukina!" I screeched. "Can you freeze the water from far away?"

"I can try, but—"

"Just do it!"

Yukina's face screwed up. She lifted a hand, holding it with palm facing the bottle on the road—and then she gave a small, sharp cry, and something flashed bright, glacial blue. Just in time, too, because the enemy's cart ran over the bottle just as the spark rent the air. The screech of tires and a bellow of panic followed, and the cart twisted to the left hard enough to capsize the entire thing, the screech of metal on pavement horrific in the otherwise quiet forest. Soon they collided with the trees, coming to a stop and then vanishing from sight as Tobi rounded a bend in the road (one that made Yukina nearly topple over, if it hadn't been for my arms around her middle). A telltale burst of red fibers leapt into the air above where the cart had fallen, staining the blue sky the color of fresh lilac.

"Hey! You did it!" I yelled. "Yukina, did you see that? You did it!"

"I—I did do it!" She looked positively astonished even as a smile crossed her face. "I did it!"

But our elation was short-lived. Botan rejoined our group and Shizuru climbed back into the cart, and soon we found ourselves screeching to a halt in front of the hotel—before which waited another group of demons. I shouted a warning before the cart could come to a halt and tossed one of the five smoke grenades I'd bought with me to the island into their midst. Like a striking snake, Shizuru leapt from the cart just as it came to a stop, running headlong into the smoke so she could thread it full of her bright green energy. When the luminous green smoke cleared, the demons were all on the ground, Shizuru sitting squarely in the middle of the biggest demon's back.

"Teamwork makes the dream work," I quipped at her as we walked into the hotel—but before she could say something quippy in return, a cry of my name rang out across the hotel lobby.

It was easy to see why. The lobby was trashed, vases overturned and couches ripped to shreds, evidence that someone had come through with devastation on their mind. Otoha stood behind one of the desks, and when I ran over to her, I saw another five hotel workers hiding just behind her.

"Keiko!" Otoha repeated, relief dripping from every syllable. "Thank god you're here; there are demons everywhere, and they took—"

"Atsuko up to the casino?" I guessed.

"Wow—how'd you know?"

"Lucky guess," I said. "Can I get the key to that floor, please?"

"Wait, you can't go up there!" Otoha said, rounding the reception desk. "There are too many—"

But Botan just winked at her. "Hold down for the fort for us, would you, dear?"

"We promise to be careful," Yukina said.

"And we promise to save some fighting for you," said Shizuru with a smirk.

"Get everyone here to safety, OK?" I added with a wave at her hiding coworkers. "No telling how many more there are."

Otoha hesitated, but soon her expression cleared, and she gave me a resolute nod. "Right." Another moment's hesitation, but she threw her arms around me in a hug. In my ear she whispered, "Good luck, Keiko."

I couldn't help but hug her back and murmur, "You too."

Once Otoha surrendered the key that would unlock access to the fourteenth floor of the hotel, we moved for the elevators—and even though it would take a key to reach the casino, the elevators had still not been left unguarded. Two demons flanked the elevators, but they fell quickly under our combined attacks. We boarded the elevator car in silence, a momentary respite in the chaos as we took a moment to breathe. Indeed, our breath was just about the only sound as the car rose high into the hotel, carrying us closer and closer to Atsuko with every passing moment.

Shizuru broke the silence, eventually. "Yukina," she said, casting the ice apparition a dour glance. "Are you sure you want to be a part of this?"

"Yes, good question," agreed Botan. "We can stop by our floor, and you can go to the suite to—"

Yukina shook her head before she could finish. "No. I want to help."

It soured my stomach to think of putting Yukina in harm's way, but the ice in her typically warm eyes stopped me cold. "Fine," I said, shaking my head. "But hang back. Don't go rushing in on your own."

"You offer support and healing," Shizuru said with a hard look in Yukina's direction. "Botan and I are on the front lines. And as for Keiko—"

"Suppressing fire," I said, brandishing one of my throwing knives. "Don't worry. I know my strengths."

She gave a quick nod. "Right."

A deep breath. The numbers in the window above the doors climbed higher; we were only a few floors away, the elevator already slowing. "Our target is on the north side of the room, to our left," I said, eyes caught on the ascending numbers. "A door with a four of diamonds on it. Looks like a playing card. You remember playing, right Yukina?"

"I do," she said, voice the softest zephyr.

"Do I want to know how you know all of that?" Botan said with much less subtlety.

"No." My mouth quirked, but I forced the expression away. "No, you do not."

At last, the numbers reached 14. The carriage shuddered to a halt, a bell dinging to mark our arrival.

"Are you ready?" Shizuru said.

"Too late to back out now!" Botan said with chipper zeal, and the doors slid open without a sound.

Before us lay a long hallway, carpeted and richly appointed, but empty—aside from the two demons guarding the double doors on the hall's far end, that is. They noticed us just as we noticed them, but before the elevator doors could even finished opening, Botan and Shizuru had slipped between them and streaked down the hallway at a run. Shizuru's fist and Botan's oar made short work of the demons, so I waved Yukina ahead and walked with her toward our friends. Together we crouched low, Shizuru opening the doors just wide enough for her to angle a compact mirror (produced from a pocket in Botan's bag, natch) through the crack.

"A lot of 'em," she muttered to us. "We need cover. Keiko?"

I dutifully handed her a smoke grenade. She pulled the pin with her teeth and chucked it inside with a crack of her lightning fast hand; from inside we heard coughs and hacking, and Shizuru burst in like a lion chasing down a gazelle. Botan followed, darting inside with oar at the ready, battle cry on her lips. I grabbed Yukina's hand and hissed at her to hold her breath and keep low, dragging her through the concealing smoke to the bar I knew lay along the wall opposite the doors. We hid behind it, and when no demons popped over the top of the bar to menace us, I warily peeked over the bar's top to get the lay of the land.

The smoke had thinned somewhat, though it lay thicker over toward our left—and it was tinted a faintly glowing green. Shizuru had possessed it, by the looks of it, and was hunting down demons left and right. Good. Botan battled a few demons to our right, feinting and dodging and hitting them when their backs were turned. She almost danced when she fought, nimble on her toes with lightning reflexes, and for a second I just stared at her fight in abject awe. Her training with Hiei had paid off, that's for sure.

But my staring was the opposite of wise, because soon a demon stumbled out of Shizuru's cloud of smoke and spotted me, darting in our direction with a bellowed battle cry. I ducked behind the bar and grabbed the hose attached to the sink, flipping on the faucet so a gush of cold water could rocket out of the hose. This I aimed at the demon as he neared, drenching his sputtering face in an unexpected spray.

"Yukina!" I said. "Now!"

She popped up beside me with hand outstretched, and in a snap the water on the demon froze solid. It wasn't enough water to immobilize him, but he immediately began to shake from cold, snarling and slapping at the ice on his skin to break it up. That distraction was all I needed, though; I leapt over the bar feet-first, kicking him squarely in the face so hard, he immediately crumpled to the floor. I kicked him again for good measure, and when I turned to Yukina with a grin, I saw her eyes wide with horror.

"Keiko, NO!" she cried.

But it was too late. I turned as fast as I could, but the advancing demon—who had taken advantage of my distraction just as I'd take advantage of his ally—slugged me in the face. I staggered back against the bar, wood colliding painfully with my spine, and slid to the floor, blood from a split lip filling my mouth at once. A jet of water shot over the bar a second later, however, and then the water froze atop the demon's skin. He hissed and sputtered, and although it took everything I had, I still managed to draw a knife and throw it with force straight into his forehead. He collapsed after that, and he didn't move.

"Good show, Keiko! Yukina!" Botan called. She stood over a trio of fallen demons some distance away, oar planted in the middle of one of their stomachs, her foot on another demon's chest. "I'd say we're going a bang-up job, now aren't we?"

I wiped my lip on the back of my arm. "For the most part, but—Botan, move!"

Like something from a horror movie, a demon with curling horns and bloodshot eyes had emerged from behind a nearby slot machine, rushing at Botan from behind without a sound. She tried to turn, just as I had, but our fate was the same: The demon hit her, pile-driving a fist into her gut and sending her flying backward. She hit a craps table with a thud, her head striking its edge with a sickening, hollow sound, and then she crumpled.

She didn't move, after that.

"Botan!" I screamed—but before I could go to her, that silent, horned demon with the bloodshot eyes advanced on me. I backpedaled, darting to the side to lure him away from Yukina, and my ploy worked. He pursued me through the casino, over to the roulette and poker tables, where I stood with my back against a slot machine until he drew close. Heart in my mouth, I pulled a canister of mace from my pocket, waiting until the demon drew disconcertingly close to unload a stream of toxicity into his already bloodshot eyes.

Too bad for me, he barely reacted. I dodged under his reaching arm, but he managed to hook a claw into the back of my hoodie and trip me up, sending me crashing to the floor, where I scrambled away as fast as I could. He struck out with his foot, though, knocking my legs out from under my hips, and I found myself on my back, staring up at him as he raised a hand to strike. But then he gasped, fanged mouth open wide—and the demon fell to his knees, dead, Botan's glowing hand embedded in his back.

Botan's third eye—brilliant, violent violet eye—sat wide open and staring upon her forehead.

As I stared, she pulled her arm free with a wet pop, limb coated to the elbow in bright blue blood. Her energy glowed a shade of cheerful bubblegum at odds with the lopsided smile on her mouth and unhinged glint in her eye, power crackling with electric arcs of pure force. Blood streamed from a cut on her forehead, and as our gazes locked, I feared for a moment that she might attack me, too… but she didn't. The sounds of Shizuru's fight cut the stillness, and her head lifted as she focused on the lullaby of battle.

Then, slowly, she turned away, stalking off into the casino in search of greater prey.

I ran back to the bar after that, hunkering down behind it with Yukina, who had clasped her hands over her mouth in horror at the sight of Botan's transformation. Neither of us said a word. We only peered around the edge of the bar as the smoke clouding around Shizuru began to thin, and soon Shizuru herself emerged from the miasma. Keeping low, she ran over to us and likewise hid behind the bar, watching around the corner as Botan faced off against the handful of demons that still remained. Many coated the floor, slashes across their chests and backs evidence of just how many Shizuru had managed to take out.

But Shizuru did not appear thrilled about these victories. Jerking a thumb toward Botan, she muttered, "Is it just me, or does this seem like a monkey wrench in our rescue operation?"

"What is a monkey wrench?" Yukina whispered.

"A problem," I said eyes locked on Botan as she threw back her head and cackled, blood-drenched hands lifted skyward. "It's definitely, definitely a problem."

Watching Botan fight was as much thrilling as it was stomach-churning. She hadn't displayed nearly as much technique when I saw her lose control during the Saint Beast arc, here her strikes more pointed, methodical, precise—like Hiei when he fights, each swing of the blade (or in her case, her hand) a pinpoint accurate exercise in deadly force. She coated her hand in her bright pink energy and used her own body as her weapon, curved blades of pure energy arcing off of splayed fingers like the claws of a rabid panther. She would stand stock-still and wait for an opponent to rush at her before whirling to the side with a flag of bright blue hair, slashing at their exposed back with a grin and a vicious, mocking laugh. No trace of my bubbly friend remained, every action engineered for maximum bloodshed. I hadn't seen Hiei fight too many times, but even I could read the movement she'd taught her in every step, every slash—and when she felled all opponents but one, and that last demon ran from her with a cry of terror, I saw Hiei's dogged determination to win at all costs in the way she stalked after the demon, grinning all the while, intent on the kill.

A chill coursed through me at the sight. No wonder Botan hadn't wanted to talk to Yukina about the times she got like this…

Shizuru squeezed my elbow, shaking me from my train of thought. "Distract her," she whispered, and as Botan put her back to us in pursuit of her prey, Shizuru dashed from our spot behind the bar and out of sight behind a slot machine.

I took a deep breath, and I stepped out from behind the bar, too.

Botan's prey stumbled and fell as she stalked him across the casino, crawling away from her on his back, pleading for her to stay away, to not come any closer. It took courage for me to call out her name, but I did it, hands held up before me to show I didn't mean her any harm. She turned my way slowly, inch by inch, looking at me from the corner of one eye—well, two eyes. Her evil eye had shifted in its socket, staring at me with even more intensity than her lovely magenta eye. It made my stomach churn, but somehow I held my gaze steady, smiling at her as best I could.

"Hey, girl. It's all right," I said, nodding at the demon on the floor. "He's done. He's down for the count, OK? So you can relax now."

Botan didn't like being told to do anything, it seemed, because she whirled on me with a flash of violet, pink and blue. She bared her teeth at me, unintelligible words hissing between them—but then she staggered, clutching her head with both pink-glowing hands.

"Keiko—no, not Keiko!" she groaned, head thrashing this way and that inside her grip. She managed to look at me from between her fingers, lone visible eye full of grief and warning. "Keiko, you have to run, you have to—"

Shizuru knew she wouldn't get another chance, and she struck with all the quickness of a snake, streaking into view so she could land a chop on the back of Botan's exposed neck. Botan's eyes unfocused at once, grim reaper falling to her knees with a gasp and the faintest of smiles on her face. I released a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding, shooting Shizuru a grateful smile.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." She turned, imperious face aimed at the final demon on the floor. "Now, as for you…"

He ran, lickety-split. I expected Shizuru to give chase, but she didn't. She pulled her cigarettes from her carton and lit up, watching him head for the casino exit in motionless silence.

"Should we let him go?" I said, standing beside her. "He could warn—"

She shrugged. "Something tells me he won't get far."

True to her word, it wasn't long before the demon tripped, and he did not get up again. His body turned to red thread before our eyes, limbs and torso and face unspooling into pools of crimson fiber that blended with the red carpet and disappeared. It wasn't gory, but somehow the image still came across as grisly, like we'd seen something unspeakably violent and indescribably horrific. Yukina came over to us just in time to see it, face paling to the color of spoiled milk as she shrank into my side, hiding her face behind her hands. I put an arm around her and rubbed her back as Shizuru hefted Botan's limo body over her shoulder.

"Let's just hope there aren't too many more," Shizuru said, patting Botan's leg. "Now lead the way, Keiko."

On the casino's far wall lay the doors styled like playing cards, all polished wood embossed with golden suits and numbers. We bypassed the three of hearts, king of clubs and ten of diamonds in favor of the four of diamonds. I wondered if we'd need to break it down, but it opened softly enough under my hand, revealing the long hallway beyond lined with so many other, unmarked doors. I shivered as the door fell shut at our backs, our feet whispering and clicking on the hardwood floor like the sounds of distant whispering. Shizuru looked at the hallway with interest, drifting to the side to grasp one door's golden handle.

"Wait." It was a command, not a request, and it made Shizuru's eyebrow shoot skyward. "Don't look in there."

"Why?"

"I don't know." And this was true, as was, "But it's not a good idea."

"Cryptic," Shizuru observed.

I didn't reply. I just pointed forward. "The door on the end in our best bet, anyway."

Perhaps it was my tone that convinced Shizuru not to argue. Whatever the case, she didn't argue. She led the way down the hall in silence, bypassing the other doors without a second glance in favor of the lone door at the hall's opposite end. She pressed her ear to it, but shook her head after a moment's time. We waited in tense silence while she used Botan's compact mirror to check inside, quietly shutting the door after she finished her assessment.

"The red lizard guy is in there," she said, stowing the mirror inside Botan's pocket. "No one else."

"Where?"

"Guarding a door; far left side, middle of the wall." A grim smile cut her mouth. "No blind spots. I'll have to rush him."

"Want me to throw a grenade first?"

"No." She shook her head and lowered Botan to the floor. "Faster my way."

No more preamble; she burst inside like a silent bird of prey, thud of her footfalls muffled as she sprinted toward the spot where Red lay waiting. He only had enough time for a single squawk of "Help!" before there came a thud, silencing him mid-cry. When Yukina and I peeked inside, we found Shizuru standing over him as he groaned, delirious from a strike to the head, the pair of them situated just beside a plain wooden door that nearly blended with the paneled wall. Although Yukina smiled, I could only curse, hefting Botan in a fireman's carry and trotting over to Shizuru.

The carpet beneath my feet made running tough, I noticed. Its thick, plush pile enveloped my feet nearly to the ankles—and it was, of course, a perfect match to the fiber in my pocket.

Still, I couldn't celebrate being right for long. "They'll have heard that, if anyone's nearby," I said as we joined Shizuru by the door. "Let's act fast."

"Roger that," Shizuru said, and without another word, she kicked down the door with no more effort than most people need to punch through tissue paper. The terrific crash almost managed to echo despite the thick carpet on the ground, and as we burst inside, Shizuru said, "Where the hell is Atsuko, huh?"

But no one replied, because the only ones present were Blue and Purple, the lizards from the hostage video—and they were passed out in a heap in the center of the floor.

We looked down at them in confused silence for a time. The room wasn't huge, constituting just a small nook with a few windows on the far wall and a heavy rack of video equipment on another. Across the video equipment sat a familiar chair dripping with ropes, but this was empty. I stalked over to it, feet sinking into the red and gold carpet with every step, as Shizuru headed for the unconscious demons and grabbed the Purple one by the throat. When he didn't rouse, she stalked outside and grabbed Red, dragging him into the room for an interrogation.

"Hey, hey! Asshole!" she yelled into his face. "What'd you do with her, huh?"

He blinked, yellow eyes bleary and confused. "Huh—who?"

I ignored the pair of them, scouring the room for clues. The chair was empty, and aside from the two unconscious lizards, there weren't any signs of a struggle. None of the video equipment had been disturbed; even the video camera on a tripod across from the chair appeared intact. So no fighting, no big battle… had anything been taken or stolen? None of the AV equipment appeared disturbed or missing; no conspicuous empty spots appeared on the rack, at least. Frustrated, I sat down in the hostage chair, gripping the bare armrests with each hand. Just where the hell had—

My fingers traced whorls in the armrest's wood grain.

Wait. The armrests were bare?

I shot out of the chair, spinning to face it with a scowl. Hadn't Atsuko been tied up with rope? There wasn't any rope on the chair, so—

A breeze drifted across my neck.

"Atsuko. The woman you kidnapped, genius." Shizuru gave him a bone-rattling shake, teeth grit and bared. "Where the hell is she?"

"How should I know?" he said, speech slurred but coherent. "I was guarding the door!"

"Shizuru—look!"

One of the windows—the one closest to the heavy metal rack of AV equipment—stood open a crack, just wide enough for a bit of rope to pass through. Which was convenient, because rope had been knotted around a rod on the AV rack, trailing from it and out the window to whatever lay below. Shizuru and I exchanged a look before rushing in unison for the window, pushing it open wide so we could stick out our heads and look straight down. I thought I'd get hit with a wave of vertigo (or at least some unwelcome l'appel du vide) but I didn't. Another wing of the hotel lay just a story or two below us, drop not nearly as dizzying as expected.

It was still quite a drop for Atsuko, though, who clung to a knotted length of rope at least fifteen feet off the ground, dangling out of the window like a goddamn circus performer.

"Atsuko?" I said, hardly daring to believe my eyes. "What are you doing?"

She looked up and grinned. "Oh, hey Keiko!" she said, lifting a few fingers in a wave—though she did not dare to let go of the rope. "What brings you here?"

"You do, you absolute—" The wind stripped by; Atsuko gave a little shriek as the rope swayed beneath her. "Ugh, don't move, you'll fall!"

She didn't move, for once obeying common sense, waiting for Shizuru and me to haul her up so she could clamber back over the windowsill and onto solid ground. Huffing and puffing, she leaned against the wall and sighed, relief written all over her face.

"Glad to see you, Atsuko," Shizuru said, deadpan as always.

"You should be—but wait." Atsuko eyed us in confusion. "Why are you even here?"

My jaw dropped. "To rescue you, of course!"

But Atsuko's eyes screwed up. "Wait. You thought I needed rescuing?" She threw up her hands with a curse. "Who am I, some damsel in distress?"

While I tried to stave off a coronary episode, Shizuru asked, "How did you even get out of that chair?"

Atsuko's chest puffed with pride. "I pretended to be knocked out and got the ropes off while their backs were turned, and then I kicked their asses before they could even—Keiko? Are you OK?"

Call me rude for interrupting, but during Atsuko's explanation, I had begun to laugh.

It wasn't a laugh of humor. My busted lip hurt, my head hurt from stress, every limb felt as stiff and hard as brass—and the grand irony was that I hadn't even needed to come here in the first place. Atsuko had managed to escape on her own. My grandstanding, my mad rush to get here, all the incriminating things I'd said in front of Shizuru, Botan, Yukina—it had all been for nothing.

The only thing I could do was laugh.

No one spoke as I giggled and wandered back over to Atsuko's abandoned hostage chair. No one spoke as I buried my head in my hands and guffawed, chortling against my palms as tears leaked from the corner of my eye. Was I laughing or crying? It was hard for even me to say, but as I slumped backward into the chair, I lifted an arm to drape it across my eyes—but beneath its length, I spotted the camera. The video camera that had telegraphed Atsuko's suffering for the world to see. The one that had caused all this trouble in the first place, and had prompted me to enter the ring, which prompted the elder Toguro brother to out me in front of everyone.

The laughter in my throat dried up.

Instead, something in my chest froze solid, a cold ball of iron that made it almost impossible to breathe. Before I could wonder at it, I was on my feet, inspecting the video camera with questing fingers and critical eyes that did not feel like my own.

"Keiko," Shizuru said. "What are you—?"

"I'm sending a message," I replied just as my fingers found the REC button. Smacking the side of it a few times, I said, "Hey. Hey. Is this thing on?"

Something in the camera's innards whirred. A red light blinked on. A watching eye, staring at me from a distance—but I knew to whom that eye belonged. I knew that he was watching.

And just like that, the cold ball in my chest thawed, collapsing into a boiling pit of fury.

I jammed my hand into my pocket and yanked out the carpet fiber, that telltale strand of red and gold that had led me to this place. I held it up, shoving it at the camera lens with a growl and a bitter grin.

"Hiruko," I said, spitting his name like it tasted foul. "I know you're behind this, you spineless coward." Putting the fiber away, I leaned in close, hoping he could read the fury, the hate, the sheer contempt in the light of my very eyes. "You told me not to let fate control me—and, well, guess what? I'm not going to let you control me, either." Grasping the camera in both hands, I gave it a shake, wishing it was his goddamn neck, instead. "You think you found yourself a pawn? You really think it doesn't matter who you picked? Think again." I held the camera up, high as I could. "Turns out, you picked the wrong damn girl."

With that, I smashed the camera. I smashed it onto the floor, but the red light didn't go out. So I kicked it, grinding my heel into the lens until glass shattered, grabbing the jutting viewfinder and ripping it back until it cracked and broke. But the red light did not go out, and so I pulled out a knife and jammed it into the camera's whirring heart. It stuttered for a second, trying in vain to run—but soon the whirring slowed, and the red light flickered, and the camera died at last.

No one said anything, and silence continued to reign as I shouldered Botan and stalked out of the room, back the way we'd come.

The elevator ride downstairs was quiet, and I felt eyes on me the whole time. Watching, assessing, measuring. Waiting to see if I would explain myself.

But I didn't.

It wasn't time.

Not yet, anyway.

When we reached the hotel lobby, elevator doors opening with a ding, Koto's voice cut the heavy silence. Static crackled as she spoke, tinny radio connection roughening her smooth tones. Before we could even step off the elevator, she fell quiet, volume knob turned down until only silence remained. Otoha skidded around a corner a second later, staring at me with horror in her eyes. For a moment I wondered if she'd seen my broadcast, somehow—but then Shizuru stepped forward, and Otoha's eyes moved with her.

"What?" Shizuru said. "Am I famous or something?"

Otoha drew in a hard breath. "Shizuru… you're related to Kuwabara, aren't you? Kuwabara of Team Urameshi?" she asked.

"Yeah. What about it?" came Shizuru's curt reply. "He go and lose his match or something?"

Otoha winced. "No. No, he won it. But then…"

"But then what?"

Otoha did not reply. She only gestured for us to follow. Our feet clacked over the cold marble floor, making it sound like a dozen walking feet instead of five. When we rounded the corner, we found a dozen or so hotel employees gathered around the front reception desk, a small portable radio on the counter in their center. They all stared at Shizuru, too, and when Otoha gave a sharp nod, one of them reached out to turn the volume up.

I braced myself.

I knew what was coming, even if Shizuru didn't.

"—unprecedented occurrence in the history of this tournament!" Koto shrieked through the radio, voice a knife of ear-splitting sound. "For a combatant to attack a fighter on the sidelines after that fighter has won a match is just unheard of! Because what's the point of killing a teammate once they're done?"

The cigarette fell from Shizuru's mouth, lying smoldering upon the floor.

"No," she whispered.

"Yes, that's right, people!" Koto replied. "Toguro broke from his match from Urameshi Yusuke to target one of his teammates, and he killed Kuwabara Kazuma in cold blood!"

She stared forward at the radio, not moving an inch as Koto relayed these events again and again, reveling in her narration no matter who it hurt. My heart stuttered in my chest, beating a quick tempo against the drumskin of my chest. This was how canon should go—Toguro targeting Kuwabara, but Kuwabara living, pretending to die to give Yusuke the kick in the pants he needed to win, fueling him with anger and grief to new and more powerful heights. But Shizuru didn't know that, and to watch her stand there in horrified, stunned silence filled my throat with painful sting.

The sting intensified when Shizuru slowly turned to face me. Her eyes searched my face, and I tried my best to keep it neutral—but this was not the right decision, and just what Shizuru was looking for.

"You don't look surprised," Shizuru said.

I said nothing.

Shizuru repeated, "You don't look surprised." She took one step in my direction, quick beneath the shrill of Koto's speech. "Give it to me straight, Keiko. Is my brother dead? Because even if you saw this coming, and even if you're quite the little actress, even you couldn't keep from crying if he died. But you're not crying." Her head dipped, chin brushing her necktie, eyes hooded and as intense as a striking match. "So give it to me straight: Is my brother dead, or isn't he?"

I didn't speak. Could I tell her? Should I tell her? She knew too much already, but was this crossing a line? While Yukina looked at me with sudden, disordered hope, Shizuru's face betrayed nothing—but then her eye twitched, mouth thinning just a little, eyes swimming the barest bit.

My heart cracked, and the words poured forth.

"No." The syllable came out in a whisper, barely even audible—but still, the hotel staff began to whisper amongst themselves. "He's not dead."

Otoha stepped forward, thrown. "But the radio—?"

"Is wrong, if the future stays on course," I told her. To Shizuru I said, voice finally gaining strength: "Toguro targeted your brother to motivate Yusuke. To make him angry, so he can access more of his power, to give Toguro the fight of a lifetime he so desperately seeks. And the ploy will work." A smile tasting of tears and ozone crossed my mouth, but I did not cry. "Seeing his friend fall, Yusuke is going to eclipse all possible expectations and rise to a height of power no one suspects. But Kuwabara is only playing dead. Or at least, that's how this should go." My chin lowered, doubt finally breaking through. "But so much has changed today, that I…"

"So Yusuke needs to think my brother is dead to win?" Shizuru cut in, brusque as a brick through a window.

I nodded. "Yeah. He does."

Shizuru said nothing, for a time. She pivoted back toward the radio, hands braced on the reception desk on either side of Koto's screaming voice.

"We can't have you ruining everything with your terrible poker face," she said with deadpan composure, not looking at me. "We'll have to wait to head back."

My heart beat harder, disbelief swimming to the surface. "But don't you want to check if your brother—?"

"No," she cut in, sharp as a blade. "Can't risk it, if what you say is true. And I believe it is." Her hands clenched into hard fists, but I saw the telltale tremble in her shoulders. "You seem to believe what you're saying, too." Her voice dropped, so low I almost couldn't hear it. "I just hope that for my brother's sake, you're right."

I stared at her in silence, silence only broken when Yukina's hand alit upon my elbow. She peered sweetly up into my face, her crimson eyes clouded with doubt and curiosity.

"Keiko," she said. "How do you know all of this?"

"Can you see the future or something?" Atsuko asked.

"It's a long story." I shook them both away, heading in the other direction across the lobby. "Now's not the time."

"But—"

"Leave her be, Yukina," Shizuru said. "Just… leave her be."

I didn't look back to see if anyone tried to follow me. I ignored even Otoha's concerned staring, heading for the phone vestibule so I could fold myself into a dark phone booth and curl up on its hard bench. I picked up the phone, finger hovering over the dial—but then I stopped.

What would I even say to Kagome and Minato now? That I was scared? That I had fucked up? That this was all a mess, and I needed to hear their voices? Because it was all true, but what would saying it to them achieve?

Nothing.

It wouldn't change a damn thing.

I put the phone back on the hook. I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them.

There, in the quiet dark, I waited—alone.

I didn't feel any better by the time Otoha came to collect me. Still, I was glad for the smile on her face when she opened up the phone booth, helping me off the bench with an outstretched hand.

"Hey," she said. "Shizuru sent me." As I stretched my numb legs, she planted a hand on her hip. "I have no idea what's going on, and you've gotta tell me about it when the dust settles—but good luck, in the meantime."

"Thanks." A pause. "I'll need it."

Otoha frowned at whatever she saw on my face. "Are you OK?"

I braved a smile. "I'm fine. I'm just…" A sigh. "Nothing. Never mind." I walked past her, not meeting her eyes. "Let's go."

We found Shizuru and Yukina almost exactly where I'd left them, although now they crouched on either side of Botan's still-sleeping form. Yukina's glowing hands hovered over her temples while Atsuko stood off to one side, drinking from a bottle of rum someone from the hotel had no doubt supplied her. Soon Botan began to murmur, blinking as Yukina's healing powers took effect.

Over the top of Botan's head, Shizuru stared at me, and somehow I didn't shy away from her gaze—although it took every ounce of my nerves not to stare at the floor, instead.

"Yusuke's gearing up for the final strike," Shizuru said when I got close. Neutral dispassion colored each word, no trace of negativity leaching through—which made me wonder what she must be feeling, to remain so pokerfaced. "You were right. What Toguro did actually brought the fight out in our team captain."

"Oh." I hesitated. "That's… something."

Yukina looked briefly up at me, but when Botan moaned, she placed a hand on Botan's cheek. "Botan. Botan, can you hear me?

"Wha…?" Her eyes finally managed to stay open with a flutter of dark lash. "Where am I?"

"Sorry," Shizuru said with good-natured insouciance. "Had to put you to sleep for a bit. You got a little…"

That really woke Botan up, eyes flying open as her hand crept to her cheek. "Oh no!"

"It's all right," Yukina said in her softest, most soothing tone of voice. "You didn't hurt anyone. In fact, you defended us against many demons. We owe our safety to you."

Her hand drifted from her face, although a hectic blush still stained her cheeks. "Well, that does make me feel a little better…"

"Don't get used to it," Shizuru said. "Yusuke's fighting Toguro now."

"He's what?!" I any sleep had remained in Botan's eyes, it fled as she bolted to her feet, only staggering a little against the reception desk. "Then let's go!" She paused, however, to look around and ask, "Wait, but did we—"

"Hey, sleepyhead," Atsuko said, walking over with a bit of her usual drunken swagger. "How ya feeling?"

Botan leapt off the desk to throw her arms around Atsuko's neck. "Atsuko!" she crowed, beaming and nearly crying at the same time. "Thank our lucky stars we got to you in time!"

"Me, too," Atsuko said as Botan pulled away. "Not that I needed the help."

"Eh?"

Shizuru cut in with a quick shake of her head. "No time. We gotta go, and fast."

I waved by to Otoha, who mouthed another 'good luck' at me as she and the other hotel workers escorted us to the front doors. Tobi waited right where we'd left him with his car, and he looked more than a little relieved when he saw us come out. The kid didn't even question it when Shizuru told him to take us right back to the stadium, gunning the engine with gusto and steering us back to the site of the finals without complaint. Soon the roar of the crowd drifted through the trees, murmuring like waves crashing against the shore—but softer than before, as if only half the demons as before stood in the stands to cheer.

And perhaps they did, if canon held true here, too.

"Would you like to go back to the service entrance, miss?" he said when we neared the stadium.

"No time!" Shizuru said. "Head for the hole in the stadium wall, pronto!"

Tobi obeyed, skidding to a halt in front of the stadium and the section of wall Hiei's Black Dragon had torn to pieces. Demons clustered around the hole nearly twenty demons deep, but when we hopped off the cart and ran toward them at a sprint, one of them elbowed another, steeping aside with a look of fear on his bat-face. Others followed suit, parting before us like the sea before Moses—because Shizuru's infamy preceded her, I guessed. In no time we'd swum our way to the front of the crowd, standing on broken concrete above a field of rubble, with a bird's eye view of the arena below.

Or what was left of it, anyway. The arena had once more been reduced to rubble, multiple craters cutting deep into the flat plain in the center of the stadium. Tumbled stone and rebar ringed the figures in the arena's center like the battlements of a ragged castle, dark and jutting and eyetooth sharp. The stands had cleared out, only a ragged remnant of the earlier crowd left to watch this final match, the majority of them vaporized on contact by Toguro's true power or fled into the island's forest to escape his wrath. But I barely looked at the missing crowds and half-full stands, because in the middle of the arena stood two figures. One loomed huge and tall and broad, skin warped with grotesque mutations jutting from his arms and shoulders, muscles stacked upon muscles in an unnatural and disquieting show of demonic strength. And the other…

"Yusuke," I breathed, looking at the other, smaller figure. He looked so tiny beside Toguro, one hand raised and shaped like a gun, staring Toguro down without blinking, face in profile showing focus unbreakable. "Oh, Yusuke…"

"Yusuke!" Botan cried as light began to gather at his fingertip. The blue light grew and grew, soon as tall as Yusuke himself, great sphere of crackling blue lightning so bright I had to shield my eyes from its radiance. "Yusuke, Yusuke!"

"GET 'EM SON!" Atsuko screamed, bottle of rum held high. "FUCKIN' KILL 'EM FOR ME, KIDDO!"

Yusuke didn't turn, but at the sound of his mother's voice, I swear the faintest of smiles colored the blue reflecting so brightly in his eyes—and then, as if answering Atsuko's call, the light on his fingertip grew brighter still. Enormous wings of light erupted from his back, body limned in the radiant glow of his spiritual energy. My eyes couldn't stand the sight, squeezing shut on reflex, but through my lids I still saw the glow of that unearthly light.

I knew Yusuke would win even before he shouted "SPIRIT GUN!" and pulled the trigger. I didn't have to watch to know that the light streaked toward Toguro with all the swiftness of storm-fed lightning. I didn't have to open my eyes to know that Toguro stood no chance, his power shattering beneath the onslaught of Yusuke's energy, muscles fraying and body collapsing under the force of that devastating blast. It came as no surprise when the watching demons fell silent, the slap of the referee's footsteps on the ground ringing out in the sudden and intense quiet as she ran to investigate. Her gasp echoed over the loudspeakers at what she found in the smoking crater where he lay, but then she cleared her throat.

I knew what she'd say even before she cried out, "Urameshi Yusuke is the winner—and the winner of the Dark Tournament!"

I opened my eyes as the demons began to roar their approval, apparently having undergone a change of heart about who to root for. Yusuke swayed where he stood before falling to his knees—and then a figure in white emerged from behind a pile of rubble, and Kuwabara ran to his friend across the battlefield.

I fell to my knees as Shizuru gasped, running forward and careening down the pile of rubble at our feet toward her brother—her brother who was alive, just as I'd promise, canon holding true once again. Botan, Atsuko and Yukina followed after her, leaving me behind to press my knuckles to my mouth, a sob choking free from between my trembling lips. Eyes filled with tears, I watched from a distance as Yusuke did a double-take at Kuwabara, then launched forward to throw an infuriated punch. The pair began to tussle, trading headlocks and dead-legs and slugs, Yusuke looking livid—but then his anger broke, turning into a grin that lit his eyes from inside out.

His best friend had, in his eyes, risen from the grave. Turnabout was fair play, considering what Yusuke's temporary death had done to Kuwabara so many months before.

Another sob wrenched free of my chest, but I forced it back down again.

We'd won—we'd won!

Just as there was no crying in baseball, so too were tears not allowed at the Dark Tournament.

It took a minute, but eventually I scraped myself off of the pavement and moved forward, following the others down to our friends standing at the center of the stadium. Demons continued to celebrate, filling the air with their calls of jubilation, of survival—and infectious sound, one that soon brought a smile to my face. I reached the others just as Yusuke spotted Atsuko, looking up from the headlock he had on Kuwabara with a lazy grin.

"Hey, Mom. 'Bout time you showed up," he said, but his smile grew more serious when he asked, "You OK?"

"Right as rain, winner," she said with a wink, and then she laughed. "My son, the winner! We'll be toasting you tonight, that's for sure!" Her lopsided grin grew teasing as she gestured at the stadium. "But what'd ya have to go and blow the whole place up for? It's in even worse shape than when I got abducted!"

Yusuke grinned, too, the familial resemblance never more apparent than in that moment. "Guess I thought we needed to redecorate this ugly place, y'know?"

"If fighting doesn't pan out, you've got a future in interior design, huh?" Atsuko said.

"Looks like it, Mom."

Shizuru stepped forward to slap Yusuke on the back. "Congrats, boys. Somehow you won without my help." Her smile faded when she glared at her brother. "As for you, Kazuma. You gave me quite a scare."

"Urp!" he backpedaled, hands raised in his defense. "It was necessary, I swear!"

Her glare intensified. "You're saying giving me a heart attack was necessary?"

"Well, if it was for the greater good—"

"Keiko."

I knew that voice. Toward it I turned, heart leaping into my mouth, the place it had leapt so many times lately. It leapt nearly free of my body when I found him standing only a handful of paces away, his brown eyes locked on my face beneath the stark tattoo on his forehead. Somehow, even with a pacifier in his mouth, Koenma's adult face managed to strike me silent, feeling small and insignificant beneath the pressure of his gaze. Guy was practically a god, after all, even if I didn't respect him whatsoever. Around us, our friends' celebrations ceased, eyes falling upon us like stones.

I was back in that spotlight again, with nowhere left to run.

Koenma didn't waste time, tossing his head with a flutter of his silken brown hair. "The elder of Toguro brothers had much to say during his fight with Kuwabara," he said.

When he didn't continue, all I said was, "Did he?"

"Yes." Koenma's voice rang clear and loud despite the noisy demons in the stands. "He told us that you are not the normal little girl we think you are. That you know too much, and that powers higher than we can imagine have known who you are for years. He asked us what secrets you hide. What lies you tell." Here his eyes turned hard, jasper set in stony skin. "And that a man named Hiruko, close confidante of Sakyo, told him all about you."

"No," I breathed—but it wasn't a denial, even if Koenma took it as such.

"I'm afraid he had no reason to lie," he said, not understanding the horror in my eyes. "Or at least, I have no reason to doubt him. Not after what I've seen." He gestured at the world, at me, at my friends. "You know I've been keeping an eye on you for some time. I admit, while Toguro is no doubt a liar, the things he had to say rang too true to discount outright. So I will ask you this once, and only once." Drawing himself up, every inch the demigod he most assuredly was, Koenma's voice rose to match the tenor of his unflinching eyes, demanding: "Yukimura Keiko. Who are you, exactly? And who, pray tell, is Hiruko?"

The spotlight of their eyes burned against my skin, and although the demons of the crowd still cheered, their cries fell away to a distant roar. The hottest scrutiny I had ever endured threatened to sear me from outside in, and at once I felt like the child I had been back in my first audition, full of fear and feeling like some insignificant bug lost in the infinite clamor of the cold and uncaring world—but then a sharp clap cut the quiet, two hands striking against each other with the sound of a lightning strike. Another clap followed, and then one more, and the spotlight's heat left my skin as my friends (if they still felt that way about me) turned as one to face the noise.

It was him, of course. His presence felt as inevitable as Yusuke's victory, as menacing as Toguro in the middle of the ring, as commanding as Koenma at his grandest and most commanding. He stood upon a fractured remnant of the fighting ring only a dozen feet from where I stood, staring down at us through electric eyes the color of a flame's burning heart. He stopped clapping when our eyes clashed, stowing his hands inside the sleeves of his crimson garment and out of sight, smiling as brightly as the first time I'd laid eyes on his accursed face.

"Finally, someone asks her the right questions," Hiruko said, looking pleased as punch. "Who is she, actually? It's a good question indeed. And as for your other question—I am Hiruko." He dipped a bow, smile growing wider still. "It's nice to meet you all. Keiko here has told me so much!"

I didn't dare look behind me, at any of my friends. I stayed stock still, eyes locked on Hiruko as Koenma huffed and said, "Fine. So you're Hiruko. But who—"

Hiruko ignored him. He only had eyes for me, glittering and scorching and cold all at the same time, smile present only in his lips. "You've done a wonderful job, dear, at creating the chaos I requested. Just perfectly, really. I couldn't be more proud of you."

"I haven't done shit for you," I spat, words bursting free as if dragged from the surf by the fishhook lodged in Hiruko's ear. "In case you haven't noticed, I've played Keiko's role to the note, to the letter, which is the opposite of what you asked."

But his smile turned the color of pity. "The opposite of what I asked isn't necessarily the opposite of what I wanted, sweet girl," he said, as if explaining the truth of the world to a child. "You are, after all, a contrarian. You always do the opposite of what people say. You're stubborn like that. It's one of your most endearing qualities, but I'm afraid it makes you easy to manipulate."

"Fuck you!" I roared, the scream ripping from my lungs unbidden. "Just—just fuck off already! I played her role! I followed canon! I did what I was supposed to do!"

"Did you, though?" he said, twittering still. "Because from where I'm standing, the changes you've wrought are monumental, indeed. Keiko meant nothing to the still-living members of Team Urameshi, but you? You mean so much to each and every one of them." Hiruko cast the net of his arms wide, encompassing the world, the universe, the entire heft of creation in the sweep of his crimson sleeve. "To one, you're the sister he always longed for. To another, the mother he didn't think he deserved. To yet one more you're the friend he never thought he'd call his own—and the last? Well." His lips twisted, cruelty a blade hidden in the contours of his smile. "The last of them is hopelessly in love with you, now isn't he?"

My flesh burned hot with indignity, humiliation, and the ash of broken pride. "Don't you dare speak for them!" I shot back, lacing every word with venom. "Don't speak on their behalf as if they're not here!"

"Do you think I'm lying?" Hiruko said, pitying once again. "That what I say isn't true? Because I assure you, Not-Quite-Keiko, that it is."

"And I don't care if it's true! I only care that it's coming from you." Waving haphazardly at the air behind me, at the people standing so close and yet a million lightyears away, I said, "If it's true, they can tell themselves. If it's not coming from them, it doesn't fucking count."

For once in his life, Hiruko looked taken aback, even if it was only for a moment. He stared at me in stunned silence, and it was only when I heard the crunch of gravel under a foot behind me that I remembered myself. We were not alone; this was not a dream; the confrontation had not taken place inside my head. My friends had heard everything—and that meant the game was over. The jig was up. Olly olly oxen-free, come out of hiding, Keiko, and call it quits.

But just because the game was over didn't mean I couldn't go down swinging, now did it?

"You've lost, Hiruko," I said, breathing as if I'd run a thousand miles—and I knew I still had more to run. "You've lost, and they've won. Just like they were supposed to. They won, damn you!"

But his smile only grew more pitying, and he said, "Oh, my dear girl. Who says I didn't want them to win?"

And before I could reply, to tear the meaning of that from his chest like I wanted to tear his heart, another voice cut in: "You may not have lost, Hiruko. But I most certainly have."

It was Sakyo; it was his foot that I had heard crunch over the gravel, his brooding face standing behind my group of friends with hands deep in the pockets of his impeccably tailored suit. Like Hiruko, he smiled, but it was a grim look—one I understood when he removed his hand from his pocket, revealing the detonator gripped within it.

Ah. We were at that part of canon, then: The part where Sakyo blew up this stadium, taking himself and any demon foolish enough to linger in it down with him.

Koenma stepped between Sakyo and the rest of our team, hands upraised. "Don't act rashly, Sakyo," said the demigod, uncharacteristic pleading in every word. "Just think for a second—"

"I wagered my life on the outcome of that match, Koenma. Don't you remember?" Sakyo said, smile never wavering. "And since my team has lost, it stands to reason that I, too, will now lose my life." His bright eyes flickered up to Hiruko. "A pity that I'll die without hearing your true motives, Hiruko. I admit they've fascinated me since the day we met. But to know you wanted Team Urameshi to win shows me that I aligned myself with the wrong party, and that our causes we not as cohesive as you claimed." He held the detonator a little higher, smile widening a tad. "Yet another reason why I lost, and why I must bury both myself and my ambition beneath this shattered stadium. Compromised judgement doesn't suit a man of my occupation, as it were."

Hiruko hummed under his breath. "It was a pleasure working with you, Sakyo," he said, bowing at the walking dead man. "May I assure a dying man that our objectives were, indeed, the same? They merely lie upon a different timeline, I am sorry to admit."

For a second, Sakyo didn't react—but then his eyes shut, smile finally losing its grim edge. "Interesting," he murmured. When he opened his eyes again, the smile touched them at last. "Well, then. Goodbye, Team Urameshi." He held the detonator higher still. "And good luck."

Sakyo pressed the button before Koenma could attempt to change his mind again. Nothing happened, right away—but then there came a rumble, distant but growing, shaking the ground beneath our feet until loose stones began to rattle. A horrific crash rent the air, demons screaming as a loose slab of concrete tumbled from its perch and squashed those unlucky enough to be standing below. Dust shook down from the stadium's overhanging room, pebbles and chunks of stone falling like deadly rain to the ground below. And still through all of this that horrible rumble grew louder, and louder, and louder still, earth shaking beneath my feet until I staggered. I could hardly hear a thing as the stadium began its inevitable collapse, but I felt it loud and clear when Botan grabbed my arm, screaming for us to run for the hole we'd come through, to get to safety while we still could. I obeyed at once, sprinting in her wake toward the sun streaming in from the outdoors, shielding my head as increasingly large stones pattered against my head and shoulders.

I don't know why I looked back. We were nearly to the hole in the stadium wall when the urge to look for him gripped me tight, eye drifting over my shoulder almost of its own accord. I didn't see him at first, hunting for a scrap of red or pink amid the chaotic crumble of the stadium—

Blue glinted, our eyes locking into place.

I stopped running.

I turned around, and I walked toward Hiruko, back into the deadly tumble of rock and stone.

It felt like magnetism, the way my feet guided me back to him—but somehow, I was not afraid of walking back into the maelstrom of falling concrete. Time slowed, stones and rocks falling around me with an unnatural lack of speed, slowly drifting like feathers on the wind. The threads lashing and undulating just on the edges of my vision had something to do with it, no doubt; Hiruko could manipulate time itself, slowing it so I could make my way toward him without incident. Protecting me. How laughable that he should protect me now, here, when all he had done so far is harm.

I wasn't laughing when I came to stand before him. He'd come down from his perch, standing only a few feet away with that ever-present, unending smile still plastered across his face. His lips moved, but when I couldn't hear him, the sounds of the collapsing stadium and screaming demons fading away to nothing. I heard him perfectly after that.

He said, "Would you like a clue, lucky child?"

I didn't answer, because he knew the answer. He walked forward, arms wide, and enveloped me in an embrace I could not reject. His mouth moved against my ear, breath cool on my skin as he whispered a truth—a truth I felt in my bones, resonant and inevitable, but one I could not yet bear to face. As he drew away, I buried the truth inside myself, words concealed inside a box into which I did not dare peek. I would take them out later, turn them over and over in my hands and give them the consideration they deserved—but at another time. Another place. When he didn't stare at me with such pity—pity that, at last, I understood.

And he knew I understood it. He traced the line of my jaw with a fingertip before pressing the most chaste of kisses to my forehead, pink hair brushing my skin like the fall of a sakura petal.

"Oh, my poor girl," he said into my skin. "I am so, so sorry."

So was I. But before I could say a word, a scorching hand closed around my arm. The hand pulled me back, out of Hiruko's cool grip, dragging and then carrying me away with the speed of shadow itself. Just like that, sound rushed back in, rocks falling with their natural speed that was no match for Hiei's incredible agility.

I managed to look back, only once, as he bore me away from disaster.

But by then, Hiruko was already gone.

I took a deep breath, and I turned around.

They stared at me with confusion in their eyes: Yusuke, Kuwabara, Botan, Shizuru, Atsuko, Yukina and even Koenma. Hiei and Kurama were there, too, of course. The entire gang was there, although the latter pair looked more apprehensive than confused. But that was to be expected. They knew my secret already, in bits and fractured pieces. They knew what was coming. They knew the significance of the past few hours. They knew why I stood before our friends in our hotel room with nerves gnawing at my pulse, fingers twisting like a length of gnarled rope. As dragonflies bit the lining of my belly, I shifted from foot to foot and tried my hardest not to barf in the spotlight of their stares.

But this confession was not a dream, and there would be no second chance when I was through.

"Before I start," I said, swallowing, "I need to ask a favor."

Yusuke slouched in his seat upon the couch. "You're not really in any position to be asking favors, Grandma."

"But what gives, Keiko?" said Kuwabara, who sat beside him on the edge of his seat. Imploring eyes searched my face. "Are you OK? What is this all about? The older Toguro was lying to us, right?"

"I'll get to that." A deep breath. "But first, my favor." I looked at each of them, one by one until I had all of their attention. "What I need… is for all of you to shut the hell up."

This is not what they had been expecting, judging from the variety of reactions that echoed through the room. Yukina looked hurt, and Botan appeared peeved, which Yusuke gaped at me like I'd grown another pair of eyebrows. Atsuko just laughed, though, while Kuwabara appeared more confused than I'd frankly ever seen him. Only Hiei and Kurama didn't react, poker faces held as carefully in place now as when I'd been summoned to stand before my friends.

They knew what was coming.

It was a comfort I found cold.

"Excuse me?" Shizuru said, not amused in the slightest.

"You're also not in any position to be ordering us around," Koenma huffed.

"Just—just shut up, OK?" My heart beat wild in my chest, pulse thrumming in my neck and lips. "I will tell you the truth, but you need to shut up and not ask questions until I'm done or else I'll lose my nerve and barf and then we'll never get this settled, so just—so just shut up, all right, and let me talk!"

I hadn't meant to lose my cool, but at least it shocked them all enough to fall quiet, not a word spoken as I braced myself for what was to come. My legs tried their best to tremble underneath me, but I locked my traitorous knees tight, forcing myself into unnatural stillness that did not match the tumult in my chest.

I took a deep breath.

I shut my eyes.

I opened them again.

"My name is Keiko Yukimura," I said, looking each of them in the eye in turn, "but that has not always been my name."

Then—because the game was over; olly olly oxen-free; come out of hiding, at last—I summoned forth the truth.

And I told them everything.

Notes:

End-credits theme song for this chapter is "Fractures" by Illenium. "What comes after tiny fractures?" I encourage you to give it a listen.

And here we are. For some of you, this cliffhanger might be worse than the last. But once again, I'll try to update in a week (that's a few weeks in a row now!) to alleviate the pain of it.

And thus, we've come full circle, using lines from multiple previous chapters (including chapter 1) as she finally confesses her origins. It's been a long time coming. We'll see the fallout in chapter 104.

I'm not feeling like my best self at the moment, although writing this helped. Have been excited for this since the start of the story, and I'm glad to share it with you. I know it's kind of fraught/stressful, so I get it if this is hard to read, and I promise to write some more upbeat stuff soon since we're all stressed during the COVID19 situation.

Many thanks to those who chimed in on chapter 102. It was great to hear from you: Unctuous, Sdelacruz, shini_tenshi, QueenofOblivion, silver_toffeepaper, Chaosdreamingsiren, MidKnightOwl, Konkubus, RainbowWordStrings, TokiMirage, allyallyonthewall, Sanguinary_Tide, anime_aholic, ShiaraM, Mitsuneko, Ms_Liz, Gerbilfriend, Absolutely_corrupted, NotQuiteAnonymous, Cptkitten, PAddygirl, rosethornli, thotpolice, MyMindIsTellingMeNo, Nollyn, musiquemer, willowfire, cactus_cat, JestWine, Soteria91, SarcasticallyDances, DragonsTower, Dynames2308!

Chapter 104: Fatalistic Determinism

Summary:

In which reactions are measured.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The cold, dispassionate stars rained silver light onto the forests and shores of Hanging Neck Island, turning the landscape into an impressionist painting of monochrome severity. Broad strokes of silver scored the distant, crashing sea, while smaller flicks of deep grey enumerated the swaying treetops far below my perch atop the roof of Hotel Kubikukuri. Any other night, I probably would've found the silvery scene rather beautiful. But tonight was not any other night, and as I stared in tense silence at the realm below, I wished the world could always be so black and white. Heads or tails. 50/50. If the world could be so easily parsed, the anxiety in my chest would surely ease.

What were my friends saying about me now, back in our hotel suite?

What were they discussing about the truths that I had told them?

What would they decide about my fate, and about our friendship?

It hardly mattered. Attempting to predict the outcome made my head spin, so I'd stopped trying mere moments after completing my story, being dismissed and heading to the roof. Instead I just stared out over the dull, indeterminate island, trying to count the minutes in the shift of the unbiased stars, shivering as the faintest of winds stirred my hair.

"Make that face much longer, dear heart, and it might get stuck that way."

I jumped, but it was only Jin, floating a few feet away above the hotel roof. His toes barely skimmed the gravel-strewn ground, a whisper-gentle breeze tossing the tips of his hair. It looked inky black in the starlight, his eyes silvery with delight, grin like soft moonlight lancing across his face.

But I couldn't smile back, happy though I felt at the sight of him. I curled my knee closer to my chest, arm around it holding on tight. I sat on a ledge near the edge of the building, a safety measure set some feet back from the sheer drop to the ground below. It was as close as I dared get, but Jin showed no fear as he wafted closer and settled at my side. His smile had faded, eyes full of trouble like clouds drifting across the moon.

"Och, wee lamb," he said, gentler than before. "The stars shine too bright for this much shadow. What's ailin' ye?"

I forced a breezy insouciance. "Oh, I dunno. Just feeling a bit glum, is all."

"I don't believe that even for a moment," he said with a huff. "A smile suits ye much better, that it does, and you damn near look like you're about to cry. Ye wouldn't look that way for not, my sweet girl."

But I didn't want to talk about it. "What are you doing here?" I said, hoping to change the subject.

And Jin, bless him, seemed to understand. "Nice night for a traipse through the clouds," he said, smile returning like a rising sun. "And the blood hasn't stopped pumping since your friend Urameshi took out that monster named Toguro. Och, what a fight! More eager n' ever for a rematch, dontcha know." Jin loosed a bright laugh. "Course, I'll have to train a while first to catch up, because Urameshi took a level to heights even I can't reach just yet, and I'm a bloomin' Wind Master!"

He chattered on in his way, and he didn't ask me questions. He didn't make me talk. He didn't press or pry or invade my space, instead filling the silence with the sunshine of his laugh and the warmth of his melodious voice. Expectation did not live in him. For all his ferocity in the ring, Jin was a breeze of a person, not a gale or a storm or a whirlwind battering you with force. When he at last fell quiet, staring thoughtfully at the clouds with a slight smile on his face, the silence held only comfort and contentment—and in spite of myself, I found my words drawn forth by the subtle power of that silence.

"Do you believe in reincarnation?" I asked.

Jin's brow shot up. "Now that's a bolt from the blue if I ever heard one."

"Well. Do you?"

He dug a finger into his ear, lip jutting in a contemplative pout. "I dunno that I've given it much thought, to tell all honest truth," he said after a time. His ears wiggled the littlest bit; Jin giggled along with them. "And I don't plan on taking a trip to the great hereafter with any sort of immediacy, as you might imagine, so I won't be finding out anytime soon, either."

I looked back at the silver of the distant trees. "That makes one of us," I muttered.

"Eh?"

"I…" I took a deep breath. "My name is Yukimura Keiko, but that hasn't always been my name."

It was easier to tell the story of everything, this time, and Jin needed no warning to stay quiet. He listened in silence as I repeated what I'd told the others back in our hotel suite: That I was once someone else. That I had lived another live, in another plane of reality, where the people in this world existed not as people, but as characters in a kind of legend. Thanks to that, I knew things I shouldn't, and not just the language I had spoken in my first life. No, I knew how the threads of fate were meant to tangle, and I had been pulling strings as best as I could for as long as I'd been able, with the goal of preserving the weave of destiny—but now the strands had snapped. Things were happening that had not happened in the legend, and without the threads of fate to carry me, I had begun a dizzying freefall into the depths of the unknown.

I left out some things, of course: Minato, Kagome, the horrible secret Hiruko had whispered in my ear (the one I refused to consider, the one I refused to repeat). Although I had promised to end my string of deceptions, these were not my secrets to tell. Not yet, anyway. I could only hope that when these secrets revealed themselves, my friends would understand.

But fearing they, and Jin, would not, I said, "I'll understand if you don't believe me, or if you want to go sailing off of this roof away from me." I refused to look at him, dreading what I'd see on his face. "I know it's a lot, and that it presses the bounds of incredulity. But I promise that I'm done lying, and—"

"That's how you knew my name long before we met, then." He spoke with an odd, distant detachment I had never heard from him before—a tactician considering facts, perhaps. It reminded me that for all his gentle nature, Jin was a shinobi. I held my breath as he added, "And that's how you knew who stood beneath that cowl on the day I first laid eyes on you." His voice dropped low. "I just wish you'd told me sooner, that you had."

"I know," I said, gritting my teeth. "Lying to you wasn't—"

"Because you've lived as human twice, and that means I have twice the number of questions to ask!"

I couldn't keep from looking at him, then—and I found him beaming. The distance was gone from his voice, Jin's eyes bright with glee as he shifted toward me on the ledge, grabbing up my hands with a merry laugh.

"All of that other world stuff is above my head, high as it so often flies, but—America!" he said with overstated relish. "You were from America! What's it like? Is that how you knew the differences what it's like here and what it's like elsewhere?" He ruffled my hair with obvious affection, laughing again when I grumbled. "Och, I knew ye were a lucky girl, but this takes the prize in all kinds of new and fascinatin' ways, that it most assuredly does!"

"You're not—mad?" I said, choking out the uncertain words.

Jin blinked a few times, momentarily stunned. "Mad?" he repeated. "A kind of madcap secret like that is just beggin' to be kept, and we've only just met, really, even if we've become fast friends since that very day." He ruffled my hair again. "No, Keiko, I'm not cross with you. Not in the least. You had every call to keep your secret close to your chest, I'll say that once and I'll say it again."

It was more than I could have dreamed—and I couldn't keep the tears from welling in my eyes at the sound of his excited voice, the lilt to his eager questions, the light in his delighted eye. He was enough of a gentleman to keep talking and not acknowledge my tears, looping an arm around my shoulder as he waxed poetic on the luck of living twice.

When I calmed down, he held me a little tighter. "This explains that ill wind I sensed tossin' ill-swept breezes round your head not so long ago," he said—but softly, gently, like he didn't want me to startle like an unbroken horse. "And I suppose that business with Urameshi's mother gettin' herself kidnapped had something to do with this, not to mention the way that slimy Toguro brother behaved before his match with Kuwabara." Here his smile faded, expression earnest and tinged with heartache. "That secret you told me you were keepin', back on our date, before. This secret's been weighin' on you fierce since even before you rode the waves to this island's rocky shore."

"Yeah. It has." I swallowed. "And now it's not a secret. Not from you. Not from them."

His eyed widened. "You told them, then. Urameshi and all your ilk?"

"I did."

"And that's a good thing, or so it would seem to a bloke like me."

"Maybe. Maybe not." I took another deep breath. "I have no idea what's going to happen next, and I—I'm not used to not knowing. And that scares the shit out of me."

"So that explains the look I saw, all sallow on your pretty face," Jin said.

"Yeah," I said. "It does."

Earlier that night, after I told them everything, I stood before my friends in silence, waiting for the fallout to descend like an oncoming storm.

Because surely there would be fallout, I thought as I scanned the room. I had just told them I was once someone else in another place and time, who knew them from a story, and now I was here, reborn as Keiko after being killed in a car wreck. I had explained what I knew was supposed to happen and what had changed at this tournament, clarifying my strange actions—and my dedication to making sure the tournament went to plan successfully. It was the unvarnished truth, laid bare before them at long last. How I knew things I shouldn't. How I knew what would happen next. But things had gone wrong, and I could no longer cling to the woven tapestry of fate and destiny. Instead it had unraveled, leaving me standing before my friends in the mess of severed threads leftover.

"I promise to tell you the truth, if you ask it of me now," I said when I finished telling them everything (although everything was a relative term, because I had not mentioned Kagome, Minato, or what Hiruko had said to me as the stadium collapsed). Steeling myself, head held high, I told my friends: "I promise the time for deception is over. I promise not to lie to you anymore. And that's it." My nerves at last failed me, leaving me standing in a miserable puddle of anxious fidgeting. Smiling a smile of pure hysterics, I grinned and spread my hands in a helpless, defeated shrug. "So that's my story, guys and gals. I open the floor to questions, commentary, commendations, condemnations—so. Yeah. Thanks." I fidgeted some more, not daring to meet anyone's eyes. "Um…"

For a long while, no one said a word.

Then Yusuke raised a finger to point at me and blurt, "I knew you weren't that goddamn smart!"

I blinked twice. "Excuse me?"

"I said I knew you weren't that smart!"

"No, I mean, I heard you—just, what does that mean?"

"It means you aren't that smart, is what it means," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Chin raised high, grin on his defiant face, Yusuke looked at me and said, "I knew it. I knew it!"

My failing composure completely broke. "Look, I've spent fifteen years trying to predict how you'll react to this little revelation," I said through clenched teeth, "and you calling me an idiot comes later, not—not immediately after I finish talking, and—"

"You were correcting our teacher's English grammar in the second grade," Yusuke said with a glare that stunned me into silence. "You're smart, but you didn't just learn English through—through—through listening to tourists on the subway somehow!" He looked like he'd suddenly turned into the conspiracy-brain meme, dawning comprehension illuminating lightbulbs in his eyes. "You were born knowing English! And this explains 'yippee ki yay mother fucker,' and—"

Botan reached over and swatted his knee. "Yusuke! I know this is a shock, but mind your language!"

I ignored her, because there were more important things afoot that Yusuke's potty mouth. "OK, that's the second time you've brought that up in as many months," I said. "What the hell are you talking about?"

He scoffed, looking like he didn't believe me—but then he saw the confusion on my face, and he heaved a sigh. "When we were kids, you dragged me to see Die Hard; do you remember that?"

"No," I said, because I didn't. "I don't."

Yusuke soldiered on. "It was brand new. Japanese premiere and everything. We had to scheme to get tickets somehow, and when that didn't work, we had to sneak into the theater." He grinned, though he quashed the look after a moment or two. "Anyway. You called it a heist and you said it really fit the movie, and I had no idea what the fuck you meant, but I went along with it because it sounded fun." His glare returned. "Do you remember that now?"

"I do," I said, because suddenly I did—but only now, after the reminder. It was one of the many movies I had dragged Yusuke to go see, blending into the fabric of my memory until it almost disappeared… but now I remembered the smell of popcorn and the ratty carpet in the theater, which we'd crawled across on our bellies to find an empty seat. The flashlight of an usher, shining on us. Diving under a chair to crawl away, between feet of oblivious moviegoers, just like John McLane through a ventilation duct. Whispering translations of the dialogue to Yusuke in the dark, because he couldn't keep up with the subtitles.

And I remembered 'yippee ki yay, motherfucker,' too.

"You swore up and down I'd love that movie," Yusuke said. "You told me it was going to be amazing. I wondered how you knew so much about it, but I just figured you'd heard about it from someone or read something about it—but when we were in that theater, you whispered something. You whispered it just before Bruce Willis said it, in the same… the same rhythm, or whatever. The same tone. In English." Yusuke's eyes were hard when he said, "You whispered—"

"Yippee ki yay, mother fucker," I whispered.

"Yippee ki yay mother fucker," he repeated. "That's right." He settled back against the couch cushions, arms a defensive cross over his chest. "There was no way you could've seen the movie before. There was no way you'd know right when it was coming. But now I get it. You had seen that movie before. You'd seen it back when you were someone else. This has bothered me for years, but now—now it all makes sense." His face screwed up. "Well. It makes sense in the sense that it makes no sense at all, but whatever. I just—" He paused. Licked his lips. Blurted with hurt spilling from his eyes: "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me any of this? Why wait until now?"

"I didn't tell you when we were kids because I didn't think you'd believe me," I confessed. "I knew that after you died and came back, I'd stand a better chance at being believed. Your death kick-started all the supernatural bullshit, so…"

Now he just looked peeved. "OK, putting aside the fact that you apparently knew I'd die and didn't think to be a pal and warn me—"

My cheeks flushed. "You needed to die for all of this to happen, and also I knew you'd come back, so…"

Atsuko sat up straight. "Screw Yusuke—why didn't you tell me that?" she said, chucking a pillow in my direction.

I dodged; Yusuke rolled his eyes. "Gee, thanks, Mom," he snarked. To me he added, "And why didn't you tell me the truth after I came back, then?"

"I tried," I said. "I tried to tell you that night you brought up Die Hard for the first time. And then I had to leave, and when I came back, you were gone." A shrug, helpless and desperate. "And then I sent that letter."

"The letter that I lost?"

"Yeah."

Koenma stepped forward. "This letter, you mean?"

He had been standing in the corner of the room during my speech, but now he sauntered into the middle of the living room, standing only a few feet before me with an envelope held between two fingers. I reached for it on reflex, recognizing the handwriting and the color of the ink I'd used on the address, but Koenma held it up and out of my reach.

Yusuke was on his feet beside me in an instant. "Hey, pacifier breath! That's not yours!" he said.

My hands fisted at my sides. "Where did you get that?" I asked, voice low and thread.

"Yeah, what she said!" said Yusuke. "I thought I lost that, so why—?"

"Genkai told me where she'd kept it when she reached Spirit World," he said.

Yusuke did a bit of a double-take. "Wait. Genkai took it?" Grimacing, he grumbled, "No wonder I couldn't find it. Old bat probably kept it under her wig or something."

"I figured she'd destroyed it." I said.

Another double-take, bigger than the first. "Wait, you knew she had it?" Yusuke said.

"She told me a few days ago." It felt odd to tell the truth—the words came with effort, my speech slow, unused to transparency after so much time in the dark. "She said that distracting you before your matches with this was a bad idea. I agreed—grudgingly—but I saw her point. She didn't want you to be distracted while you were training before the tournament, either."

Yusuke was less forgiving. "That old hag," he said, looking skyward as if to lob curses at her ghost. But soon his ire quieted, a heavy weight settling into the depths of his eyes. "I mean, I get it, but—wait, Genkai knew about you?" His third double-take of the night, to me and then to the ceiling and back again. "About you being all reincarnated and whatnot?"

I tried to answer him, but Koenma cut me off. "We'll talk about that later, Yusuke." He tapped the latter with the back of his other hand, a smart rap of sound in the otherwise quiet room. "Genkai said to open this letter when, and I quote, 'Keiko decides to come clean.' I was tempted to open it as soon as I got my hands on it, but something told me she'd come back from the dead and put me in the dirt if I disobeyed, so I refrained."

I held out my hand. "Give it to me. Please," I said. "Just—"

"No." He tucked it out of sight in the folds of his blue and red eyes, bright brown eyes hard as malachite. "I want to examine this. To see if there are any discrepancies between what you just told us and what it contains."

"Oh. Yeah." A bitter smile twisted my lips. "Good luck with that."

"And what is that supposed to mean, pray tell?" Koenma said, brow arching high.

"Just that it's layered with code and obfuscation," I said with lazy indifference (that I didn't feel inside, but whatever; I just needed that letter in my hand, now). "You'll need me to decode it. Me or Genkai, that is, but right now, I'm all you've got."

A smooth voice cut in, "I imagine I might suffice, as well."

It was Kurama, of course, who'd spoken, and who elegantly rose from his chair to approach Koenma. I stared at him, mouth agape, as he offered Koenma a small, mild smile.

"I dare say I should be able to make sense of it." Green eyes slid my way, smile still in place. "Do you agree?"

My mouth shut with a clatter of teeth. "Yes," I said—because Kurama knew enough about my past that he'd be able to wade through the layers of concealment I'd written into that confessional, swimming through the nonsense to find the truth buried within. Still, I wanted to be in control of this, and handing the letter off to him felt wrong. "But I really think I should be the one to—"

"Kei," he said, voice firm.

I stopped talking. His eyes flickered sideways, to the rest of the room—the rest of the room where the others had been watching in silence, following the back-and-forth without a single spoken word. I'd almost forgotten about the crowd of people playing spectator to my confession, but now I couldn't tear my eyes off of them. Hiei sat blank-faced on a windowsill, not looking particularly concerned with the proceedings. By contrast, Yukina said with her hands clasped firmly on her lap, staring at the floor through narrow, troubled eyes. Atsuko nursed a flask of booze as she lounged on the couch, eyes hard as she looked me over—but her gaze wasn't nearly as upsetting as Botan's. Botan sat with her fingers over her mouth, expression brittle and distant, attention traveling somewhere far outside the room's four walls. Like she couldn't believe what she was hearing, teetering on the edge of anger or a breakdown, and I was helpless to discern which. Next to her, Shizuru lazily chain-smoked, face as inscrutable as a sphynx's… but her brother was a different story. He stared openly at me, not bothering to hide the confusion, the hurt, the sheer agitation bubbling in his eyes like a cauldron slow to brew.

When I met his eyes, he was the first to look away.

"It would be best to give them space," Kurama murmured. "To process."

"I get it," I said, tearing my eyes from them. "But—"

I found him looking at me like an oak a millennia old, unflinching and immovable. "Let me be your advocate for just a little while," he said, allowing himself to smile the slightest bit. "Please."

I thought about it.

Then, grudgingly: "Fine."

Koenma seized the moment, as he's wont. "Then it's settled," he said, drawing himself up. "Yukimura Keiko—or whatever your name is—please leave. We have much to discuss. Starting with whether we believe any of what you've said in the first place."

For a minute, I just stood there.

Then I walked out, to the stairwell, where I sat to have a proper stress-cry over being kicked out of my own damn trial—but it didn't make me feel any better than before.

Jin listened in silence. He held my hand, and even when I stopped talking, he didn't let go.

"Ah, sweet girl," he said when I was finished—but that was all.

"I'm afraid of what will happen when they ask me to come back and talk about it," I said, grateful for the warmth of his hand. Despite the comfort he brought, I couldn't keep from adding, "If they ask me to come back, that is."

Jin frowned. "They're your friends, or do I have it twisted?" he said. "No, no. They'll want you back. Trust me, Keiko." Nudging me with an elbow, Jin grinned and said, "They'll want you back, with bells on."

"Wish I could. Trust you, I mean," I muttered. "This is like waiting to hear my verdict at a trial, and I'm not even allowed to be there to defend myself. I'm just—tense." A shrug. "Who wouldn't be, though?"

Jin didn't answer. He just popped up, leaping with nimble precision from sitting on the ledge to standing on it—and his grip on my hand never slackened. He pulled me up with him and swept me into his arms, and without a word we went streaking into the silver and black night, wind cool and insistent on my cheeks.

"What are you doing?" I had the presence of mind to shriek.

"You'll see!" was all Jin said, and away we went.

He flew me to the top of Hanging Neck Rock, so high above the rest of the island, an impossibly distant perch overlooking the sea of silver-flecked trees dotting the hills and valleys below. I stumbled when we landed, but he caught me and held me to his chest for a moment, letting me go only so he could spread his arms as if to embrace the world.

"Now, wee lamb—yell," he said, voice a laugh on the wind.

"Huh?"

"Yell. Scream!" His grin widened, eyes like stars set in warm skin. "Shriek like a banshee at the stars and tell the universe you're not gonna take any of this lyin' down, that you aren't."

"Why?" I said. "Why are you—?"

He was beside me in an instant, hands on my waist, spinning me in a tight circle before tapping a finger gently against my nose. "You are a tightly wound skein of stress and fear strapped together by the thinnest threads of self-control, a kettle boiling under a lid that doesn't want to budge—but that pressure will blow, one way or another, and it best blow on your own terms and not when you least expect it to rear its ugly head, eh?" he said in that lilting rush of his. He spun away, laughing again, a light shining in so much dark. "So yell, Yukimura Keiko! Let out what's in that beating human heart of yours until the sky trembles at your fury! Unless you're not feelin' any fury, in which case, pick the emotion you feel thundering in your bones and let it roar like the wind, sweet girl!"

And he danced away on weightless feet, arcing off into the sky with a roar of air. His laugh following him into the dark, leaving me alone with my thoughts upon the top of Hanging Neck Rock. The dark of his form passed over the stars, negative space the only thing left as he sailed above me, laughing and joyful. I wished I could follow. Alas, I could not, so I just bent and snatched a loose stone off the top of the rock formation I stood upon. It was a small pebble, sharp at one corner, rounded at the other, pressing deep into my palm when I clenched it in my fist.

So Jin thought I should yell, huh?

But did I even know what to say?

"Fuck you, Hiruko."

The words came thin and soft, cotton on a weak tongue. I felt silly saying them. I gripped the rock in my hand tighter still.

"No. Forget you, Hiruko," I muttered. "This isn't about you anymore. You may have forced my hand, but that's it. What comes next is up to me."

Somewhere out there, Jin's laugh cut the gloom. It filled my head to bursting, bolstering my confidence. Jin had accepted the truth about me without an issue. Whatever reactions my other friends had, I'd take them in stride just as I'd taken my confession with Jin. I wouldn't allow Hiruko to take that away from me. He wouldn't worm his way into my relationships any more than he already had.

I gripped the stone even tighter.

"This is my night," I said—but not to Hiruko. Not to anyone, really. I said it to me, and no one else, because these were the words I needed most to hear. "This is my fight. This is my fight to keep my friends beside me, and it's about me—me, and nobody else." I raised the rock high. "So you hear that, universe? You hear that, fate, destiny, whatever the fuck you are? This is my life! These are my choices! I own them, and they are mine, and I don't care if my name is Yukimura Keiko or something else entirely—because it belongs to me!" I pulled back my arm. "Now butt the hell out!"

I threw the rock when I was done, shrieking all the while. Then I threw another. I threw a third with a wordless cry of desperation, feet scrabbling across the uneven top of Hanging Neck Rock—and I came too close to the edge. With a cry I stumbled backward, falling on the sloped stone, landing hard on my back, only to slide precariously toward the drop. But at the last moment I caught myself, and when I sat up, salty tears ran into my mouth. Pressing my face into my hands, I yelled once more into the night, a bellow of rage and fear and hurt that felt like it had been pulled from my heart by a force outside myself.

And then Jin was there, holding me, murmuring comforts against my hair as strong hands traced soothing circles against my back. I clung to him and cried, fingers winding deep and tight into the fabric of his loose white shirt. Like if I let go, I'd plummet into the night, a stone dropped into the depths of the sea.

"It's all right," Jin was saying. "Just let it all out and have a good cry, sweet girl. You'll feel better for it."

And he was right. Unlike the tears I'd shed in the stairwell, these actually made me feel better. I felt more centered when my sobbing ceased. Calmer, somehow. Like the sea after a storm, washed clean and smelling of rain. As Jin gathered me back up into his arms to take me back to the hotel, wishing me good luck as I headed back inside, I knew that I could return to face my friends with my head held high.

I wasn't running from this anymore.

It was time to set things right.

Saotome Jorge, of all people, came to get me—an unexpected occurrence since he hadn't been part of our group back during my original confession. Where Koenma had stashed him during that interlude, I haven't a clue. I sat on a bench by the elevators down the hall from the boys' hotel suite, and when he came upon me there, he started to introduce himself. Only belatedly did he remember that we'd met before. Still, he carried on. It was only polite, after all.

"I'm Jorge. And you're… Keiko. I suppose?" he said, rubbing awkward at the back of his meaty blue neck. "Or do you want to be called something else now? Or—"

"Keiko is fine," I said, rising to my feet. "It's what I've used for 15 years, anyway."

"Right. That's a good point." He nodded, fringe of yellow hair flapping over his shoulders. The single horn on his forehead and the pair of tusks jutting from his mouth gleamed sharply in the overhead lights, but despite his height and supernatural appearance, Koenma's assistant didn't intimidate me. Perhaps it was the hangdog look on his face as he gestured down the hall, or his generally polite demeanor. "Well, if you'll come with me…"

He escorted me to the suite with surprisingly light footfalls, ones I self-consciously mimicked as we headed down the silent corridor. When we neared the suite, I belatedly wished I had made more noise while walking, because Jorge had propped the door open when he'd left, and voices drifted through it as if projected by a loudspeaker.

"… answer me this," Atsuko was saying as we approached the suite. "Is there any chance she's just crazy? Like, she's making this up?"

"No," said Kurama. "As stated, I have acquired certain assurances that she isn't lying when she talks about her past. At the very least, she believes that she's telling the truth."

I stopped short, a fleeting sense of numb dread building in my chest. What an odd thing for Kurama to say—like he didn't actually believe any of what I said was real. Like he had entertained the notion that this was all in my head for some time now. When I stopped walking, so did Jorge; he looked between me and the door in turns, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot.

"Hiei can vouch for that as well, given he's seen her memories for himself," Kurama continued.

Someone huffed—Kuwabara, most likely, given he then grumbled: "Still can't get over that you two have known about this for so long…"

He no doubt meant Hiei and Kurama—and he did not sound happy about it. The bite in his words didn't bode well. I started to hold my breath, wondering what I'd overhear next. Any preparation I could get before going in there would help me say just the right thing to smooth over—

"Quiet, fool." This was Hiei, voice cutting and sharp. "She's here."

No advantages for me, then. Taking a deep breath, I heaved open the door and walked inside, doing my best to look confident… quite a feat, given the oppressive silence and cloying stares that filled the room to bursting. No one spoke as Jorge walked me over to a chair beside the windows. The hot seat, I thought. Suppressing a panicked laugh, I gave Jorge a nod of thanks and settled into my chair, not daring to meet anyone else's eyes just yet. Who would start talking first, I wondered? And what, worse yet, would they say?

Like the time before, Yusuke began the inquisition.

"So, before we get into it… I gotta know one thing." He leaned forward, elbows pillowed on his knees, brown eyes intense and impossible not to meet. Puu lounged on his lap, eyes rapt on my face, too. "Where's the other Keiko?" His jaw twitched. "The… the real one, I guess."

I swallowed. I said, "I don't know." At the lift in his brow, I added, "I don't even know if she ever really existed. Not the way all of you do." Those words felt horrific in my mouth; I moved on before I could place a finger on why. "I don't know if I stole her place, or if it was created in this world for me to fill. But near as I can tell, it's only ever been me here, in this body and in this world." I swallowed again, mouth too wet all of a sudden. "I'm sorry I don't know more."

Yusuke sat back in his seat.

Yusuke crossed his arms.

Yusuke said, "OK."

I waited for him to continue. He did not. It was my turn to lean forward, searching his face for clues.

"Just… just OK?" I said, not believing it. "What do you…?"

"Yeah. Just OK." He shrugged, rolling his eyes. "I mean, that's good enough for me. Can't speak for the rest of us, but…"

"I don't understand."

He loosed the smallest of growls, sitting up again to grouse, "Stop overthinking. I can see you overthinking, and it's stupid!" When I didn't move, he heaved a sigh and flopped back against the cushions, Puu grumbled at being jostled. "Look, Keiko—as far as I can tell, you're the only Keiko I've ever known." This fact he presented with an air of grudging protest, and the slightest of color entered his cheeks. "You can't miss somebody you've never met, so—so OK." He waved vaguely at me, the room, the world. "You being Keiko, the only Keiko, is good enough for me."

I sat there in silence, hardly daring to process the enormity of what he'd just said—but then others nodded, murmuring quiet agreement. The slow chorus might have been resenting on some people's part, but no one contradicted Yusuke's words… and that mean that on the subject of stealing Keiko's place in this world, all was well.

It was more than I'd dared hope for.

It was more than I dared believe could happen to me.

Slowly, I lowered my face into my hands.

"Oh god, are you crying?" Yusuke immediately griped. Couch springs creaked as he stood, Puu voicing a squawk of protest, and then a set of hard knuckles dug into my scalp. "Don't go gettin' mushy on me now, dammit. We aren't done!"

"Sorry." I sat up and wiped at my eyes, relieved to find them still dry. "I'm just—relieved. That you believe me."

Here he looked guilty, though I wasn't sure precisely why. "Well. It's not just that," he said, looking askance.

"Koenma looked into your background long before now," Botan said. She didn't look nearly as brittle as she had when I left, a genuine smile on her face and the usual chipper note in her bright voice. "As you're aware, Spirit World has been suspicious of your actions for some time. Koenma filled us all in about that."

"And there isn't anything to indicate you displaced another soul," Kurama smoothly interjected. "Whatever means brought you here, it did not cause harm to another person."

Koenma harrumphed. "As far as I can tell, anyway."

A warmth spread through my chest. "That's a relief," I said, unable to keep from sagging in my chair. "Thank my lucky stars."

"And besides." Botan's smile grew sweeter still. "It's clear to me, even if others don't agree, that you've been working quite hard on your own to make things go to plan. To ensure our future stays on course, I mean. If that daring rescue you put together when Atsuko was kidnapped is any indication, you've been fighting for us whenever you can!" She tittered, looking at me with regret and sympathy all rolled into one. "But oh, Keiko—we only wish you had told us sooner, dear. We could have figured all of this out together, you see."

The words felt wholly inadequate, but still I said, "It never seemed like the right time."

She only nodded, taking my excuse in stride—another thing I hadn't dared hoped for. "I can't imagine how difficult it must've been to decide when and if you'd come clean," she said. "Certainly there must have been many factors to consider. But enough about that!" She bolted to her feet, but only so she could trot over and kneel beside me, eyes shining and full of obvious curiosity. "I have questions, Keiko, dear, and they need answering! I want to hear all about your past life, because it sounds fascinating indeed."

I studied her for a moment. "So you believe I was telling the truth?"

"Of course I do!" she said.

"Because from what I overheard" (I shot a fleeting, accusatory glance at Kurama) "some of you have doubts."

"Well, duh!" said Yusuke, throwing up his hands. "What you're saying sounds impossible! Even if Kurama did make a good point earlier."

"I pointed out to them that I, too, once existed in another physical body," Kurama clarified when I just stared, nonplussed. "Your situation is only a slightly more complex version of my own, after all."

"Kurama can be very convincing, as you know," Botan said with a resolute nod.

"It helped that he knew all about you," Yusuke said. "Heck, even Hiei knew some stuff." He sank deeper into the couch with a grimace, and a pout for good measure. "What made you clue them in but not me, huh?"

No hesitation; I announced: "Hiei threatened to kill my ass before he used his Jagan like a battering ram to see inside my head, and I only told Kurama because he threatened to feed me to a giant Venus flytrap."

Botan gasped, darting across the room to swat Kurama's arm. "Kurama! How could you?" she said, aghast. "And same goes for you, Hiei!"

While Kurama had the decency to look at least a little ashamed of himself, Hiei just sneered at Botan's reprimand and turned to face the windows, where he'd been ever since I waked through the door. Yukina giggled at the exchange, but Yusuke ignored all of them, staring at me with lip thrust out, eyes narrow and intense.

"Well… I admit that that sounds in-character for him. For both of them, even," he eventually relented (at which Kurama gave a little cough of what I hoped was embarrassment). "But still! Can't believe I'm so low on the pecking order…"

Kurama swooped into provide a rescue, and for that, I was willing to forgive him (a little, anyway). "Truth be told, Yusuke, Keiko has wanted to tell all of you the truth for quite some time," he said, a smooth note of placation in his words. "The time, alas, never seemed right. It's entirely circumstantial that I was the first to know of her secrets."

"Don't look smug," I shot back (even though he didn't look particularly smug at all). "You weren't the first."

"I wasn't?"

"No." I couldn't keep a bitter smile at bay. "That was Genkai."

That certainly got Yusuke's attention. "Wait, what?" he said, easing forward once again. "You met Genkai first?"

I nodded. "I went to see her years ago. It doesn't matter why." Yusuke looked dissatisfied by that, but I kept talking before he could pry; there were some details about my life as Keiko I hadn't had a chance to discuss yet, and my quest to gain powers was one of them. "It was inevitable that I had to tell her the truth back then. She was too insightful to believe I was just an ordinary person no matter how well I acted the part of one. That means she was the first to know."

"But not the first of us you met," said Shizuru.

She had been quiet until then, content to sit in silence and watch events unfold with the cool detachment she was so famous for. My heart leapt into my mouth when she spoke, but she didn't lash out with an accusation or punch a wall like she had in my simulation of the Big Reveal™. She just flicked ash from her cigarette into the tray on her knee, gaze knowing and intense.

Somehow, I knew what she was about to say before she even said it—but I was too slow to stop her, and too stunned to even try.

"That would be my brother and me," she said, pointing her cigarette my way. "Right, Keiko?"

Kuwabara's head swung in my direction. He hadn't spoken much, either, and I hadn't looked at him at all since I'd returned to have this chat. I hadn't wanted to see that look of hurt in his eyes, but now I found my eyes inexorably drawn to him. However, no hurt lay in his gaze this time; his eyes only held confusion as he asked, "Wait. What's she talking about, Keiko?"

Shizuru put a hand to her forehead. "My baby brother. The idiot. Now's not the time for playing dumb."

He looked back at his sister, hands thrown up in frustration. "What in the Sam Hill are you talking about, sis?"

Frustration to mirror his crept into her dark gaze. "Don't pretend you don't know," she said, words as curt as her eyes. But when Kuwabara just looked at her like she'd sprouted a tentacle from her nose, she said, "Oh, come on, Kazuma. She ran into us a long, long time ago and made damn sure to say 'hi.' Even gave you a gift. Remember?" But still he did not react; her face screwed up in consternation, honest-to-god confusion writ across her irises. "Have you really not figured this out yet? I thought that's why you were always following her around with puppy dog eyes. No?"

I hoped, in a vague way, that he wouldn't catch on. It wasn't like she'd said anything too specific, and if I said something to throw him off the scent, surely I would be able to keep him from stumbling upon the unfortunate truth, and—

But I had only just promised not to lie to them anymore, hadn't I? How quickly my brain had leapt to deception as the answer to my problems. No, I couldn't lie to distract him. So could I change the subject? Or would—

Kuwabara and his sister shared a long, silent look.

Then Kuwabara's eyes widened, and he turned to me in horror.

"You—you're—" He took a deep breath, chest swelling as his hand rose to point directly at my face. "Volcano G—"

Panic gripped my brain in tiny lizard hands, claws digging in sharp. I babbled, "It wasn't some big scheme, I promise, I just saw you on the playground and—"

"You're Volcano Girl?"

"—and you looked sad so I helped out and I figured you wouldn't remember me because we were both so young, and then Shizuru saw me and she—"

"Why didn't you tell me?" he cut in, voice rising an octave and more than a few decibels. "Keiko, why didn't—!?"

"What in the world is a Volcano Girl?" Yusuke grumbled.

Kuwabara ignored him. His knees wobbled when he rose to his feet, eyes locked on my burning face, shock giving way to anger moment by horrible moment. "Why didn't you—why didn't you say—I looked for her!" The words burst free as a yell, a shout, a bellow of confusion and disgust and pure, unmitigated hurt. Rising to his full height, Kuwabara stared me down and said, "I looked! I searched! I wanted to thank her. I wanted to see her—to see you." His breathing hitched, a horrible noise of raw emotion. "And you were here the whole entire…" Hurt changed to rage like a snapping flame. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

"What?" I said, stunned. "N-no. Of course not!"

"Have you been laughing at me? Laughing because I didn't figure it out?" He wheeled on his sister, rage burning for her, too. "And Shizuru, you knew this whole time, but you didn't say anything?"

"I thought you knew!" she said.

"Like hell I did!" he bellowed. "If I'd known, I never would've—"

Kuwabara stopped talking. His head turned in my direction, a sharp jerk like a neck snapping under cruel hands. Eyes swept over my face, and while I don't know what they found there, it only seemed to upset him more. Livid anger changed to deathly calm, a serenity I could not mistake for forgiveness or for ease. It was the dark, brooding kind of calm I had seen a million times on Hiei, but never on Kuwabara. Not on the happy, friendly, best-friends-forever Kuwabara Kazuma.

Seeing that look on his face was bad enough.

Knowing I had put it there was the most devastating thing of all.

Kuwabara held that pose for a few seconds. It felt like a lifetime. But soon his head jerked again, facing the door, which he headed for with a stiff swing of leg and arm. "You know what?" he said, not bothering to look at me. "I'm outta here."

I was on my feet and after him in seconds. "Kuwabara, wait!"

He was too fast, though. He had made it out of the room and halfway down the hall by the time I caught up and latched onto his wrist, which he wrenched from my grasp with a growl of frustration. It was a dangerous sound (not a sound Kuwabara should ever make), but I didn't let it distract me. I spread my feet and stared him down as the suite door slammed shut somewhere over my shoulder, waiting for him to at last turn to face me. When he did, he didn't meet my eyes, but this was a little thing. At least now he wasn't walking away.

"Just wait a second, would you?" I said. "I can explain—"

His eye flickered from the carpet to my face. "Were you only friends with me because you had to be?"

I froze. "What?" I said, because it was the only thing I could say. "What do you—"

"You—!" He stopped to draw a deep, shaking breath, teeth gritted behind grimacing lips. "Look, I held my tongue in there, but I'm—I'm pissed, OK? I was pissed even before—ugh, Volcano Girl!?" His voice climbed again when he invoked the name of his one-time friend, whom he had lost and longed for for so long. "Volcano Girl, Keiko? Really?"

"What do you want me to say?" I said, tongue a leaden block inside my mouth.

"I want you to tell me the truth!" Kuwabara countered.

"I have been!" I said. "For the first time in forever, I have—"

But he didn't want to hear it. "Was any of it real?" he demanded. "Any of it?"

"Of course it was!" I said, hands tossed high in frustration. "We're friends. Best friends. You know that!"

"So staying up with me on the phone when I can't sleep?" he said. "Telling me stories to pass the time? Defending me from those jerks when I couldn't fight for a week? You did all of that because you wanted to, and not because you had to?"

"Of course! I care about you!"

He bared his teeth. "Not enough to tell me the truth, like you did with Kurama and Hiei and—and even Genkai, of all people! Why them and not me?"

"Because I didn't have a choice with them."

"But you had a choice with me. And you chose not to tell me!" Kuwabara's feet moved beneath him as he spoke, a tiger pacing its cage. "And that's what pisses me off, because I chose to tell you everything. Before I made friends with people who'd understand, I chose to tell you I could see ghosts. That I was psychic. Do you know how much courage that took? And how happy I was when you didn't freak out? When you didn't reject me? I trusted you from the moment we met, but joke's on me!" Acidic humor colored every word, sarcasm dripping like poison. "Joke's on me! We weren't even friends to begin with! You just needed to keep me close to make sure that legend thing went according to plan. I trusted you, but you didn't trust me enough to do the same in return and just be honest with me!" He started to turn, but at the last second he wheeled to face me, expression livid, hurt like a raw nerve behind his raging eyes. "God—Volcano Girl! Why the hell didn't I see it?"

"There are reasons I—"

"Bullshit, there were reasons!" he countered, still pacing, eyes still on fire—an inferno fueled by pain, anger a mask for the bruise hiding just out of sight beneath, but I could see it, still. I could see it in every line of his agonized face as Kuwabara said, "Those reasons didn't apply to Kurama. Or Hiei. Or Genkai. They only applied to me." He stopped moving, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, so he could look me straight in the eye. "You know, I found out earlier that Genkai died," he said, searching my face. "The elder Toguro told me during our fight. Apparently I was the only one on the team who didn't know. Yusuke and Hiei and Kurama kept that from me on purpose."

"Oh." In all the chaos, I had forgotten that that secret would wound Kuwabara's relationship with his teammates, and that he must have still been smarting over that big reveal as he dealt with my confession. I couldn't keep from reaching for him, saying, "Kuwabara. I'm so sor—"

But his eyes turned hard, and he pulled away. "You knew she died, too," he said; it was not a question. "Thought so. Don't bother denying it. It's written all over your face."

Because it was all I could say, I said, "I'm sor—"

"Save it," he spat. "I was pissed at them for lying to me, but now I can see who the real liar is." A twisted smile cut the hurt in his eyes to ribbons. "You know what's funny? You always say you're bad at lying, but you sure had me fooled. Looks like you're better than you realize. Or maybe you just got used to it, huh?"

Sensitive and intuitive as he was, he had to know that he was striking a nerve, sending precision strikes deep into my heart—and for Kuwabara, of all people, to do such thing, was a hurt all its very own. "Why are you being like this?" I said, unable to keep the tears from pricking. "Why are you so angry? Everyone else came to terms with it, but you—"

Shutters closed behind his eyes. "It's different for me."

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is."

"How is it any different for you than it is for Yusuke?" I said. "I left him out, too. And what about Botan? Your sister? Yukina? Atsuko? Koenma? What about—"

The shutters behind his eyes flew open.

"Because none of them were fucking in love with you like I was, Keiko!" Kuwabara roared.

His voice reverberated through the hallway like a bell beaten by a heavy hammer, ringing and loud and clear. It struck the words from my mouth and the thoughts from my head, leaving heavy, empty silence in their wake. For a time we only stood there, staring at one another as Kuwabara's labored breaths evened out, thinning into normalcy I wasn't sure was better than the outburst that had come before.

Because the anger in Kuwabara's eyes was gone, at last.

All that remained was pain.

"That thing Hiruko said," said Kuwabara, after a time. "About one of us being hopelessly in…?" He couldn't finish. A bitter smile surfaced against the backdrop of murmured words. "Now I get why he said 'hopeless.'"

I couldn't move. I couldn't think. Kuwabara looked away. His words, when he spoke, were unbearably soft. And that only made them hurt worse.

"When you first told us the truth about who you are, I was willing to let it go," he said. "And when it occurred to me that you must've been lying about Genkai being dead, I was willing to let that go, too. And when I found out that you told other people, but not me, even after everything we've been through, I was even willing to let that go. But Volcano Girl—" He drew in a deep breath. "On top of everything else, you lied to me about her. You knew what she meant to me, and you still lied. And that's a bridge too far."

My tongue awoke at last. "I'm sorr—"

"No," he said, sharp as a shard of shattered glass. But then he looked at me, and what he saw on my face seemed to calm him. In softer tones, he murmured, "No. Don't look at me like that. Because you look like her, like Keiko, and when it comes to that face—"

He had to stop. Compose himself. I hoped it was because he had had a change of heart.

It wasn't.

It was so he could deliver the final blow.

"No matter what you look like, Keiko, tonight you've made one thing clear," said Kuwabara. "You may have told us all the truth… but I don't know who you are anymore."

I watched him walk away in silence. It seemed to take a hundred years, although it only could've lasted a few seconds. When he turned a corner, vanishing down the hall and out of sight, my concrete feet shuffled forward—but a door behind me creaked open, and a hand closed around my elbow. It was Shizuru, presence heralded by a cloud of smoke and the scent of faint perfume.

"Don't," Shizuru said, staring off after her brother. "When he's like this, it's best to leave him be."

I swallowed. "But I…"

Her face spasmed, souring and smoothing in a matter of seconds. "I know, kid. I know." She pushed me, delicately, toward the suite. "Just go back inside. You're not done yet. I'll handle my brother."

"OK." I could do nothing more than obey, wooden as a marionette. "Thanks."

But Shizuru wasn't finished. Just as my hand touched the doorknob, her voice cut through the quite. "Hey, kid?" she said.

"Yeah?"

"You said you were 26 when you died?"

"Yeah." I swallowed the knot in my throat, but I barely felt it. "Yeah, I was."

Her eyes closed. "I get it, now."

"Get what?"

"I thought you were trying to break his heart for a while there. But now…" She took a drag. Let it out, slowly. "Bet he looks like a pretty big kid in your eyes, huh?"

I grimaced. "Not that I feel much older than him right now."

But Shizuru only shrugged. "We never really grow up. But something tells me we've all done a little growing today." She nodded at the door. "Go back inside. I'll take care of this."

I hesitated. "You're sure?"

"Yeah." A small smile. Secretive. Maybe even scheming. "You're his best friend, aren't you?"

I didn't reply.

I turned the knob and went back into the suite.

She had asked if I was his best friend.

In all honesty, I wasn't sure he'd want that anymore.

"Awkward" doesn't even begin to cover the looks on people's faces when the suite door shut behind me. No one so much as glanced in my direction as I walked inside, leaning my back against the door so I could calm the racing of my heart. How much of that had they overheard? It hardly mattered. What was said was said, and there was no putting a lid back on the box (or the top back on the erupted volcano) that was the Volcano Girl fiasco. All I could do was breathe deeply, steel myself, and shove the events of the past five minutes into a box, which I buried deep inside my head, right alongside the box of Hiruko's whispered secret. Now I had two things to avoid thinking about. At least for the next few hours, anyway.

No one looked at me as I retook my seat, their eyes sliding pointedly elsewhere even when I walked right into their field of view. It's impossible not to notice when someone doesn't look at you on purpose. The only one who didn't shy away from eye contact was Koenma, who soon cleared his throat and re-crossed his legs. He had taken up sitting in Kuwabara's abandoned armchair, hands gripping the armrests, fingers drumming against the fabric.

"While your interpersonal relationships are fascinating indeed, Keiko," he said, imperious and snobby as always, "it's time we changed the subject to more important matters. You can hash out petty differences on your own time. For now, though…"

"I know what you're about to say," I said. "And the answer is that I don't know."

Skepticism carved lines into his youthful face; he gave the blue pacifier in his mouth a careful suck, somehow managing to grimace around its heft. "You don't know who Hiruko is?" he said, voicing the exact question I had expected him to ask. "What he wants? What he'll do next?"

"I thought my conversation with him in the stadium was pretty clear on that subject," I said. "He's the architect of this entire insane scenario, but he's not exactly the type to spell out his motivations in a concise PowerPoint presentation."

Yukina's head tipped to the side, wintergreen hair falling in a silken lock over her shoulder. "What's PowerPoint?" she asked.

"Nothing." Now was not the time to go explaining my world's technological advances. "All I know is that he engineered my presence in this world. I suspect he engineered this world's existence in the first place."

But Koenma scoffed. "That, I doubt."

"Oh?"

"The mysteries of the creation of the known universe are beyond mortal comprehension," he said, also snobbishly, "but I assure you that a Spirit named Hiruko was not responsible for the creation of the universe."

Resolving to dig into who did create the universe at a later date (and noting that I wasn't sure I believed him when he said this), I asked, "So Hiruko is a Spirit being, then?"

"Undoubtedly. One Spirit knows another, even if they've never met before."

"And you're sure you don't know anyone by the name Hiruko?" I said. "Or maybe Ebisu?"

His face screwed up the smallest bit. "The names mean something to me. Little, but something."

"They should," I said, "since he claims he's your uncle."

That finally got everyone to look at me. Jorge actually gasped, while Botan looked more confused than I had ever seen her.

"Koenma, sir!" said Jorge. "I didn't know you had an uncle!"

"To my knowledge, I don't have one," Koenma retorted. "Not by that name, anyway."

"But you do recognize the name Ebisu?" said Botan.

"In passing, yes." His chin lowered, pacifier bobbing a few times. "Loathe though I am to admit it, I happen to be a relatively young deity—"

("No shit, diaper breath," said Yusuke.)

"—and not all Spirits are known to me."

"How is that possible?" I asked. "I don't know much about how Spirit World really works, but I guess I thought all Spirits were a kind of family, or something? Or that you'd at least know the names of them and stuff." A beat. "How many Spirits even are there, anyway?"

"Many." Koenma shook his head. "And do you know the name of every human? I didn't think so." He waved ambiguously out the window. "But while you don't know the name of every human due to the sheer number of human beings in the world, I do not know every Spirit largely thanks to the construction of Spirit World itself."

Botan's face lit up with understanding. "Ah, yes. Spirit World is a tremendously broad realm, stretching many times the expanse of the earth."

"For every mile on Earth, Spirit World stretches for a thousand," Jorge added. "Entire populations of Spirits go millennia without interacting even once. Koenma-sir here hasn't been around nearly long enough to meet all the Spirits who reside in Spirit World."

"Correct," said Koenma. "Even the deities among Spirits don't see one another for prolonged periods, and when they need to communicate, they tend to go through couriers or other methods that don't involve face-to-face meetings. Travel simply isn't worth the time."

"So it's entirely possible this Spirit name Hiruko, or Ebisu, is out there somewhere, but you just haven't met him yet," said Jorge.

"Correct again," said Koenma. "Which means you, Jorge, will need to do quite the volume of research once we return home. We must dig up any and all references to this Hiruko—Ebisu, whatever his name is—that we can."

Jorge looked markedly crestfallen at that. I pitied him, but I didn't let that stop me from raising my hand like a kid in school. "Question!" I said, waiting for Koenma to give me a nod before continuing. "You said other deities. What's that mean?"

"Just what it sounds like," he said. "Other deities. Other beings of the spirit who preside over the gateways between life and death, who—"

"Like other gods," I interjected. "From other religions?"

He rolled his eyes. "What else would I be talking about?"

"So… for instance, Zeus?" I said, fascination rising. "Shiva? Odin?"

"Potentially," said Koenma, looking somewhat fatigued. "Although many of the older deities are retired. Which in some cases means taking an extended nap, or enjoying an infinite fishing trip in some remote corner of Spirit World." He rubbed his temples with a sigh. "Oh, how I envy them…"

"Well. This is certainly fascinating." On the edge of my seat, I asked, "So do humans who die all go to their respective religious locations in Spirit World, or—?"

"We're not here to explain the intricacies of the afterlife. We're here to talk about you, and about what this mysterious Hiruko wants from you," Koenma snapped. "So tell me, Keiko, or whatever your name is. What will he do next?"

Bummed, I settled back into my seat, shaking my head all the while. "I told you: I don't know."

He was not convinced. "You've lied before. You could be doing it again."

"I'm not, though!"

"Yeah, Koenma," said Yusuke. "Back off."

"The only thing Kei stands to gain from more deceit is distrust from us," Kurama agreed. "She would not lie about this. Isn't that right, Kei?"

"Yeah, what he said!" said Atsuko.

Clearly outnumbered, Koenma changed tactics. "Then at the very least tell us what will happen next, so that we can prepare for however this Hiruko might choose to interfere," he said. "Tell us what happens next in this legend of yours."

I blinked at him a bit. "Um…"

His expression soured. "Well, don't get shy on me now," Koenma said. "Tell us the future!"

I looked away, at the ceiling. "Uh…"

"You said you were done with deceit," he said. "Are you taking back that promise?"

"I'm not," I snapped. "I'm just… not sure if I should tell you what I know." A pause. "I literally do not know what to do here." I looked around the room in shock, lips twitching at the corners. "I don't what to do. I don't know what to do!"

Koenma was less than amused, however. "This isn't funny," he growled. "Stop stalling and tell us!"

I shot him a Look. "I'm not smiling because it's funny. I'm smiling because this is just—just a deterministic nightmare, is what it is!"

"What do you—?"

"Let's say I told Yusuke he was destined to win some fight he's supposed to fight tomorrow." I turned to the fighter in question. "Yusuke, if I told you that fate had decreed that you'd win, how would you go into that fight? How would you approach the battle, tactically speaking?"

He yawned, lazily pillowing his head on the hands he'd laced behind his neck. "I mean, if I'm meant to win it, it's gotta be a cinch, right?" he said with a slow grin.

"That's precisely the problem, actually," I said. "Answer me this: What if to win that fight, you have to give every last ounce of your effort? What if you have to use your life energy and get maimed and make sacrifices to win, but you go into the fight and half-ass it, banking on the knowledge that you're supposed to win instead of actually giving your all in the fight?"

The self-assurance in his eyes abated. He thought about it for a minute. And eventually he said, "Well, shit."

"That's not exactly a convincing argument," Koenma said. "It just illustrates that you need to tell us every last detail of what you know. In your little fiction, if Yusuke were to know he's supposed to use his life energy and get maimed, he can ensure that those instances come to pass in order to achieve victory."

Yusuke looked at Koenma in horror, saying, "But I don't wanna get maimed!"

"My point exactly!" I said. "If the events are painful and horrible, will Yusuke be willing to let them come to pass? Will he be willing to be maimed just so events can fit my outline for them?" I lifted an eyebrow at Koenma. "An outline you're trusting I would accurately portray, by the way."

Koenma considered what I'd said for a minute, hand on his chin in thought. Eventually the doubt in his eyes cleared, head rising with a defiant sniff. "If Yusuke puts the greater good before his own selfish interests, then yes, he will allow himself to be maimed," he declared. "It's only right that he bites the bullet!"

Yusuke shrank back into his seat. "I know this is all a hypothetical, but this is starting to get personal…"

But I had Yusuke's back. "Do you really think everyone is that selfless, though, Koenma?" I said. "For instance, if I told you that tomorrow you were supposed to get your hand chopped off, would you want that to happen?"

Jorge jolted in his seat. "Is Koenma-sir going to get his hand chopped off?!"

Koenma ignored him, firing back at me, "Well, my willingness to let that happen would depend on—"

I was rolling my eyes before he even finished speaking. "Oh, don't give me that high-horse bullshit. No one wants to get hurt or suffer; it's human nature to avoid that kind of crap, and even if you're a Spirit, I still think that instinct applies to you," I said—and then I grinned. "Especially if the Koenmatron 5000 is any indication."

Kurama frowned. "The Koenma-what?"

Koenma, meanwhile, looked like a kid whose hand got stuck in a cookie jar. "How do you know about—?"

"That plan was top secret!" Jorge yodeled.

"Not to me, it isn't," I said. "And that's how I know that you'd avoid getting into the scenario that results in seemingly avoidable suffering—and that goes double for if I tell you that losing your hand is just a random thing that happens to you. Like, what if I said that losing your hand is not a big deal? That keeping your hand won't hurt anything?" I wiggled my fingers, pretending to flick something on the coffee table. "But what if losing your hand is the first domino in a chain that makes good things happen later? And what if I don't even realize that event is connected to a good event that happens later?"

"Can you not count on us to act as we're meant to?" Koenma countered. "Can you not trust destiny?"

"No. No, I can't." My lips thinned, pressing together and rolling for a moment. "Because no matter who you were in my past life, in this life, you are not characters in a story."

"A legend," Kurama softly corrected.

"Right." Eagerly, and to distract from the small discrepancy Kurama had pointed out, I launched into a diatribe I'd unloaded onto Kagome more than once, but one I had never had the opportunity to deliver in front of anyone else. "This place isn't governed by legend-led, fatalistic determinism as far as I can tell. You have free will to act in whatever way you see fit, and it isn't always in line with what I know from the legend." That line of thinking reminded me of a certain unpleasant whisper I had buried in a mental box; I changed the subject, fast. "And even more importantly, I am not infallible. The fact that Atsuko wasn't supposed to get kidnapped but totally fucking got kidnapped shows that not everything will go according to plan, and we need to stay on our toes if something like that happens again—not just rely on a shonen manga that existed in another universe to tell us what to do next!"

A lengthy pause followed my rant.

Then Yukina murmured, "… a shonen manga?"

My head dropped into my hands like a stone. "Fuck."

"A shonen manga?" Atsuko repeated, words slurred with as much alcohol as incredulity. "What the hell?"

"So it wasn't a legend, then." Kurama sounded oddly satisfied, though I didn't understand why. "This isn't the first time you've slipped, Kei." His smile faded. "But a shonen manga, of all things…"

Into my hands I muttered, "I am not having this fucking conversation right now."

"A shonen manga?" Yusuke sat up, peering around like a meerkat in tall grass. "Like, in Shonen Jump or something?"

"… yeah," I admitted.

"Holy shit! That's awesome! Was it popular?"

"… yeah."

"Fuck yeah!" A beat. Then, slyly: "So tell me… who was the main character, huh?"

"…"

"Oh my god, it was me, wasn't it?"

I glared from between my fingers. "I'd say yes, but your ego would never let it go, would it?"

"Not on your life," Yusuke said, grinning like a goddamn moron, "because I was the main character in a shonen fucking manga!"

"Kill me," I moaned. "Kill me, for I am in hell."

"Was I popular?" Yusuke asked, glee rising with every question. "Did I have merchandise? A fan club? Cosplayers?" He gasped. "Did I get an anime adaptation!?"

"I. Am. In. Hell!"

Yusuke cackled, his mischievous delight reveling in sadistic satisfaction at the horror I had unleashed into this world. But while he was happy as a pig in shit at this particular revelation (really, I would've led with this if I knew how happy it would make him!) Koenma was far less impressed. He waited for Yusuke to finish chortling before speaking, suckling moodily on his pacifier until his chosen Spirit Detective settled the hell down (mostly thanks to Botan, who eventually got tired of his shenanigans and whacked him with her oar when he asked if she had a thing for protagonists).

"Convincing though your arguments may be, Keiko," Koenma said, "you cannot be allowed to be the only one who knows what's coming. We can't just sit back and allow you to play god, puppeteering us the way you claim Hiruko controls you."

My head jerked out of my hands exclusively so I could glare at Koenma, not bothering to hide the fury. "Do not compare me to him," I said. "Do not."

He continued as if I hadn't spoken, tossing his hair with a smirk. "And luckily for us, we have a secret weapon in that regard." Brown eyes cut toward the windows. "Hiei."

Hiei—who had neither said a word nor even moved since taking up his spot on the window sill—didn't move then, either. Only his eyes shifted, finding Koenma in the window pane's reflection, scarlet eyes bright in his tanned face.

"What," he said, with undisguised disdain, "do you want?"

Koenma wasn't intimidated. He merely lifted a finger and pointed it at me. "Read her mind and tell us what the future holds," he said with an air of command—and when Hiei's eyes shifted to mine in the reflection, my heart leapt into my throat.

"Hiei, please." The words were more a whimper than a whisper, barely audible—but I knew Hiei heard them, because his eyes narrowed at once. "Hiei, please don't. I can't—"

"Calm down, Meigo." His curt words cut through mine like steel through satin. "I won't play roll over or play fetch for Koenma like a dog."

Koenma bristled. "Need I remind you that I control your freedom?"

"My freedom, yes. But while you may be a prince of Spirit World, you don't control me." I'd never seen Hiei look so disdainful, disgust curling his lip and narrowing his eyes. "Assuming so was your first mistake."

Koenma sucked on his pacifier once, twice, three times. "And my second mistake?"

Here Hiei outright sneered. "Shouldn't a deity like you know better than to tempt fate," he said, "or are you just remarkably more stupid than the other Spirits in your realm?"

Fury purpled the prince's face. He shot back, and Hiei snapped at him, and Botan stepped in to calm them both down, but then they both snapped at her. While Jorge watched the exchange from the safety of a nearby corner, Yusuke made a joke about how they should all just shut up and listen to him ("I'm the main character, after all!"). In the background, Atsuko guzzled down another beer and passed out on the sofa. Yukina just watched in silence, looking terrifically uncertain, and in the background Kurama looked on the verge of cradling his head in his hands. Just as I feared that we were about to witness the complete dissolution of Team Urameshi, someone knocked on the door.

"Ignore it!" said Koenma, who had just gotten up to drag Jorge into the fray ("As backup!" he'd cried). "It's probably just Kuwabara, anyway. So—"

He went back to squabbling with the others, oblivious to when I stood up and headed for the door—guided there on numb feet, like a voyager drawn by the light of a distant way-star. Whether I wanted to put distance between myself and the chaos, or whether I wanted to see Kuwabara, or whether it was something else entirely, I don't know. All I know is that soon I found myself opening that door and staring up at an older woman with white hair cut to her shoulders, a leather motorcycle jacket draped across her thin frame. We looked at once another in silence for a time. Soon she hooked a finger into her black sunglasses, pulling them down her hawkish nose to stare unimpeded into my face.

Her eyes were grey—no, silver—and familiar.

For a moment, neither of us moved. Eventually, she gave me a nod.

"Hello, Keiko," said Cleo. "It's been a minute."

We stood there for a second longer.

Then, without a word, I stepped aside to let her in.

Notes:

And here comes Cleo to shed some light and reveal some answers, at long last. Stay tuned.

I wrote the dialogue for that blow-up of Kuwabara's back in 2017. Been a long time coming. Hurts my heart, but… anyway.

I know some characters' reactions weren't covered here, but in a big group setting, you can't let people talk over each other (plus they all probably vented while she was gone, and will vent again sometime later when they get solo time with NQK). Various "on-camera" reactions will come at different times; some people probably don't want to hash things out with NQK in front of everyone else, etc. So just hold on a bit if a character you're interested in hasn't said much yet.

And now we know what Yusuke was saying when he talked about "Yippee ki yay motherfucker." This is a good instance of NQK being an unreliable narrator. There are things she doesn't remember doing, but things that others DEFINITELY remember her doing. This is not the last time this will happen. I still intend to write out exactly how that scene went down from Yusuke's POV, but I haven't had time yet. Will get to it eventually, promise!

And it was nice to work some Jin into here. I want to say things about their interaction I can't say, and keeping quiet is killing me.

OH, and the thing Kurama said about her slipping up before stems from one of my collections of LC shorts, Penned in Memory or Written in Ink. Can't quite remember which, but you should check those out for 60+ drabbles set in the LC-verse.

News: I have completed Daughters of Destiny, the side-story about Kagome and Keiko taking a trip to the past. I have ALSO finished Scooby Doo Where Are Yu-Yu?, my ridiculous crossover crack-fic that crosses over exactly what the title implies. Would love for y'all to check them out!

Additionally, I'm trying to pick one of my other three unfinished fics to focus on completing (along with LC, of course, which I will continue to update regularly). There is a poll on my profile for those interested in weighing in on that decision.

It was wonderful to hear from all of you after chapter 103 came out. You give me the encouragement I need to keep plugging away at this behemoth of a story. I truly do not believe I could do this without you, and the biggest of heartfelt thanks go out to these fine folks and benefactors: silverpaper_toffeepaper, allyallyonthewall, musiquemer, willowfire, QueenofOblivion, RainbowWordStrings, Altered_Karma, Konkunbus, brawltogethernow, CDang, Cptkitten, TokiMirage, I_Am_IronMaiden, ShiraraM, TimeLadyTinkerbell, meow, NatsumeCross, rosethornli, Gerbilfriend, Hotarulight, Sdelacruz, hypophrenia, MidKnightOwl, thotpolice, Unctuous, NotQuiteAnonymous, JestWine, Ms_Liz, DragonsTower, Sanguinary_Tide, Paddygirl, chigi23, Chaosdreamingsiren, MyMindIsTellingMeNo, laexdream, TiamatisObscure, NaraMerald and FaiaSakura!

Chapter 105: Between a Rock & the Socratic Method

Summary:

In which Cleo asks questions.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It took them a moment too long to notice Cleo, who trailed through the door behind me on quiet feet—long enough that I wondered, for a split second, if I had imagined seeing her standing at the door. A quick look over my shoulder established that she had not, in fact, been nothing more insubstantial than a daydream, the sight of my own pinched face reflecting clearly in the lenses of her sunglasses.

But that pause was all it took. When I turned back around, I found everyone staring, eyes trained on Cleo's dark and brooding form. Only Atsuko didn't pay us any mind, because she had fallen asleep on the couch with a beer bottle in her hand.

"Why, Keiko," Koenma said with his trademarked acerbity. "I didn't know you would be inviting guests."

His tone made my hackles rise, metaphorically speaking. "It wasn't planned," I said, shooting a glance at Cleo. "Not on my part anyway."

Cleo just laughed—a sound like leaves in autumn, fallen bodies crunching softly underfoot, or threads on a loom under the stroke of nimble fingers.

No one else shared her mirth, however. Yusuke looked Cleo over with undisguised consternation as he said, "So who's your friend? Don't leave us in suspense now."

"She is…" Gotta choose my words carefully. "She's a part of my story I haven't had time to talk about yet." Sidling over to the desk near the door, I grabbed the copper wastebasket off the floor and tucked it under my arm. Yusuke gave me a funny look, but I ignored him. "I was waiting until we settled everything else before bringing her up. But—"

Koenma, standing on the opposite side of the living room, made a loud harrumph. "And here I thought you said the time for deception is over," he said with haughty disdain. "Forgive me if I consider that lying by omission."

And my hackles rose higher still. "No lies, Koenma. I was just trying not to overload all of you with information. It's complicated, and it's only going to get more complicated now that she's here."

"Now, is that right?"

Before he could continue, Cleo said, "May I be allowed to speak?"

She phrased it like a request, but it wasn't one, and everyone fell silent at the note of stone lying beneath her mild words. Koenma appeared stricken, almost—like someone had reached down his throat to squeeze his vocal cords in a cold fist. But apart from him, everyone else just seemed surprised at her air of quiet command, as if they had not expected someone who looked like Cleo to speak with such steel.

Well, almost everyone. On his windowsill, sweat slicked Hiei's face the color of oiled bronze, scarlet eyes trained with unblinking focus on Cleo. He looked like an animal who had spotted a predator—and for someone as vicious and predatory as Hiei, the sight was alarming indeed, sending a spike of disquiet deep into my gut.

Surprisingly, Botan recovered before anyone else. She looked Cleo over for a second, then said in a voice of disbelief, "You're a Spirit."

Her mouth hitched. "In a manner of speaking."

Koenma's brow furrowed. "And who, pray tell, are you, exactly?"

"My name is Clotho," said Cleo, without preamble or pause.

And for a minute, I thought she might have undersold herself. Botan didn't react to the name; neither did Jorge, nor any of the other demons and humans in the room. Only Koenma froze, uncertainty pushing his gaze from Cleo's face to her body and back again, sweeping across her in a roving glare of question and concentration. But then Cleo shifted, and her leather jacket came away from her side, revealing a small leather scabbard attached to her black belt. Atop the scabbard sat two golden rings, glinting in the light, the blade attached to them disappearing deep into dark leather. Koenma paled, staggering to the side, where he caught himself on the back of the armchair I had once occupied.

Yusuke, bless him, watched this with undisguised skepticism and scowled. "So does anyone wanna tell me why things just got super awkward in here, or…?"

"Clotho—well, I call her Cleo, but still." I took a deep breath. "Cleo is one of the Fates. The Moirai."

Kurama frowned. "Of Greek myth?"

"Yes." A hesitation, small, which I used to gather my thoughts. "Do all of you know what I'm talking about?"

"I do not," Yukina softly intoned.

"Hell nah," concurred Yusuke, "but it sounds ominous as fuck."

Another deep breath. "The Fates—there's three of them—control destiny," I said. "They measure how long a person's life will be, and when it will end. And they're the reason why Hiruko can do what he does." I placed a hand upon my chest. "It's how he placed me here, into the life of Yukimura Keiko. From context clues, I've been able to piece together that he stole something from the Fates that gave him the ability to manipulate reality and destiny. The thread of life, or the loom of life, or similar."

"You mean you don't know what he stole?" Kurama asked.

"No." I shot Cleo another glance, but she didn't move a muscle, nor did she indicate for me to stop talking. "There are certain factors that prevent Cleo here from describing what he stole. But red threads of destiny tend to show up when Hiruko is around, so…" I shrugged. "The exact device or object he stole probably doesn't matter, but whatever the case, he used what he stole to craft this reality, or at least bring the legend to life within it."

"The shonen manga, you mean," said Yusuke.

"… yeah."

"The shonen manga I'm the main character of, specifically."

"God, you're annoying. But yes."

Koenma started, as if waking from a deep sleep. "You're wrong," he said. "You're wrong, Keiko."

"Eh?" I blinked at him. "About what?"

"Clotho isn't a Greek Fate. She's just—Fate." Koenma spoke through gritted teeth, fists tight as bowstrings at his sides. "The Greeks may have given the Moirai the best PR, but the Fates belong to no one. They're revered through all of Spirit World, by all Spirits, as the impartial arbiters of destiny, who are notoriously reclusive and do not reveal themselves lightly." His fists tightened even harder, teeth like tombstones behind his lips. "Hence why I never thought I'd meet one face to face, nor considered one might be involved in all of this."

Cleo dipped her head toward the prince of Spirit World. "It's nice to meet you." A smile tugged her wizened mouth. "Pity it's under these circumstances."

It took a moment, but Koenma eventually processed the fact that Cleo was speaking to him specifically—and when it sank in, he jolted in place, falling to one knee with a grunt as his fist flew to press against his heart. It was incredibly odd, seeing him bow his head in an obvious show of fealty, but that's what Koenma did, face slick with sweat beneath the fringe of his silken hair.

"Oh, arbiter of Fate," Koenma said in hushed tones. "I am unworthy to stand before—"

Cleo just scoffed, though. "Stand up. The Fates have never been ones to stand on ceremony, and besides." She smiled as he rose, knees quivering beneath him. "I have a favor to ask of you."

"Anything," said Koenma, hoarse. "Name it, and I will make it so."

She gave a curt nod. "Very good." Here she waved at me, at the others, the room at large. "Tell everyone what you know about the advent of creation."

Koenma cycled through a series of emotions, then: confusion to shock, shock to displeasure, displeasure to polite reluctance. "I don't understand," he said, shifting subtly from foot to foot. "Why?"

"The beginning of everything. The world. Reality. The universe." Cleo's eyes bored into him like bits of a silver drill, burrowing and sharp. "Tell them what you think you know."

Still Koenma hesitated. "But surely you would know the truth of such matters better than I?" he suggested.

"Perhaps," Cleo said. "But I believe in the Socratic Method." She smiled, wandering with slow steps to the nearest empty chair. "Shall we begin?"

He waited until she settled into one of the room's armchairs, reluctance still splashed across his features. "As we discussed before you arrived, Spirit World is quite broad," he said, watching Cleo carefully—but her face remained still, sunglasses blocking her eyes from view like a shuttered poker player. "For every mile in Human World, there are a thousand in Spirit World. It should come as no surprise that pockets of population in Spirit World only interact on rare occasion. In fact, humans interact with Spirits more often that Spirits interact with other Spirits." Koenma briefly glanced in my direction, and then in Yusuke's. "And that is where humans gained their so-called understanding of religion and gods. Meddlesome Spirits who descend to the mortal realm and enact feats of great power must seem like gods indeed to those of the mortal realm. But the Spirits know the truth."

"And that truth is?" murmured Cleo.

Another hesitation, but Koenma shook aside his misgivings to say, "Erebus, according to the Greeks—the primordial being who appeared from the depths of chaos and birthed the world as we know it. Elohim, according to the religions of Abraham—a being that emerged from the void to create the heavens and the earth. An, Enil, Enki and Ninhursanga, according to the Sumerians—beings who created civilization and humankind. And of course, the Kotoamatsukami, according to the legends of Shinto—the first gods, who came into being from the unformed chaos of the universe. There are many explanations for the origin of the universe, if you ask humanity."

"I didn't ask humanity," said Cleo. "I asked you."

He swallowed, still watching her with unyielding focus. "The many human stories tend to have certain factors in common. Like I said before, humans meet Spirits surprisingly often, especially before modern history. They gleaned bits and pieces of the truth, mere fragments of the whole story, from these Spirits. We can infer that something akin to the truth exists within the commonalities of their legends."

"But as you said, Spirits know the whole truth—not the partial truth humanity snatched from centuries of eavesdropping," said Cleo. "I will say it once more: I want to know what you think."

But Koenma hesitated again, and this time, the hesitation never ended. He looked around, eyes rambling across the room, avoiding looking both myself and at Yusuke, not to mention the sleeping Atsuko—the room's three humans, I couldn't help but note. That made sense, though. Revealing the literal origin of the universe to some ragtag bunch of mortals probably went against some code or another, wouldn't it? Not that Cleo gave a hoot, if her disappointed sigh was any indication. She turned her face away from Koenma, looking instead at me over the rims of her dark glasses.

"My child," she said. "Tell me what you know, or at least what you think you know, about Hiruko and his objectives."

"Wow." I whistled between my teeth. "That's a remarkable change of subject."

She held up a hand. "Just wait for me to connect the dots. And while you wait, tell me what you think you know."

"Uh," I said, rubbing at the back of my neck. "I only know what I've said before: Hiruko stole something from the Fates so he could create this world" (Koenma scoffed at that) "and all the legends inside it."

Kurama sat up straighter. "Legends," he repeated.

"Sorry." I rolled my eyes. "Manga."

Incrementally, Kurama's brow lifted. "Legends… plural," he said.

"… oh," I said.

"Shit," I added.

"Wait a sec." Yusuke sat up and pointed at himself. "Am I not the only main character anymore?"

"Well," said Koenma, rounding upon me slowly. "This is certainly interesting."

Cleo's hand descended to her knee with a smack. "Not to you, it isn't." Cold silver eyes gleamed over the top of her sunglasses, sharp as knives and hard as steel. "The other stories will not come into play for some time, and distracting you with knowledge of them is not in your best interest. Hiruko will exhaust this storyline, mine it for all it's worth, before moving on to any other schemes in earnest; he does not have the energy to do otherwise." Enunciating every word with excruciating care, she stared directly at Koenma as she said, "Leave Keiko be on this issue. Do not ask her to elucidate. Am I understood?"

Elsewhere in the room, Kurama nodded, prompting Yusuke, Botan, Jorge and Yukina to do the same. "Yes," he said on behalf of all of them. "Yes, of course."

Koenma, however, did not back down. With bold defiance he said, "But I want—"

Cleo interrupted Koenma without speaking, her glare so intense it could nearly be heard as well as seen. He fell silent at once, but then he shifted gears, wheels turning behind his bright brown eyes.

"Fine. I won't ask to know more," he said. "But I still don't understand why you are asking questions when you could be giving answers, instead." At Cleo's blank expression, he added, "You're Fate, after all. Shouldn't you be able to tell us everything?"

Cleo smiled. "Why should I talk when you and Keiko have all the answers?"

"Wait. We do?" I said, meeting Koenma's eyes for just a moment. He looked as skeptical of me as I felt of him, regarding Cleo with a disbelieving frown.

But Cleo took it in stride. "Separately, no. But together, you and Koenma have all the puzzle pieces. You just have to put them in the proper order." She bared her teeth, less of a smile, more of a grimace. "I only intervened because your attitude toward Keiko is irksome, Koenma, and I don't have all day to listen to you dance around the truth."

Koenma opened his mouth to speak, but he closed it again without uttering a word. It was difficult to keep a small smile of satisfaction from breaking across my lips at the sight. Watching Cleo chastise Koenma felt like seeing the alpha of a pack put a younger dog in his place with single snarl, and in that moment, I had never felt more grateful for Cleo's presence—but soon she turned to me, and gratitude gave way to confusion once again.

"You encountered Hiruko recently, and he revealed to you a memory—one you had forgotten, by his design, but one you had made attempts to retrieve before," she said. "Isn't that right?"

I nodded.

She turned to Hiei. "You were the impetus for the initial stages of that memory's recovery, were you not?"

A ripple past through the room, one that spread in time with the pounding of my heart. Eyes darted between Hiei and myself, but I refused to meet them, staring instead at Hiei. He sat in profile, face impassive even as his eyes drifted to the side, eyeing Cleo from across the room. An assessing stare. A wary stare. A stare of cold evaluation. And then that eye drifted in my direction.

Please, I tried to tell him without words. Please. Don't tell them what I made you do to get me to that memory.

He looked away before I could tell if he understood.

If anyone saw our wordless exchange, they did not say so. "Hiei?" was all Yusuke said. "What do you have to do with Keiko's memories?"

Hiei responded with the brusque efficiency so characteristic of him. "When we first met, Meigo said something about me that no one in any of the three worlds could possibly have known—let alone a human girl like her." He continued on before anyone could ask what that something was; Yukina was sitting right there, after all. "Obviously I had to find out who had told her such a thing. I used the Jagan to see inside her mind, where I saw her past." A pause. Then: "I also saw the moment of her death."

"How awful!" Botan said as my heart beat like a churning engine in my chest. Her hands covered her mouth, eyes wide and swimming above them. "No wonder you believed her right away."

Words surged into my throat, trying to drown out the pound of my pulse. "That's what I meant when I said I had no choice but to tell Hiei the truth," I said in a rush. "He saw the truth firsthand. But that's not all he did. Having him rattle around inside my brain unlocked something I'd forgotten: the fact that when I died, I met Hiruko, and we talked." I grimaced, trying not to think about the image of my own face, mangled in a horrible car wreck. "But no matter how hard I tried, I could never unlock the memory completely—I could never recall the conversation we had before Hiruko made me become Keiko. Hiruko apparently blocked it on purpose for some reason, but he unblocked it and showed the memory to me just a few days ago." Here I turned to Cleo, scowling. "And Cleo—I think he's not the only reason I couldn't remember things about the time I spent being dead."

"It's true," she said with easy calm. "I blocked that memory from you as well."

Hiei swung his legs off the windowsill and looked at Cleo full on, then. "Black stone beneath red thread," he said, staring at her. "Barriers to keep her mind at bay."

Yusuke made a sound of frustration. "OK, somebody's gotta explain what that means," he said, "because right now it sounds like Hiei's trying to write a poem or something, and it's creeping me out."

While Hiei shot Yusuke a glare, I explained, "Inside my head, we found the place where the memory exists, but it was blocked by a wall of red threads. Like a huge net of them, almost, all woven together to keep me out. But beneath the red threads was a wall of black stone—two separate barriers preventing me from accessing that one specific memory." A deep breath, because the truth still did not come easily to me. "Hiruko let down his wall of red threads when I met him here on Hanging Neck Island recently. And I saw… well, I saw most of that memory. But there was one part that remained hidden from me." I eyed her askance, wondering if she'd play coy. "Hiruko said you were responsible for that, Cleo."

"Yes, I was," she said without an ounce of hesitation.

"But why?" Koenma said while I just stood there with my mouth open. "Why block Keiko's memories? They're hers to remember, aren't they?"

"Two reasons," said Cleo. "I did not want Hiruko to possess the power to reveal the truth at whatever point it most suits him, because that point would surely spell disaster for Keiko and all her friends." Finally regret tinged her expression, lips turning down at their withered corners. "I sought to protect you from his meddling, my child. Imagine if he had revealed that memory to you while you were trying to defend yourself, or while running from a threat."

I couldn't keep from wincing. "That'd be bad."

"Yes, it would."

"But that just makes me wonder how I saw the memory when I met with him the other day," I said. "You let down your guard that time, at the same time he did. Why did you do it? Couldn't you have kept your barrier in place?"

"Yes," she said, "but I determined it was a safe time for you to regain that memory, and I went along with Hiruko's plan."

"Not completely, though. There was still a section of that memory I could not remember."

"Again, by my design."

Exasperation curled its claws around my chest. "Why, though?" I asked her. "Why then, and not sooner?"

Her sunglasses slipped down her nose; she swiped them off, resting them on her knee as she regarded me with a bold, piercing stare. "Do you remember how much pain that part of the memory caused you?" she asked, voice no louder than a whisper. "How violently you reacted, writhing in agony upon the floor? The truth he spoke nearly immolated your soul. The truth would surely shatter your mind you if you heard it now, wrapped in mortal flesh as you are." Her glasses went back on, eyes obscured from view. "That is why I let the barrier down, but only just enough for you to hear what you needed. It's the part I blocked out that matters most, that contains the fundamental truth." She smiled, though I saw no humor in it. "That fractured remembrance holds the key."

"But—but it was nonsense," I said, not understanding. "I just heard babble, like too much static blocking out a TV show."

"To you it sounded like babble, maybe," Cleo said—and when she glanced at Koenma with pointed precision, he did the smallest of double-takes, pointing at himself in confusion evident. "To him, I hazard a guess that the words will contain meaning, indeed."

"… oh. Huh." I hesitated, but only for a moment. "The memory was disjointed and broken, but I could make out a series of words. I don't know if I remember them all, though."

Cleo nodded. "Try, my child."

"OK… but, if I had help…"

I looked to Hiei, then, as I had looked to him for help the first time the subject of this memory reared its head. He lifted a brow, immediately understanding but doubting the legitimacy of what I wanted. I just gave him a nod, though, and he pushed away from the windowsill, striding toward me with long, quick steps.

"It will not be pleasant if you resist," he said as he came to a stop. Scarlet eyes searched my face. "Are you certain you want my help?"

"Yes," I said, with more confidence than I really felt inside. "I need someone to safeguard me, to ensure I don't misremember. Can you do that? Be witness to my memories?"

Hiei inclined his head. "I can."

He waited for me to nod before beginning. If the Jagan on his forehead hadn't flared bright purple beneath its bandana, I might not have even noticed his presence in my mind. It felt like an itch, like bugs crawling around my brain on tiny, prickling feet, and as the itching intensified, I summoned the memory of my memory—the memory of the meeting with Hiruko, and within it, the memory he had stolen from me. Of sitting on the couch after my death. Of hearing Hiruko speak, persuading me to do as he asked. I tried to remember his words exactly as he said them, allowing the itch of Hiei's presence to follow me through the recollection unimpeded.

Not that Hiei was some passive onlooker inside my head. Sometimes the itch grabbed at the memory, snagging into the fiber of remembrance like a burr into a delicate hem, demanding I replay something with greater clarity. I closed my eyes up tight, blocking out the world until it was only my memory and Hiei that remained.

His voice still cut through the memory-fog like a knife, though, when he said, "Interesting."

"What is?" I said, lips hardly moving as I spoke.

"You didn't find his plans repugnant when you heard them. You approved, even." Disbelief rang hollow in his words. "You wished him luck."

"You what?" Koenma said.

I didn't reply, because Hiei pushed the memory onward, and the sounds of the real world fell away. I didn't let myself resist, allowing him to lead me through the memory until we reached the point where it shorted out, obscured by roaring static that allowed nothing but the smallest smattering of random, nonsense words to filter through the noise. Hiei replayed this part a few times, but soon he moved on, watching as my memory-self writhed in agony on the floor after hearing that obscured truth from Hiruko's mouth. But soon that part ended, and the memory drew to a close. Satisfied, I prepared to open my eyes, hoping to turn to Cleo to discuss.

But Hiei held on tight. I attempted to withdraw, but he did not allow it, itch hooking stubbornly into my memory and pushing it forward—past my meeting with Hiruko. To the part where Shizuru rescued me. And forward still, to the tournament itself, and then—

"Hiei," said Cleo, steely voice unexpectedly close. "That's enough."

I opened my eyes and found Cleo standing just a foot away, hand outstretched and clenched tight around Hiei's arm. He stared up at her with teeth bared, but when she did not flinch from the fire of his stare, he made a sound of dismissal from between his teeth and jerked his arm away. The itch in my brain drained away bit by bit after that, fading completely after he walked away and took up his post at the window once again.

Koenma regarded Hiei from across the room with a frown, and soon he asked, "What did you mean when you said Keiko wished Hiruko luck?"

"It's like I said," said Hiei as he got settled. "Hiruko told Meigo what he planned to do, but although the memory of the plan is blocked, the aftermath is whole." Here he glanced at me, lips thin in his tanned face. "When Meigo heard Hiruko's plans after her death, she approved. Or at least she didn't disapprove. She even said she hoped he succeeded."

"But what does that mean?" Botan asked in a hushed murmur.

Jorge stroked his chin. "Is it possible that whatever Hiruko wants, it's not actually that bad?"

"No."

We looked at Cleo as one. Though the word had come from her mouth with quiet, heavy certainty, her face turned the color of old milk as she sank back into her armchair. Sweat slicked her forehead, matting clumps of grey hair to her skin in silver rivers.

"It's not that Hiruko's plans are good, or even neutral," she said, mopping her face with a hand. "Keiko approved of his plans only because she did not understand the gravity of them. He didn't tell her the consequences of what he seeks to do, nor the dire side effects of what will happen to this world should he succeed." She licked her lips, eyes peering with silver fire over the top of her sunglasses. "My child, do not let your resolve waver. You had no idea that if he were to get his way, he could undo the very fabric of the world, and—"

She stopped speaking, then, an ashen pallor flooding her olive cheeks.

"Well that sounds ominous as fuck," said Yusuke.

Cleo's chest hitched, and she vomited a fountain of bright red blood.

I was ready, though; I knew what the sallow tinge on her face must prophesy. Just as she bowed her head, I darted toward her and shoved the wastebasket I'd been holding ever since she arrived under her chin. As she heaved, she took the basket in her hands, and I gathered up her hair and held it against her clammy neck. The others gasped and exclaimed at the sight of the fountain of blood that came pouring from Cleo's mouth, but I didn't react. I just waited for her to finish before giving her my handkerchief. As she dabbed at her mouth, I took the trash can and set it on the coffee table—and then I reached inside.

"Keiko!?" Yusuke yelped. "What the hell! That's gross!"

"Oh, shut it," I grumbled. My hand closed around the object at the bottom of the can, just where I thought it would be. "Gimme a minute."

He grumbled right back, but he didn't stop me from carrying the bloody thing into the kitchen, where I washed it clean in the sink. Blood swirled down the drain in thick red strands, a whirlpool of thread ichor that soon ran clear. Drying it off on my shirt, I walked back into the living room and deposited the object on the coffee table with a click of stone on glass.

"That is why Cleo can't speak freely," I said, staring at the smooth black pebble. "It's why she won't just tell us what she knows. Every time she says too much, this is what happens."

"A rock?" Yusuke said in stuttering disbelief. Puu wore the same look in his spot on Yusuke's lap, comically enough. "She barfs up a rock!?"

Yukina stared at the stone through wide eyes. "How awful!"

"As far as I can tell, this happens when she gets too close to saying something that would give everything away," I said. Standing at Cleo's side, I watched as she continued to dab at her mouth, eyes downcast. "Truths too big for mortal ears to comprehend, as she'd say."

Koenma grimaced. "So you're saying that we're caught between a rock and the Socratic Method. Literally."

"More or less. She can guide, but she can't just give us the answers." I gestured at the stone. "This curse, or whatever it is, just gets in the way."

"There… might be another reason she can't talk."

Everyone turned to Jorge. He held a pillow in his gigantic hands, claws worrying the fringe on its edges with surprising delicacy. Although Koenma looked at him with outright surprise, Jorge didn't spare the prince of Spirit World a glance. He only had time for Cleo, looking at her through his beady eyes while a thoughtful frown seized his lips, jutting tusks gleaming in the lights overhead.

"And since when did you become an expert of the Moirai?" Koenma said with unconcealed impatience.

"Oh, lay off," I couldn't keep from snapping, earning a glare from Koenma. More kindly, I added, "What do you mean, Jorge?"

"Well…" He took a deep breath, broad blue chest inflating under the lines of his beige coat. "Cleo-san here protected you from one of the truths of the universe by blocking it out of your memory, so I don't think she'd try to tell you another truth like it on purpose. Why shield you then but expose you now?" When I nodded, understanding what he meant, he continued, "Which means that's not what she was trying to tell us now, and that's not why she coughed up…"

Blue skin tinged green, Jorge swallowed and gestured at the stone on the coffee table. Koenma crossed his arms, grudgingly impressed with this assessment.

And so was Kurama, it seemed. "A sound induction, Jorge," he said, green eyes glittering. "I believe I see where you're going with this."

"Care to clue us in, oh mighty geniuses?" Yusuke snarked.

Kurama chuckled. "The crux of the matter is that Cleo is one of the Fates. Isn't that right, Jorge?"

"Yes," Jorge said. "Koenma-sir, you called Cleo an 'impartial arbiter,' and I think that's exactly what's wrong. An impartial arbiter of fate wouldn't be allowed to do or say anything that could sway fate in any particular direction or another." He turned to Cleo at last, looking uncertain when her face remained impassive. "It's not that you can't talk because you were about to say some big universal truth we aren't allowed to know. You can't talk because what you were about to say would imbalance the scales of destiny." He ducked his jutting chin, twiddling awkwardly with his thumbs. "Is that right, Cleo-san?"

She remained quiet—but then her mouth hitched, just a little at one corner. "Typically I stick to weaving or sewing metaphors," she said. "Justice is in charge of scales, as I recall… but you should be grateful for your assistant, Koenma." This made her smile for real. "He's sharp, this one."

Jorge almost melted, a neon blue blush suffusing his powdery face. But Koenma wasn't impressed, tossing his hair and saying, "Helpful as Jorge can be, this doesn't put my mind at ease. If you can't tell us anything we don't already know, what use are you?"

Botan gasped and reached over to swat his knee. "Koenma! You're speaking to Fate, remember?"

"No, Botan," Cleo said, holding up a hand. "It's all right. He's correct to question my presence here, meager as it is. But we've strayed quite far from the path." Turning my way, she said, "Keiko. Hiei. The fragments and words Keiko recalls from her conversation with Hiruko—what are they?"

Hiei and I exchanged a look.

Hiei said, "Power. Create. Fiction."

I added, "Source. Reality. Canons."

"Stories. Prove. Fate."

"Yu Yu Hakusho," I said.

Yusuke made a face. "What's that?"

"The name of the manga," I said.

"Oh." He grinned. "'Yu' for Yusuke? That's badass!"

"Shut up," Hiei said. "There's more." And he gave me a nod to continue.

I said, "World. Real." Suppressed a shudder. "Appeal."

"Makers," said Hiei. "Worthy."

"And belong."

For a minute or so, silence reigned.

Then Koenma hoarsely whispered, "Makers?"

"Yes," I said. "I'm pretty sure it means Hiruko himself, since he made this whole wor—Koenma, are you OK?"

It was a stupid question, because he very clearly wasn't OK at all. Ash entered his cheeks in a pale wave, like spilled spoiled milk, as he sank into his seat and carded his fingers into his hair. Koenma stared at the floor in silence cut only by the small smack of him sucking frantically on his pacifier—an object that looked all the more out of place now that he bore the weight of an apocalypse on his face.

But Cleo did not appear perturbed. "Do you understand now, Koenma, why you and Keiko must work together?" was all she said in her neutral, even tones.

"I do," Koenma breathed.

"Will you tell them what you know?" said Cleo.

"I will." His fingers clenched, pulling at his hair a little harder. "Although I'm pretty sure I'll be breaking a hundred Spirit World laws in the process, but..."

Cleo laughed, a sharp exhale through the nose that spoke more of ridicule than humor. "Would it be moral to withhold the truth from them?"

Yusuke glared. "You'd better say no!"

"Not particularly, in this case," Koenma said, not hearing him. "But…"

"Then what good are the laws you would break," said Cleo, "and why should you respect them?"

Koenma considered this a moment, soon breathing a heavy, resigned sigh. "Touché." He shoved out of his chair and spun, waving to indicate the room with a flutter of red cape. "All right, listen up, all of you. Under no circumstance is anything I am about to say to leave this room—am I understood?" He looked at each of us in turn, face set like he'd been carved from stone. "You will not leave here and create a new religion or cult, and you won't go around flaunting a puffed-up sense of superiority after you learn something the rest of the world has no idea exists. And Yusuke, that goes double for you."

"Hey!" the aforementioned yelped, incensed. "Why me?"

"Because you're already flaunting your protagonist status, and this might put it in overdrive." He didn't wait for Yusuke to react, once more meeting each of our eyes, staring so hard I half expected he could see the colors of our souls. "No one is to breathe a word of this outside this room. Do all of you understand? Have I made myself clear? I want to hear you say yes."

We dutifully chorused an affirmative, although some of us were more cooperative than others. Jorge, Yukina and Botan agreed quite readily, but Kurama looked almost annoyed—annoyed and eager, sitting on the edge of the seat with a familiar glimmer in his eye. Yusuke, meanwhile, just looked bored, idly playing with Puu's large wings, while Hiei rolled his eyes in open defiance of Koenma's order. But when he caught Cleo looking at him with her deadpan stare, he gave a grudging nod before facing the window, gazing moodily into the dark beyond.

"Good," Koenma said. "Now pay attention, because I will only say this once." He took a deep breath, squeezed his eye shut, and spoke like a deflating balloon. "The word 'Makers' does not refer to Hiruko, as Keiko so erroneously suggested. Hiruko did not create the world." His eyes opened. "The Makers did."

Koenma stood there in silence for a time, as if waiting for us to react. No one said anything, though. We just stared, confused and apprehensive. Privately, I still thought Koenma was wrong about Hiruko not making this world, but I didn't say anything. He resumed speaking again before I could find the words.

"The existence of the Makers is known to none besides the highest echelon of Spirits in Spirit World—those Spirits whom humans refer to as gods, and who govern the roads to the afterlife, a realm even we may not enter or explore," Koenma said, voice scratching in his throat. "But these gods are mere insects beside the Makers."

"Oh, I don't like the sound of this," Botan muttered, slumping deep into the couch. "Not one bit."

Koenma ignored her. "The Makers created the laws of reality and birthed the universe as we know it. There's a reason the various creation myths and legends of the world's religions are similar to each other. They're based on one true story, little do the humans realize it."

"Before the advent of the world, there was chaos and void at once," he continued. "If that sounds paradoxical, it is because it is. No human mind could possibly comprehend the landscape from which the universe emerged. Even I can't grasp the full nuance of that statement, but what I do know is this: The Makers did not materialize from this formlessness. They were this formlessness. The Makers created the world so much as they are the world. The Makers are primordial beings, impossible to understand, unfathomably powerful, and beyond the realm of even my comprehension."

No one said anything. The air had been sucked out of the room, drawn into the manic gleam radiating from Koenma's sharp eyes. He began to pace, wearing a hole in the carpet with every slide of his slippered foot.

"Even the highest Spirits, those whom humans revere as gods, cannot fully grasp the Maker's power—and with good reason," Koenma said. "All of the 'gods' humans claim to worship descended from the Makers, for Spirits can claim the Makers as their originators. My father, lord Enma, is the grandson of the Makers. His parents were Izanami and Izanagi of Shinto legend, who—along with the Kotoamatsukami of Shinto lore—were birthed from the Makers themselves."

I put up my hand. "Question!"

"I'm not done yet," Koenma retorted.

I asked anyway. "You've referred to the Makers as both singular and plural."

"Yes."

"Which is it?"

"Yes."

"… excuse me?"

"Yes. Singular and plural. Neither and both." Koenma's stony expression brooked no argument whatsoever, even if I didn't understand what the hell he was getting at. "Get used to referring to them in terms that contradict each other, because this is the stuff the Makers trade in. The Makers are myriad-faced and multi-faceted, many and one, singular and plural, chaos and order all at once." To Cleo specifically he said, "That is why I didn't give them a straight answer, when you asked me to explain the origin of the universe before. The Makers are as difficult to explain as they are simple to explain. They are the god of the gods. They are everywhere and nowhere. They exist in the act of not existing and have been sleeping, dormant, dead, alive and missing for centuries, even as they live on in some secret place beyond our grasp."

"… I don't think I get it," Yusuke muttered, face screwed up as if he'd been asked to solve an advanced trigonometry problem.

"And for that, I do not blame you," Koenma said. "But what you should get is this." Once more he drew himself up to his full and not unimpressive height. "If Hiruko wants something from the Makers, he will have to move heaven and earth to get it—perhaps literally. And if the Makers stir from their wakeful slumber, the world will feel the force of their movements to its very foundation. And what consequences will be wrought from this, I simply cannot say."

"So… Hiruko wanting something from the Makers is a bad thing," Yusuke surmised.

"Yes," Koenma said, as if it were obvious. "Yes, of course it's a bad thing!"

Kurama stared at Koenma with far-away eyes. "Grandson…" he mused. "You said your father is the grandson of the Makers?"

Koenma nodded.

"So you're their great grandson, then."

But Koenma, who I imagined would crow and brag about such a thing, only grimaced. "In a manner of speaking. Parentage for the Makers isn't as simple as birthing a child. More like… extracting one of their faces, and giving it independence. But my soul is connected to theirs, if that is what you're asking." A pause. "Well. I can't imagine they have something as simple as a soul, but…"

"And so is Hiruko," Botan said.

Koenma scowled. "Hmm?"

"If Hiruko was telling the truth about being your uncle," she said, each word slow and careful, "then he's related to the Makers somehow, too. Right?"

"Wow." Yusuke laughed, slapping his knee. "Talk about keeping it all in the family, huh?"

While Koenma chastised Yusuke for saying something inane, and Yusuke made more jokes about inbred royalty, I stared at the floor in silence. Yusuke meant what he said in jest, but something about his words struck me as…

"Kei," Kurama said. "What's wrong?"

Kurama regarded me from his seat on the couch with a worried cast to his expression, mouth turned in a gentle frown. Yusuke fell quiet when he heard Kurama say my name, and soon Koenma followed suit. Being in the spotlight was the last thing I wanted, but just then, that's exactly where I found myself. Even Cleo watched me with shrewd eyes, as if trying to discern what I was thinking in the set of my pinched face.

"It's nothing," I said. "Just… something Hiruko said to me, is all." I shrugged when Kurama murmured an inquiry. "He asked me a weird question, back when we talked last, and I…"

"What did he say?" Cleo softly intoned.

Another shrug. "He said something about my mother."

Alarm crossed Yusuke's face, tightening it with tension. "What about your mom?"

"Oh. Not that mom," I said, glad when the trepidation left his face. "I mean my first mom. From my old life." Wringing my hands on my lap, I said, "Hiruko knows everything about my past. Things none of you know yet. Or may not ever know, really." It was hard to speak, after that, so I kept careful watch on the toes of my shoes, trying not to remember how many people hung on my every word. "One thing he knows is the relationship I had with my parents. Namely that it was complicated—complicated and painful. How I had always longed for their approval. Specifically my mom's, and—"

Kurama's voice broke through like a gentle, but insistent, wind. "What did he ask you, Kei?" he murmured.

I looked up and took a deep breath. "He asked me to what lengths I would go to please my mother."

For a minute, no one spoke.

But then, surprisingly, it was Jorge who broke the silence. "Paired with the other words you recall from your word-soup memory, it sounds like Hiruko may want to do something for the Makers," he suggested. "Like perhaps he's doing something by their request, or on their behalf."

"No," I said. "I don't think that's it."

Kurama regarded me coolly, tactician's mask settling snug atop his pretty features. "You're thinking about the nuance of some of the final words, correct?"

"Yeah. It's subtle, but…" I sorted through the word-soup, picking out the ones that supported my burgeoning theory. "Prove. Appeal. Worthy. Those words make it sounds like he's trying to impress the Makers, doesn't it?"

"Impress them, like… so they'll give him a reward?" said Yusuke.

"I think that's exactly it."

Koenma sucked on his pacifier a few times, smacks loud in the quiet room. "So Hiruko wants to prove himself to the Makers in some capacity," he said, words hardly louder than a murmur. "The question is what he'll request if they find him worthy, as the 'word-soup' indicates."

Botan's troubled eyes roved across Koenma's face. "Koenma, you said the Makers are… dormant. Sleeping. Something like that?"

"Yes," he said. "No one has communicated with them in thousands of years."

"Well, if that's the case," she said, "how do you suppose Hiruko can prove anything to them, if they're in that state?"

Trouble clouded his eyes. "I suppose he'll have to wake them up, somehow."

"That also sounds ominous as fuck," Yusuke remarked.

"And that's not the worst of it," I said.

His brow shot up. "The heck do you mean by that, huh?"

"Hiruko is powerful." Disquiet made my stomach churn, but I held nausea at bay. "Powerful enough to put my soul in another body, and bring a legend—"

"A manga, a manga!" Yusuke insisted

"Right, right. He's powerful enough to bring a manga to life." I breathed in through the nose, then slowly out the mouth. "But if Hiruko is that powerful, what could the Makers give him that he couldn't simply make for himself?"

No one spoke.

Soon Koenma said, every word a burden: "You're asking what is beyond even Hiruko's immense power."

"Yes," I said. "I am."

The silence that followed lasted a long time, haggard and cold like a rocky mountain slope. Cleo's eyes drifted shut, and she didn't move in her seat—a stone on the side of that chilly peak, unbothered by the threat of frostbite or avalanche. I wished I had half of her composure. It was all I could do to sit in unsettled silence with my friends, avoiding meeting their eyes as I twisted my fingers on my lap. Soon words bubbled up, the silence too severe to bear for long… but the words did not come from me.

"It's that final word that I can't stop thinking about. 'Belong.'" Botan whispered, and all eyes turned to her. "If the legends around Hiruko are to be believed—and I believe they are, Keiko, from everything you've told us—he was cast out as a baby. Placed in a boat and set adrift, rejected by his parents before he could even talk."

"That's right," I said.

Yukina shuddered; Hiei glanced sharply in her direction when she said, "How awful."

"Makes sense he'd want to belong somewhere, if he's lived through that," Yusuke said. He rolled his eyes, just in case we thought he was getting soft. "Still think the guy is a pompous ass, but…"

"You're right, Yusuke—about both points." Couldn't help but throw in a dig at Hiruko, even though I did agree that his backstory was pitiable indeed; it earned me a high-five from Yusuke, which felt nice after everything else that evening.

Botan didn't join in our revelry. "My point is just that I don't understand why he couldn't affect fate the way he does and conjure up a place for himself, without the Makers' help." Hearing her voice these thoughts aloud brought sweat to the surface of my palms, but still she soldiered on. "Why does he need their help to get what he wants? If he can really affect destiny, can't he simply create a place to belong on his own? Make his own world where he's beloved, or…?"

"Were you not listening?" Koenma said. "The Makers created reality, not Hiruko. Persuasive as Keiko is, I still don't believe that he created this reality. It flies in the face of—"

Cleo's eye snapped open. "Koenma," she said, word a whip-crack that silenced the prince at once. "Put aside your preconceived notions. Allow yourself the humility to accept, if only temporarily, that this world is—" Her cheeks paled again. "Is—!"

I was ready with the wastebasket before she started heaving up another black stone—that physical representation of Cleo's unspoken, but broken, rules. She murmured thanks between heaves as I held back her hair and rubbed her shoulders, the others watching in silence as I took her second expelled stone and washed it in the kitchen sink. I set it beside its twin on the coffee table as she dabbed the blood from her lips, ignoring the queasy looks adorning the faces of my friends.

Botan, ever helpful and happy, watched Cleo with anxiety writ across her cheeks. "There's no easy way for you to tell us the truth, is there?" she said when Cleo finished cleaning up her face.

Cleo's lips thinned. "No, Botan. There isn't." Her eyes rose to meet Koenma's, who bowed to Cleo on reflex. "But I can say this: Have faith in your analysis of Hiruko's goals and motivations. Whether he made this world or not, one thing is clear. Hiruko is at the very least capable of pulling this world's strings, and that is threat enough."

"I just wish we knew what he was going to do next, so we could intervene," said Botan.

"At least we know it's got something to do with the Makers though," Yusuke said, affecting a bright grin. "And that's gotta count for something, right?"

Koenma blinked twice—and then his nose thrust high into the air. "Yes, Yusuke. That's exactly right," he said. "Now that I know the Makers are a crucial part of his plan—" he shot a look at Cleo, who did not react, but also did not shake her head "—it's clear that the next step in solving this mystery will fall on my shoulders."

Yusuke scowled. "What's that mean?"

"It means we know that Hiruko is going to approach the Makers at some point," Koenma said. "Now we just need to know how he attends to achieve this so we can stop him before he succeeds." He smiled, eyes glittering. "And that means…"

"Oh no." In the corner Jorge covered his face with his hands. "Sir, you have that look in your eye!"

"… it's time to do research!" Koenma made this pronouncement with relish, spinning toward the door with a dramatic flourish of his cape. "Fear not, everyone. I will unearth the secrets of the Makers in short order. No doubt we will soon be in possession of the reason Hiruko needs the Makers' help, not to mention why he's so fixated on our group—not to mention what it all has to do with you, Keiko."

My smile felt (and probably looked) tight. "I look forward to your findings."

"As you should." He swirled his cape again. "And with that, I'm off."

Cleo lifted an eyebrow. "Leaving already?"

He seemed to remember himself, turning so he could bow at her in farewell. "My lady Fate. If you'll excuse me. We have no sense of Hiruko's timeline, so I'd rather be on the safe side."

"But—" Botan bolted to her feet. "Koenma, sir, wait just a moment!"

"Yeah!" said Yusuke, who also stood up. "Wait a sec, would ya! Before you go riding off into the sunset to save the day through being a nerd, I have a favor to ask."

Koenma's face contorted into a mask of incredulity. "A favor?" he repeated. "What kind of favor?"

"You forget already?" Yusuke asked. "I know Keiko distracted everybody from my big win, but it's only been a few hours since we won the whole Dark Tournament! Aren't I supposed to get a wish or something?"

Kurama sat up a littler straighter at that. So did Hiei, the pair of them watching Yusuke with careful eyes. Botan, however, looked crestfallen—had Yusuke interrupted whatever she'd been about to say? I didn't have time to ask, mostly because I had to turn away from my friends and hide my face behind a hand, smile threatening to tear through my composure. The prize for winning the Dark Tournament was anything the victor wished for, and Yusuke had a very important wish to make right now. Even Cleo watched Yusuke with eyes like a hawk's, mouth a thin line in her weathered face.

Koenma paused. "You are entitled to one wish, yes," he said eventually. "But I—"

"And since the tournament committee is dead and whatnot, I'm asking you to grant it." To my confusion, Yusuke's eyes shifted in small increments until he looked at me askance. "But, first… Keiko?"

"Uh…" I shifted awkwardly where I stood, still fighting back a smile. "What?"

He ducked his head, rubbing at the back of his neck as if embarrassed about something. "Well…"

My smile threatened to break free; I smothered it with a frown. "What are you looking at me like that for? Just make your wish!"

His eyes darted over to me and away again. "I wanna be sure you're OK with it, first," he mumbled, still rubbing at his neck.

The question did not compute; per canon, he would ask for Genkai to be resurrected, and there was no reason he would need to consult me on the issue. Staring at him in blank confusion, I said, "But why would I need to be…?"

He looked at me once more, and then he looked at Koenma before taking a deep breath. "Koenma… if it's possible, and if Keiko wants it…" Yusuke shrugged, half of a laugh burbling in his throat. "Could you send her back—back to her old life?"

No one said anything. I didn't say anything. I couldn't. I was too numb for words, or emotions, or even the merest flicker of confusion. Yusuke's face held nothing but sincerity, a hope I did not comprehend—because I was too stunned to comprehend anything, just looking at him in silence as he shuffled from foot to foot. Eventually he smiled, a sheepish look he aimed at me.

"I mean, it's not like I want you to go," he said. "But from everything you said, you had an entire other life somewhere else. So I just thought you might wanna—"

"FUCK NO, I don't wanna!"

Shocked into silence at my outburst, Yusuke just gaped at me, as did everyone else. I stood there with chest heaving, breath rattling in and out of my open mouth as if I'd run a hundred miles in the span of a heartbeat's song. The words had ripped free of my mouth like they'd been torn out by a rusted hook, painful and raw and bleeding, surprising even me. Or perhaps they surprised me most of all. In that moment, it was hard to say.

Yusuke recovered sooner than I did. "You mean you don't wanna go back?" he asked, confused. "But why?"

"I mean—" I choked. Regrouped. Choked again. Somehow found the will to grind out the words: "I mean I miss my old life, yeah, but—but Yusuke, that's not what you want to wish for!" At his bewilderment, I shook my head so hard my ears began to ring. "It just isn't, OK? And it's not what you're supposed to wish for, either! You're supposed to wish for—" The words wouldn't come, Genkai's name a reluctant ghost in my mouth, so I just shook my head some more, wildly gesticulating with every word. "You can't waste your damn wish on me, OK? You just can't waste it—not on me, of all people!"

"It wouldn't be a waste, grandma," he shot back.

"Yes, it would," I retorted. "Because there are far more important things for you to wish for than to send me back to a life that hasn't been mine for fifteen years, and—"

"Is it really that simple?"

It was Cleo who said this, voice echoing like a stone dropped into dark waters. Wordlessly I gaped at her, watching as her glasses slipped further down her nose to reveal the steady silver eyes waiting on the other side.

"Is giving up his offer as simple as that for you, my child?" she said, whisper soft with emotion I could not put a name to. "Do you really feel no desire to return to your former existence?"

I wanted to reply, to fire back just the right response, to do what needed to be done to get Genkai back—but I couldn't. Her eyes demanded honesty, and in that moment of misplaced time, I didn't have the head to analyze my heart. Or at least I didn't have the wherewithal to find answers to the questions rattling so loudly inside my skull, questions like: Would I go back if I had the chance? It was impossible to say, because as far as I was concerned, it was an impossible decision. I'd given up so much to be here, in the world of Yu Yu Hakusho, sacrifices utterly immeasurable… but I'd gained so much in this world, too. Good parents, great friends, no more chronic pain, adventure and thrill—gained by trading a loving partner, my writing success, the hard-fought battles I'd won with my self-esteem and personal development. Making me choose between lives and two equally beautiful realities just wasn't fair—

The words Hiruko had whispered in my ear echoed through my head again, but before I could think about how much clearer, simpler, easier they made this choice, I tore my focus away to place it elsewhere. Back to the matter at hand. Back to Genkai, and the decision I had to make that could impact her—could impact all of us—with such devastating consequences.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," I said, shoving all of this aside. "It doesn't matter what I want, because I don't think Koenma could achieve sending me back even if it's what I desired." I rounded on Cleo, holding up a finger in warning. "And if fate has to stay impartial, then you can't send me back either, Cleo. So it's a done deal. I'm staying here."

Koenma's mouth settled into a thin slash. "You're right," he said. "That wish is beyond me. Sending you back would require me to know where you came from. As I don't, that wish would be impossible."

"So I'm stuck here no matter what, and that means Yusuke has to use his wish on something else," I said with near-manic intensity. "He has to spend his wish on the thing he really wants. So, Yusuke—Yusuke?"

He had fallen back onto the couch with a groan, Puu grumbling and scrambling out of his arms to sit on Botan's lap. "Man, am I glad to hear all of that!" Yusuke half-laughed, half-moaned as his head lolled over the back of the couch, one arm draping across his eyes. "I didn't wanna use my wish on you, anyhow, grandma. Not for a million bucks!"

My gaping mouth snapped shut. "Then why did you even offer?"

"Hey, it's not like I wanted you to go away or anything." He peered out from under his arm with another sheepish, relieved grin. "But it felt wrong of me to not give you a choice, you know?" Another sigh; he covered his eyes again. "I'm just glad you said no, because…"

"Because there's something you actually do want," I surmised, dread in my stomach fading in the wake of burgeoning satisfaction. "Something really worth the weight of this wish."

"Yeah." He let his arm drop, sitting up with a grim smile. "I get the feeling you know what it is."

"I do," I said.

He searched my face for a time. Looking for guidance, or confirmation? I couldn't say. I kept my features composed (a miraculous feat, under the circumstances) until Yusuke found whatever he was looking for. He turned to Hiei and Kurama, then, glancing at each of them in turn.

"Kurama. Hiei," he said. "I know Kuwabara feels the same way, but do you two?"

Kurama nodded. "We do."

"Hmmph," said Hiei, mouth concealed in the scarf around his neck. "Do as you wish."

"I'll take that as a yes." Yusuke smiled again, that grim nuance from before still in effect. "But it's probably impossible to use my winner's wish to get Genkai back, too—huh, Koenma?"

Koenma didn't say anything for a time. He and Yusuke traded a long, silent look for what felt like hours, though it couldn't have taken longer than a few seconds. Too soon he flapped his cape, turning on his heel and away from Yusuke's questing gaze.

"Come along, Jorge," was all he said. "And goodbye, all of you. You'll be hearing from me very soon, I'm sure."

We chorused a goodbye, both Jorge and Botan running after him into the hall without another word. I hardly noticed Botan's absence, however; I was too busy staring at the suite's front door, mouth dry, wondering what Koenma's long silence could mean in the grander scheme of Genkai's fate. I could only hope, with every shred of hope left in me, that he would follow canon and resurrect Yusuke's teacher, bringing her back to life in honor of Yusuke's winning wish. But…

A hand wrapped around my wrist, fingers cool and soft. "My child," said Cleo. "This is why you're here."

Still, I could not tear my eyes from the front door. "Hmm?"

"You were willing to forgo your own happiness in favor of your friends," she said. "Do you realize that?"

She was complimenting me, I thought. It took a minute to sink in. By the time she did, I'd become aware of the heavy silence and the many eyes trained on me. Fidgeting beneath their gazes' weight, I awkwardly intoned, "I mean… it's no big deal. No one could've made good on that wish, anyway." A deep breath, but it did nothing to settle my nerves. "And besides. It's just what needed to happen."

"But it isn't 'just' anything," Cleo chided. "Hiruko may have miscalculated, picking someone who cares so deeply for the world in which he set them. You'll safeguard your friends with ferocity, no matter what happens. It makes you uniquely suited for the role he cast you in."

I choked down a wry laugh. "He said he picked me at random."

"Hiruko says a lot of things. Not all of them are true." The annoyance in her voice was hard to miss; even Kurama looked amused, hiding a smile behind his hand. "In fact, that liar's tongue of his is how he managed to steal—"

She stopped talking, chest expanding as she held down the ichor surely bubbling in her throat. I reached for the wastebasket again, but she waved it away, mouth set amid the pallor of her grey cheeks. Soon she settled back against the cushions, cheeks hollow with fatigue. Cleo looked worn, somehow. More tired, and frailer, than I had ever seen her.

Still, her voice held steady when she said, "My time on the mortal plane has come to an end, I think." She passed a hand through her hair. "And I have done what I set out to do, anyway."

"Can you tell us anything else before you go?" Kurama said. "Even the smallest of details may help."

Cool eyes looked him over. "… will you take a warning?" Cleo asked.

Kurama said, "Of course."

She nodded once. "You're on the right track, regarding Hiruko. Allow Koenma's research to take priority; I have no doubt he will uncover the key to Hiruko's plans, and soon. Stay the course, and in the meantime…" Cleo's lips twitched. "Don't let Keiko be a bad influence."

I looked down at her in shock. "H-hey!"

But Cleo just laughed, that dry-thread sound again. "You overthink, my child," she said. "You know it, and so do I. Overthinking will complicate the days to come, so leave that bad habit of yours where it belong—here, on this island, never to be seen again."

Because even I know better than to back-talk Fate, I muttered, "… I'll try."

"Good." Every movement an effort, Cleo rose to her feet so she could collect the stones of truth from their place upon the coffee table. "Now walk an old woman out, would you?" Her eyes slipped across the room, assessing. "And remember, all of you, that fate is on your side."

The others looked somewhat relieved, or at least a little comforted, by what she'd said.

But as we left the suite, all that echoed through my heart was dread.

Cleo stared out over the dark, starlit island in silence. Below us glimmered the far-off ocean, moonlight limning the trees in silver and the towering bulk of Hanging Neck Rock in liquid light. She had led us here without a word after we left the suite, and for a time, we simply stood on the roof without speaking, admiring the island in gentle quiet beneath the stars. It felt like the time we'd had our first real conversation, I realized with a pang of sweet nostalgia. She had driven me out of the city on the back of a motorcycle, climbing the hills outside of town so we could view the twinkle of brilliant city lights.

Here, though, there were only stars, and the shining moon, to guide us.

I felt a tug at my wrist eventually, Cleo's fingers plucking at the bracelet peeking from beneath my sweater sleeve. A smile lit her face, eyes luminous in the starshine.

"Interesting," Cleo said.

"Oh?"

Her sly grin held unspoken secrets. "You have an eventful summer vacation ahead of you, my child."

My heart stuttered. "Dare I ask?"

"Dare I answer?"

"Probably not." A beat. "When will I see you again?"

She released my wrist. "It depends. But soon." A beat passed for her, too. "Perhaps sooner than you dream."

I couldn't help but smile. "Pun intended?"

"Perhaps," Cleo replied, cryptic as ever.

My smile turned bitter. "Why do I keep asking you for a straight answer?"

"Not sure. It certainly isn't wise of you."

I rolled my eyes. "Very funny, Cleo."

She didn't reply, wandering a few feet away from me across the gravel-strewn roof. Her hand wandered to the scissors in their scabbard on her hip. I resolved to keep my eyes on her, to witness her vanishing act and divine what method she used to disappear—but before she could get away, a question tugged the corners of my heart.

"Cleo?" I said, shy as a little girl. "Can I ask you something?"

She turned my way again, hand falling from the scissors. "Yes, my child?"

"Do you... know what Hiruko said to me? As the stadium collapsed, I mean." My breathing faltered; Cleo's face did not move, reaction as unknown as the method of her travel. "He whispered in my ear, and… anyway." I swallowed. "Do you know what he said?"

She said nothing.

Then: "Yes. I do."

"Is it true?" I asked.

"Does it matter if it's true?" said Cleo.

"Yes," I said at once—but then I vacillated. "No. I don't know."

Her expression shifted at last, lips pressing tight, lines gouged around her mouth. "Oh, my child." She walked toward me, a hand settling firm onto my shoulder. "Don't let it grieve you. Truth and facts are so often not the same thing." Her chest hitched. "If what you feel—for your friends—is—"

She spun away, coughing up a stone and a deluge of sky-dark blood. I held back her hair, as I always did, until her retching ceased. She looked more ashen than ever in the starlight, blood like tar upon her mouth as she bent to retrieve the truth-stone from the pool of her shed blood.

"You know the answer, anyway," she said, liquid gurgling in her throat. "You just don't want to believe it."

"It's horrible," I said, because it was.

"Yes," Cleo evenly agreed. "But so are so many other things in life, and you believe them just the same."

Without a word, Cleo opened her arms, and without a word, I stepped into them. It felt like being hugged by a grandmother, soft and gentle and full of security. And when she whispered in my ear, it didn't feel anything like Hiruko's dark mutterings. Her words were bracing, a hot drink on a cold day—not the chilled draught Hiruko poured without warning into my ear.

"I'll be watching, my child," she told me. "And when you need me most, I will appear." Her embrace tightened, just a little. "I promise."

I held her more tightly, too. "Thank you, Cleo."

"Of course, my child. Of course."

She stepped back, then. Her arms fell to her side. We looked at one another for time immeasurable. I tried to read the wheel and whirl of destiny in the starlight glancing off her platinum eyes—but her hand strayed to the scissors in her belt too soon.

In the space between moments, Cleo vanished, leaving me standing alone upon the roof.

For a while, I didn't move. I stared at the pool of blood she'd left behind and said nothing, felt nothing, thought nothing. But then a cold wind swept past, jostling my hair, placing a chill in the depths of my bones, and I shivered and headed for the roof's access door.

When I wrenched it open, I came face to face with Hiei.

I stumbled back when I met his scarlet gaze, but he didn't flinch. He only stared in thick, heavy silence as I caught myself and stood upright, hand pressed tight to my wildly beating heart. "Hiei. What are you—?"

"I know that Hiruko spoke to you as the stadium collapsed," said Hiei.

"You—?"

"I'm the one who carried you to safety, Meigo," he said, as if I should have known this sooner. "I saw everything, although I did not hear a word. "

My mind raced, pieces clicking together in short order. "Is that why you followed us up here?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, curt as always. "And you discussed the matter with her, just as I thought you would. So tell me, Meigo." His chin rose, scarlet eyes like flames in the dark. "What did Hiruko say to you as the stadium rained ruin about your head?"

We didn't speak. We just looked at each other. I wondered if this curiosity of his had been why he tried to look at other memories while he occupied my head. I wondered how long he'd been wondering, and why he thought I'd discuss this with Cleo. I wondered why he didn't just read my mind to find out already—but the way his eyes met mine, endlessly firm and so intense, shamed me into silence. My eyes drifted to the stars, drinking in their impartial light.

"I vowed never to lie to you again, Hiei," I said. "I promised that the time for deception was over." I shivered, but not from the cold. "And this—I don't want to lie about this, either. But.."

"Then don't," said Hiei.

"But the truth… it isn't something you need to hear." I met his eyes once more, pleading for understanding with my own. "It can only hurt you. And I haven't figured out what it means yet. It isn't useful, and it hurts… so what's the point in telling you? What's the utility of it?"

Hiei's head rose higher. "I can make that decision for myself."

I started to protest.

But the weight of this secret hung heavy around my neck, an albatross unwilling to take flight, and my will to resist dissolved like bitter salt in boiling water.

"Fine, then," I said, dully. "But I won't say it out loud. Read my mind, if you must—but Hiei—"

He was already there, itch settling firm around my brain, and soon he found the memory of that moment in the crumbling stadium and seized upon it, prey in the talons of some great beast. Words died in my throat as he replayed the instant Hiruko took me in his arms to whisper in my ear. I watched his face as he listened, waiting for the moment his face would spasm in horror and confusion—and when it did, his eyes flashed to mine. He let the memory go as if it burned, and in silence, we stared at each other beneath the cold, cold light of distant stars.

"Please don't tell anyone," came my whispered plea. "Please, Hiei. Please don't tell—"

Hiei said: "I won't say a word."

It was a promise, a vow, an assurance of solemnity, no more elaborate or flowery than the words Hiruko had whispered in my ear—those horrifying words, so simple and yet complex, unknowable but certain as they settled deeper into my gut with every passing hour. Soon they'd settle deep into Hiei's soul, as well. In the coming days and weeks, we'd sometimes catch each other's eye, an unspoken acknowledgement passing between us in recognition of the secret we—and we alone—did share.

As the stadium collapsed around us, Hiruko had taken me in his arms. He had breathed a tortured sigh and pressed his mouth against my ear, a shudder passing over him like a wave over a tattered net. The shudder passed through him and into me—and in time, into Hiei—before Hiruko opened his mouth and spoke.

"Oh, my darling girl," Hiruko had said as he took me in his arms, stadium falling to pieces all around us. "Oh, my darling, lucky child."

Another shudder, another sigh.

Hiruko had said, "You didn't think any of this was real, did you?

And for the life of me, I honestly could not say.

Notes:

Insert upside-down smile emoji here.

And with that, we have learned a greater truth about the construction of the universe (something Koenma NEVER would've divulged to Keiko and company if Cleo hadn't pushed him). We have learned that Hiruko is doing all of this to please, impress or appeal to the Makers, who created the universe but have been sleeping/dormant for millennia. Cleo clearly knows Hiruko's goal, but she can't say it aloud.

Because Jorge was right: Cleo can't tell the truth because she's not allowed to influence Fate beyond a certain degree. Cleo was at least able to say that a side effect of whatever Hiruko wants from the Makers will "undo the very fabric of the world," giving us a sense of stakes. And lucky for us, NQK has a pretty good idea of what Hiruko wants: The construction of a world where he can belong, at long last. It is now up to Koenma's research to help them figure out what Hiruko's next steps must be. Although why Hiruko requires the Makers to create a world where he belongs is unclear, it's clear they need to stop him before he can do some damage.

And as for what Hiruko said? Don't worry. Keiko will be discussing that with certain Switcheroo friends of hers very soon. Truthfully I intended to keep it a secret for a bit longer, but this fit, and now we can all wrestle with the implications of this together (it's been lonely, not being able to talk about this, omggg).

If you're truly freaked out by that ending, know this: I HATE the trope where someone wakes up and "it was all a dream" that didn't actually matter. That is NOT where this story is headed. Hope that helps!

We have one more chapter on Hanging Neck Island before the Dark Tournament Arc officially comes to a close. In it, we will have catch-up and reaction moments from various cast members who haven't had the spotlight yet, plus a general typing-up of loose ends. It will likely be rather episodic in nature—like a collection of scenes or vignettes—and I'm actually pretty excited about it.

See you next time (hopefully next weekend, Sunday, May 3), and MANY sincere thanks to these amazingly magnanimous sunflowers for reviewing chapter 104: basketofseals, allyallyonthewall, tauau, Cptkitten, Sdelacruz, brawltogethernow, CDang, ShiaraM, CaliforniaArchivist, Ms_Liz, DragonsTower, MyMindIsTellingMeNow, Paddygirl, silverpaper_toffeepaper, ChaosDreamingSiren, rosethornli, Gerbilfriend, Sanguinary_Tide, willowfire, zoostitcher89, RedKnuckles49, SarcasticallyDances, Unctuous, Vinlala, Dulcina, chigi23, Alphabeto-Spaghetti, Seyuu, NaraMerald, NotQuiteAnonymous, MidKnightOwl, JestWine, McShad, Konkubus, Theproblemchild, musiquemer!

Chapter 106: The 4 O'clock Ferry Bound for Home

Summary:

In which the Dark Tournament comes to a close.

Notes:

This chapter is going to have a pretty atypical structure compared to past chapters. TBH, this could probably exist as a bunch of small chapters instead of one large one, but I wanted to put all the little pieces that wrap up the Dark Tournament into one installment. What you're going to get is two long scenes sandwiching a number of small drabbles/short scenes only loosely connected to one another. Think of it as the montage that wraps up this story arc. I hope you enjoy despite the odd structure!

Full disclosure: We probably won't do this structure again because I HATE IT.

Also I will edit this tomorrow because I don't want to look at it for even another minute; BYE.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Beside me upon the couch, Botan wore a look of utmost concentration. It weighed heavy, that look. I fidgeted beneath it, wondering when she'd at last break the silence—but she didn't leave me wondering for very long.

"So tell me, Keiko," she said. "You were how old when you…"

She faltered, intensity breaking at last. Resisting the urge to laugh, I gave her knee a small, reassuring pat.

"When I died?" I supplied sweetly.

Botan's face flushed. "Well, I didn't want to be rude!"

"It's fine. And 26." I smiled. "I died when I was 26 years old."

It felt oddly normal, talking to her out in the open like that. Yukina sat not too far away, and Atsuko lounged on the floor with a beer as the delicious smell of baking cake wafted out of the kitchen. On any other night, this would feel like a typical night in. I'd come back from the roof after Cleo left to make dinner, which we all ate while chatting and generally goofing off. Sure, there were some odd looks and awkward silences when I spoke. And sure, Kuwabara and Shizuru hadn't come back in time for dinner (conspicuously), necessitating setting aside some food for them, but still. The whole night felt routine—which only made it feel weirder. Nothing about that night had been routine, but as there I sat, getting grilled by Botan, I could've mistaken the moment for any from the past week.

Only with more talk about how I died while waiting for dessert to finish baking, and stuff.

"26, huh." Atsuko raised her beer in my direction. "I'll bet you were a college girl, Brainiac."

"What is college?" Yukina asked, after I gave Atsuko a nod of affirmation.

"It's a form higher education," said Kurama from his place in a nearby armchair. "In Japan, human children must attend school through middle school, but high school and then college are considered optional."

"But you stand a good chance of getting a nice job if you attend college," Botan added before she turned to me. "What did you major in, Keiko?"

Hesitation marred my reply; it was still hard to loosen my tongue and talk about this, even though I'd been getting quite a bit of practice that evening.

"Well, not much that would get me a good job. At least not according to my parents," I said, words labored and slow. "I had a degree in poetry. With minors in philosophy and marketing."

Botan blanched, but she composed herself quickly enough. "Well, I suppose it's an interesting mix, if nothing else!" she said. "And you said you lived in… Texas, was it?"

"Yeah."

Yusuke—who had been hovering vulture-like in the kitchen so he'd get first crack at dessert—stuck his head out of the doorway and raised an eyebrow. "So, like… cowboys. Guns. John Wayne?" he said. "Did you ride a horse to college every day?"

"I went to college in another state, and no, I didn't," I said, turning up my nose. "That's a stereotype."

He just stared at me, deadpan. "Did you ever ride a horse?"

My cheeks flushed. "Well, yes—"

"Shoot a gun?"

"Yes, but—"

"Wear boots and spurs?"

"I mean…"

"So you are the stereotype, then. Guns and all!"

I put my head in my hands. "I'm a bad example, I swear."

Kurama, who had watched this exchange in silence, shook his head. "Guns, Kei? That seems out of character for you."

"But awesome!" Yusuke scowled at me. "We're definitely gonna have to talk about this later. You've been holding out on me."

"Who is John Wayne?" Yukina asked, looking between Yusuke and me in confusion. "And what is a cowboy?"

I floundered. "This is… a lot to explain."

Yusuke scoffed, head pulling back into the kitchen and out of sight. "Nobody better n' you to do the talking, then, Tex."

My glare would've burned him had he not already retreated. "OK, but we are not calling me that!"

"And why the hell not?"

"Because we just aren't, that's why!"

"26…" Botan mused, distracting me from my plan of following Yusuke into the kitchen and kicking his ass. "At that age, you were on your way to becoming a Christmas Cake, weren't you, Keiko?" Her cheeks colored; Botan grabbed my hand with a gasp of apology. "Oh, I'm sorry! I don't mean to offend. It's just…"

Yukina's confusion was only just beginning, it seemed, because she asked, "What is a Christmas Cake?"

"Christmas is a human holiday," Botan explained. "In Japan, it's customary to eat cake on Christmas."

But that didn't actually clarify anything, and the furrows on Yukina's brow deepened further still. "But what does that have to do with Keiko's age?" She gasped, hands covering her mouth. "Humans don't eat people in cakes on Christmas, do they?"

Atsuko promptly started laughing her ass off, beer tipping precariously in her unsteady hand. Botan shushed her and glared, then turned to Yukina with a soothing smile.

"No, no, nothing like that!" Botan said. "It's just that sometimes people—very rude people—call any unmarried woman over 25 years old a 'Christmas cake.' Christmas takes place on the 25th of December, you see, and you're supposed to eat your Christmas cake on that day, and not later in the month." She sighed and rolled her eyes, clearly not on board with this little facet of Japanese culture. "They're implying that women, like a Christmas cake, should be considered stale after 25."

Yusuke's head appeared around the corner of the kitchen again. "They turn into hags if they don't get married young enough, is what she means."

This time, he caught the full force of my glare. "We are going to have a long talk about misogynistic beauty standards at some point, you and I," I said. "And you will not enjoy it."

But Yusuke just laughed. "You only say that because you were about to spoil."

I flipped him off. "Joke's on you, Yusuke, because I wasn't single."

This was a mistake on my part. No sooner had the words left my mouth than did Botan's head whip around, hair flying behind her in a flash of intrigued blue.

"Wait, what?" Botan said, eyes enormous in her gorgeous face. "You weren't single? You were married?"

"Well, no, not married," I was quick to tell her, "but—"

She seized on the 'but' immediately, asking, "Engaged?"

I flushed again. "Uh—"

Botan gasped, delighted. "You were engaged!"

"Not quite," I said. "I mean, we talked about it. Getting engaged, I mean. And that was the plan, eventually. But…"

"Ahem."

I flinched, looking sharply over my shoulder—but it was just Shizuru, standing behind the couch with her hand on her hip. I started to smile at her, but the sight of Kuwabara lingering awkwardly behind her stopped me cold. His dark, narrow eyes roved over the living room, skimming Botan, Kurama, Yukina and Atsuko… but never once looking at me. He tried to play it cool, but I knew what he was doing. That kind of avoidant eye contact is so obviously intentional, you can't mistake it for anything but the snub that it is.

So he was definitely still mad, then. Whatever talk he'd had with Shizuru hadn't mended any fences at all, or at least so it seemed to me.

Shizuru hopped over the back of the couch and settled in next to Botan, propping her feet up on the coffee table as she lit a cigarette. Botan giggled as Shizuru's landing bounced her in her seat, looking at the other woman with a smile.

"Hello, Shizuru. Back already?"

Shizuru rolled her eyes. "Baby bro insisted we take a tour of the whole damn island. But we figured out some stuff you'll wanna know along the way."

"Care to enlighten us?" Kurama asked.

"There's a ferry leaving tomorrow at 4 PM, and we need to be on it… unless we wanna live here until next year's tournament, that is."

"If there's even a tournament next year at all," I said. At Botan's confused expression, I added, "Since the committee got massacred, and stuff…"

A chorus of recognition filled the room—but even though everyone else looked at me as I spoke, Kuwabara turned his face pointedly toward the ceiling. He leaned against the windows, not even deigning to sit in my presence. Luckily Shizuru seemed to notice what he was up to, though, because she shot him a disapproving scowl before turning her gaze on me.

"So, Keiko," she said. "What'd we miss?"

"A lot, actually."

"We met one of the Fates herself!" Botan gushed. "Pity you couldn't be there, Shizuru."

"One of the Fates, huh?" Her eyes slid sideways. "Hear that, baby bro? Why don't you sit down and get caught up on what we missed, huh?"

"I'll stand, thanks," Kuwabara grumbled. "But I shoulda known there'd be more." A spasm of annoyance rumpled his features, and finally his eyes drifted to me—and away again just as quickly. "Well, don't just sit there. Rip off the bandaid, huh?"

"OK." After telling Botan to get them their dinners from the kitchen, and after the Kuwabara siblings sat down to eat (Kuwabara's ire couldn't resist a bowl of my katsudon), I began the tale. Or tried to, anyway. "Well, it turns out—"

"Keiko, wait!" said Botan, voice spiked with anxiety. "Koenma was very clear that we aren't to repeat the information he revealed to us. Do you think it's OK to tell them what we know?"

"Koenma said the information couldn't leave this room." I gestured at the walls. "And since we're still here…"

Yusuke's bark of laughter echoed in the adjoining kitchen. "Should've known you'd find a loophole!" he yelled. "That's have you've always broken the rules."

"You have my past debate and rhetoric classes to thank for that. But anyway." I looked around the room. "Who wants to start?"

Her reluctance assuaged, Botan launched right in, Kurama throwing in additional details as she enthusiastically recounted our encounter with Cleo. Yusuke wandered into the room to listen as they told the Kuwabara siblings everything they could about the Makers, Fates and Hiruko, and I was more than content to let them take the lead. Kuwabara couldn't so much as look at me, so it's not like my presence was really necessary… and being ignored wasn't exactly my idea of a good time. When everyone became sufficiently engrossed in the retelling, I went into the kitchen to check on the cake, which I removed from the oven and set on a rack to cool. Much better to wait around in the kitchen until they wrapped up.

Once the cake cooled, I frosted it, and then I cleaned the kitchen sink and stove until it gleamed. After that, I had nothing to do, so I just sort of lingered in there eating frosting directly from the bowl (not my finest moment) until Botan called my name. Reluctantly abandoning my frosting, I returned to the living room to find Kuwabara looked quite gray around the gills, staring at Botan with a halfway horrified look on his face. Meanwhile, Shizuru looked mildly disgruntled (which is saying something when it comes to her). She said nothing and did not move when Kuwabara rose slowly to his feet, mopping his sweating face with one large hand.

"Makers, huh." He ran a hand over his hair, mussing it completely. "I need a bath, after that. To clear my head."

I stepped forward an inch. "Dessert is almost—"

"Be right back."

He didn't pay me a second look, disappearing into one of the bedrooms without another word. In the ensuing silence, Shizuru lit up a cigarette, while Yukina stared forlornly at the floor. Botan shifted toward me after a minute or two, a bright, cheery smile pasted haphazardly across her face.

"So, Keiko," she said. "Let's back up. Tell me about him." A pause. "Or her. I don't want to assume…"

I noted her inclusiveness with interest, but that was a topic for another time. I just said, "Him, in this case."

Her eyes lit up. "What was his name?"

"Oh. Well…" Now this was a topic I hadn't touched in a while. Taking a deep breath, I tried not to let the emotions roiling in my chest show in my eyes. "His name was Tom."

"Tom," Botan repeated. "What a nice name!"

"Oh, god," Yusuke grumbled. "Not more mushy stuff! I'm outta here."

We ignored him as he beat a hasty retreat into a bedroom. Botan stuck her tongue out at his back, then returned her attention to me. "So spill, Keiko! What was Tom like?"

"Um." Thinking about him put an awful ache in my stomach, but I conjured up the image of his face, anyway. "He was… uh, tall, I guess? Brown hair, blue eyes."

"Blue eyes?"

"Yeah. And he was cute, too, though I'm probably biased." Despite the ache, tart with longing and sharp with affection, thinking of him made me smile. "Objectively, though, he was goofy and sweet. Smart, but not pretentious or overbearing. And he was funny. Funniest guy I ever knew. Couldn't go a minute without making me laugh." I tried not to meet anyone's eyes when I spoke, although it was hard. "He had this ability to say just the right word at just the right time and in just the right tone, and I'd just fall over, I'd start laughing so hard. Tom was also humble. He never lorded anything over anybody." I shrugged, lost for words at last. "He was just… a nice, genuine person. I was lucky to find him when I did."

Yukina reached over and lay one cool hand atop mine. My fingers curled around hers in surprise, but it was the concern etching lines around her mouth that really got my attention.

"You don't have to talk about him if you do not want to," Yukina murmured.

"I like talking about him, though."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," I said. "Why?"

Yukina's eyes widened. Her fingers curled around mine in return.

She said, "Because you're crying, Keiko."

I said nothing. Then, slowly, I touched my face. My fingers came away wet. For a second I just stared at my glistening fingertips, but soon I recovered enough to scrub my face with my sleeve.

"Oh my god, I am so, so sorry," I said, forcing myself to laugh. Standing up, I headed for the door. "Guess all that reminiscing caught up with me, and—you know what? Come to think of it, I'm still wearing that bloody shirt from the fight we had in the casino, so I'm gonna go get cleaned up before we cut the cake. If you'll excuse me…"

Botan called after me as I basically sprinted from the suite, but I paid her no heed whatsoever, fleeing to the elevator without a backward glance. The elevator took forever and a day to arrive; I jabbed the button over and over in the interim, trying my damndest to keep my breaths from quivering and to keep the ache in my throat at bay. I had mostly succeeded at this by the time the doors opened, and it was with a relieved sigh that I entered the car and leaned heavily against its back wall.

Relief turned to dread, however, when a hand slid between the doors just as they started to close, and Kurama climbed aboard with me. He had the good sense not to talk right away, thank my lucky stars. We rode the elevator in silence, its smooth descent accompanied by the merest whisper of turning gears. Kurama stared straight ahead, as if he didn't see me—but I'd had enough of being ignored for one night, and eventually I snapped.

"You keeping tabs on me?" I muttered, looking at him askance. "Can't be trusted not to wander off alone?"

He shrugged. "Perhaps."

"Figures."

"Or perhaps I am merely worried about someone I consider a friend."

I paused.

Then: "Or that, I suppose."

Another pause followed, thicker even than the silence that had come before. Tension tightened my shoulders like a key winding up a music box, lid lifting into discordant song when Kurama's green gaze shifted in my direction.

He said, "Do you need to talk about—?"

"I'm fine."

"You don't appear fine, Kei."

"I'm just stressed." I didn't look at him. Couldn't bear to. "But not having to lie anymore is helpful." Even I didn't believe the truth of my smile, just then. "I'll make it through. I always do."

Judging by the silence, Kurama didn't believe me, either. He said not a word until the doors opened, nodding me forward and first into the hall.

To my back, he murmured, "Why do you not talk about him to me?"

I froze solid, listening to the whisper of his footfalls against carpet. Feigning confusion, I said, "Talk about who?"

"You know who."

"Wasn't aware you were a Harry Potter fan."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing." I walked forward. "Bad joke."

He followed. "You're avoiding the question."

"Probably because that's not an easy answer." My footsteps turned to scuffing shuffles, Kurama's steps almost silent in comparison. It was easy to pretend he wasn't even there, which gave me the courage to admit, "Talking about him is painful. Because I miss him, but there's no way to ease that heartache. So I just pretend it isn't there, more often than not. It's worked so far." Voice dropping to a whisper, I added, "And besides. I did my grieving already."

"Not all of it, it seems," Kurama said.

"Can you not be observant as hell for once in your life?"

"Apologies. It's one of my many faults." A warm hand curled around my elbow. "But Kei…"

I stopped. "Yes?"

"I do not know how to ameliorate your grief. I confess such a task beyond my capabilities." He stepped forward just enough to catch my eye. "But I am here, if you need someone to listen."

I swallowed.

"I appreciate that," I said.

We looked at one another, for a while—trading another of those raw, vulnerable moments we had an annoying tendency to share at the most inconvenient of times. But while the sight of Kurama's beautiful face would normally put a cavalcade of dragonflies in my belly, tonight his earnest eyes glimmering with the light of care and warm regard only put the feeling of crawling ants against my clammy skin. Hiruko's words—"You didn't think any of this was real, did you?"—rattled in my skull like coins in a tin cup, disturbing and discordant and inescapably, indescribably loud. Too loud to hear Kurama's words for what they really were, let alone accept his offer. Too loud to let this continue for even another stolen moment. My feet moved of their own accord, breaking the intimacy we shared and exchanging it for distance, emotional as well as physical as I moved away from him down the hall.

If Kurama followed me back to the suite I shared with Shizuru, Atsuko, Yukina and Botan, I couldn't hear him. I wouldn't hear him. I didn't allow myself to listen as I opened the suite door and stepped inside, striding into the darkened rooms without a look back. As the door fell shut, my toe collided with something small and light, sending an object skittering across the carpet and into the living room. Took a minute for my eyes to adjust after I turned on the light, but when they did, I spotted what I'd kicked. A small white cardboard box—like the kind they put jewelry in in department stores—lay a few feet away, its bulk tied shut with a length of red ribbon.

A voice made me jump, but it was only Kurama, having slipped into the suite behind me without a sound. "Kei," Kurama said as I headed for the box. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No," I muttered, but I did not look at him. I was too busy examining the box. It weighed little, and when I shook it, it didn't make a sound. "No, Kurama. You didn't."

A decisive footfall struck the carpet. "Then why did you—"

I swallowed, nerves thick inside my throat, and yanked on the red ribbon—because I didn't want to have this conversation. Kurama could always see right through me, and just then I wanted a distraction. The mystery of this stupid little box would provide that, I was sure. Perhaps Botan or Shizuru had dropped it. Perhaps it was a gift from Jin. Who knew, really? There was only one way to find out, and as Kurama began to speak again, I tossed aside the ribbon and lifted the lid off of the box.

It all happened very quickly, after that—a loud screech I felt more in my teeth than in my ears, and a riot of pure color that erupted from the depths of the white cardboard, exploding in my face like an erupting firework. The colors swarmed my vision like a horde of locusts; I dropped the box and stumbled back, but before I could so much as scream or wonder what the colors even were, they slammed into my face like a visual thunderclap and sent me careening to the floor, blinded by the pictorial cacophony. Vaguely I heard Kurama call my name in horror, hands alighting on my shoulders as he knelt somewhere by my side, but I was too busy focusing on the stinging, scraping pain creeping up the front of my thighs to hear whatever he'd said. Panicked, I screeched and slapped at my jeans, but the pain didn't fade—and my hands came away wet, smelling the unmistakably copper scent of blood. Blood. Goddammit, blood? What the hell—

Although the pain was horrible, it ebbed quickly enough, retreating into a dull ache and sharp sting tolerable enough for me to grit my teeth and finally open my eyes. Just as I spotted the enormous wet patches on the front of my jeans, fabric dyed brown with blood—but before the horror of this could sink in, the suite's front door burst open. Yusuke led the charge, flying forward with hand shaped into a gun at his side. Hiei and Kuwabara followed him in, each of them scanning the room with twin looks of warrior's scrutiny.

"Kurama—you OK?" Yusuke said when he spotted us on the floor. He was at my other side in a flash, looking down at me on horrified confusion.

"We felt your energy go nuts!" Kuwabara said.

"As intended," Kurama. He nodded sharply at me. "Something's happened."

"I'll say something has," said Yusuke. "Keiko, are you all right?"

I ground out, "It hurts."

"What was it?"

"Not sure. Came out of a box."

Hiei, off to the side, kicked the aforementioned container with one derisive toes. "It's an ordinary box," he said, oddly accusatory.

"With extraordinary contents," Kurama countered. "Tell us what you're feeling, Keiko."

"It's—it burns. Like a bad sunburn."

"Oh, shit." Yusuke pointed at my legs, revulsion twisting his features. "Is that blood?"

"Yes—wait."

"What?"

"It's blood, but it's also…" I rubbed my wet fingers together, feeling the silky texture, observing the fluid's color—red in some spots, but clear in others, blending into a pink paste I somehow recognized. "It's mostly plasma?"

"So?" said Yusuke.

"How do you know that?" Kuwabara said.

Took me a minute to remember, truth be told, because I hadn't seen raw plasma in a good 18 years or so. But eventually I remembered the last place I'd seen a fluid like this, and so I said, "Back in my old life, I used to have—wait." In an instant I shot to my feet on shaky legs, dread gripping my chest so hard, it's a wonder I could even breathe. "No. No! No, no, no, no—"

More stumbling than walking, I hobbled to the nearest bathroom, trailed by my friends until I slammed the door in their faces and leaned heavily against the counter. Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself and unbuttoned my pants, peeling them off to my knees in one swift strip—an act that hurt, goddamn it, but not nearly as much as the sight of my skin did. Staring at the mess on my thighs, I practically collapsed against the counter, full of numbed nothingness and insensate shock.

"Keiko—what's happening?" Kurama said, voice muffled by the door.

A raw cry escaped my lips; I clapped a hand over my mouth, hoping they hadn't heard.

No dice. "… you sound like you're drowning," said Yusuke, thoroughly grossed out.

"It's—" The word came out in a croak. I tried again. "It's just—this is bad." My voice cracked; panic rose hot and sharp in my chest. "This is really, really fucking bad—"

"I'm coming in," said Kurama.

"Wait, no, don't—!"

The door opened. Immediately Kuwabara yelped and spun around, ears beet read at the sight of my state of undress. Yusuke looked grossed out by the image of me in my underwear and turned around, too, vanishing around the edge of the door and out of sight. Only Hiei and Kurama looked at me without a trace of embarrassment, clinical detachment keeping Kurama's face composed while boredom kept Hiei's aloof expression intact. They both marched over to join me in staring at my legs, neither of them saying a word as they realized what they were looking at.

I wasn't the only on in shock, it seemed.

As Kurama grabbed the nearest hand towel and wet it at the sink, Yusuke's voice cut the air. "Hey, Keiko! Where's your damn suitcase?" he called, words muffled by walls and distance.

"In the corner by the window," I ground out. "Why?"

A pair of athletic shorts sailed into the bathroom like a windswept kite.

"Can you please put some damn pants on?" he said. "Like, now?"

Because this was probably in my best interest, I did as he asked, stepping out of my jeans and into the shorts, which I bunched up around the tops of my legs so we could see the alarming marks on my previously unblemished skin. Said skin felt stretched and pulled and mangled and tight, all stinging pain and burning throb—and it hurt even worse when Kurama bent and began to dab at the mess with the washcloth.

I snatched it away from him in short order. "Let me do it."

Dispassionate green eyes narrowed. "Are you—?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

As Kurama backed off, Yusuke warily stuck his head back into the bathroom, having regained the ability to look at me thanks to the presence of proper pants. His eyes widened when he beheld the mess of blood and plasma on my thighs, and his eyes widened further still as I stripped that blood away stroke by painful stroke, revealing the bright swirls of vivid, rainbow watercolor adorning each leg. My eyes pricked with tears as the images swam forth—and not just from the pain. I recognized the images on my legs even before I finished cleaning them and revealed their true nature. Their familiarly place momentary homesickness deep inside my chest—but it faded quickly enough, and soon a stream of curses poured from my lips. It was a rant, spoken in English, populated by every bad word I knew and a few I had to make up on the spot. I might've known two languages, but even I didn't have the vocabulary to properly express my ire.

And Kurama knew that, I think, because he waited for me to stop cursing before he asked, "Kei. What are those?"

"They're tattoos," I said through gritted teeth.

"Yes, I can see that," he said. "But why are they there?"

"I have my suspicions."

Hiei, mind reader that he was, proffered the white box and red ribbon from the hallway. Kurama took it and examined it with careful fingers, pulling from within it a small scrap of paper. This he smoothed out across his palm, eyes carefully cataloging the words penned on it in thin, spidery handwriting.

"To my Not-Quite-Keiko," he dutifully read. "You never asked about the gift in my right hand. Enjoy." He studied the paper for a second, frowning. "It isn't signed. But I can only presume—"

"Goddamn it, Hiruko!" I spat. "My old fucking tattoos? What the fuck is this supposed to achieve?"

They looked exactly as they had in my part: A rainbow, watercolor octopus on my right thigh, and a rainbow, watercolor lion on my left, colors swirling into each other in a technicolor maelstrom. Every line and stroke of the ink looked exactly as I remembered it, the lion's stare imperious and bold, the octopus cheeky and alien as its arms undulated across my limb. I'd been proud of that ink in my past life, but seeing them there, on Keiko's thighs instead of my past self's, filled me with the sensation of distilled wrong. More than once I'd idly wished for my old tattoos back, but never once had I thought that wish might come true!

Yusuke's jaw dropped. "These were yours?"

"Not in this lifetime!" I shot back, and my cursing resumed with gusto—but a second later, Yusuke's hands closed around my face, and I found him leaning down to stare me dead in the eyes from a distance of just a few inches.

"Hey!" I said, trying in vain to bat him aside. "Get off!"

"Just hold still!" he demanded.

"Leggo of my—"

"Keiko, they're doing it again!"

I stopped struggling at once.

"Your eyes," Yusuke said, searching my face. "They're—they're doing it again. What they did during the tournament."

"Yusuke," Kurama said. "What do you—?"

"What are you talking about?" Hiei said.

Yusuke ignored them both. "What color were your eyes in your old life?" he said instead. "In the body you used to have?"

"They—they were grey," I admitted. "Why?"

Yusuke didn't say anything. He just released me, stepped back, and pointed over my shoulder at the bathroom mirror. It took willpower immeasurable to make myself turn around, spinning in slow increments to face Keiko's reflection in the mirror… but warm brown eyes, familiar after 15 years in Keiko's borrowed skin, did not stare back at me.

Instead, a pair of bright grey eyes, unfamiliar after 15 years, met mine—but then I blinked, and they were brown once more.

"OK, please tell me everyone else saw that!" Yusuke said.

"I—I did." I couldn't tear my gaze from Keiko's face, from the reflection of the tattoos that did not belong to her and yet emblazoned on her skin. "But what—?" Words failed. I settled for: "What's happening to me?"

Kurama spoke for all of us when he said, "I'm afraid I am not sure."

In the kitchen the next morning, I listened to Childish Gambino and cooked breakfast for my sleeping friends.

I knew this was a bad idea—the music part, specifically, because breakfast is always a good idea. It didn't take a genius to realize that both of Hiruko's so-called gifts represented connections to my past life, and the added wrinkle of my nostalgic eye color proved something Machiavellian was afoot regarding these callbacks to days of yore. We'd talked about my eyes at length the night before, not to mention the tattoos, but we hadn't been able to come up with any particularly solid theories about why Hiruko had placed these backdated obstacles in my path.

I had a theory, though. One I would discuss with Minato and Kagome first, because it impacted them before anyone else. Whatever the truth, it couldn't be good.

After constructing the majority of a breakfast casserole, my legs ached fiercely enough to warrant taking a break. With a groan I sank into a chair in the dining room, focusing on the song blazing in my ears to drown out the steady stream of pain. Each of my tattoos had taken at least three sessions to finish, originally, black outline and colors and touchups requiring their own discrete trips to the tattoo parlor. As for these throwback pieces? They'd taken a second and a half to become ensconced within my skin, resulting in an intense, flashbang concentration of all the pain that had been spread out over the course of many hours in my past life. After experiencing all that pain in one fell swoop, it was no wonder my legs hurt. I stared moodily at the bandages wrapped around my legs as I mumbled the lyrics of "Sweatpants" under my breath, contemplating the new—or old, rather—additions to my person with an unamused frown.

"What kinda music is THAT?"

I looked up to find Yusuke standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the frame. He hadn't slicked back his hair yet, face softened by the gentle fall of his thick black bangs. Normally I made fun of him when he wore his hair down, but that morning, all I could do was gape at him as I hastily stuffed my earbuds into my pocket.

"I…" I said. "I don't know how to explain Childish Gambino to you?"

Yusuke's eyes narrowed; in a flash he crossed the room and bent at the waist to stare me in the eye, practically glaring all the while.

"They're doing it again," he informed me. "The grey thing."

"Shit. Really?"

"Yup." He snickered, pulling back a bit. "Dunno how you're gonna hide any of this from your parents."

"Sunglasses and long pants, I guess." I shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"What do you mean?"

I patted the side of my leg. "I had these in my old life, right? This isn't the first time I've had to hide tattoos from disapproving parents." A grimace, one I could not hold back. "The eyes are new, though. Or old, depending on your point of view?"

"I don't really care. But still… grey eyes." Yusuke laughed. "You must've really stood out back then, huh?"

"Uh. No? Why do you say that?"

"I mean, we're Japanese. Grey eyes aren't exactly normal, are they?"

"Oh. Well, I wasn't Japanese in my past life, so…"

Yusuke did a double take. "Wait a minute." His expression morphed into one of understated horror. "You were white?"

"Oh my god, Karen," I said in my best impersonation of Gretchen Wieners. "You can't just ask people if they used to be white!"

"I have no fucking clue who Karen is, but whatever." Plopping into a nearby chair, Yusuke stared at me in undisguised consternation. "White. A gaijin. I can't believe it." Shaking his head, he continued in more serious tones: "Anyway. What the heck do you think Hiruko's doing this to you for?"

Another shrug. "Your guess is as good as mine."

This wasn't precisely true; I hadn't told him, or the others, about Hiruko's gift of the iPod. It wasn't a conscious deception, but rather one made subconsciously and only realized a little while later. But it made sense why I hadn't brought it up during the tattoo's explosion. The songs on it and the technology that formed it were direct results of the future, and to show it to them… well, Kuwabara liked science, right? Who's to say he couldn't replicate the technology and change something huge?

"I still think it's weird as hell that you had tattoos in your past life," Yusuke said, oblivious to my internal monologue. "You don't seem like the type. What were you, Yakuza?" He cracked a lopsided grin. "Or I guess it'd be the mob, not the Yakuza, you being a hakujin and all."

"Well, I wasn't in organized crime of any stripe, if that's what you're asking," I said with a roll of my eyes. "I was just a rebel, I guess. My parents were furious when they saw my back piece."

His grin widened. "You had a back piece?" he said, impressed.

"Um…" I rubbed at the back of my neck, not looking at him. "I did, yeah."

"What was it?"

"None of your business."

His grin widened further still. "So you had a tramp stamp, huh?"

"No. I did not have a tramp stamp," I said—and then it was my turn to grin. "It was way too big to qualify as a tramp stamp."

"Heh. Maybe you're not entirely lame, after all."

I assured him that I wasn't, in fact, entirely lame. But he just laughed and said I'd have to prove it, because it would take more than a pair of rainbow tattoos ("So girlie!" he groaned) for him to be convinced.

As our group gathered in the dining room and I slid the last slice of breakfast casserole onto a plate in the kitchen, Hiei appeared beside me in a rush of sudden black. It was unusual of him to stand so close; the heat of his fiery aura beat against my skin, steady like the sun rising outside our suite's wide windows. On reflex I started to greet him and back up a pace, but a single withering look from his scarlet eyes froze me solid even when it seared. I held perfectly still as he reached over to turn on the faucet, hiss of the water loud and echoing in the otherwise quiet kitchen.

"That thing Hiruko told you," he said.

I continued to hold very still, lest I provoke the fire blazing in his eyes.

"I hope you intend to suss out his meaning." He spoke in murmurs backed by cinders and flame. "And the sooner, the better."

"Yes," I said. "Of course."

"Good," said Hiei. Hot goals gathered in his irises, glowing with pure fury. "Because I don't take kindly to being underestimated."

He said nothing else, walking from the room to join the others with a flutter of dark cloak.

When we finished eating our morning meal, our friends scattered to their rooms to pack—everyone besides Yukina, that is, who stayed behind to help clean up. I washed while she dried, her pale hands surprisingly strong as she gripped cups and plates and heavy baking dishes.

And speaking of hands. "Are you certain you don't require additional healing?" she asked after a time, gesturing at the bandages wrapped around my legs.

It was kind of her to care. She had healed over the worst of the raw tattoos the night before, fingers gentle and cool against my inflamed skin. Fresh tattoos were little more than open wounds, so it was nice to have her push me past that stage of the healing process—but I hadn't let her progress further. I now sat at the itchy-and-peeling stage, slapping at the tattoos' covering to ease the worst of the discomfort. I wasn't sure what Yukina's healing would do to a tattoo from an aesthetic standpoint, and if I had to be stuck with them, they might as well look pretty.

"I'm good, I think," I told her. "You've already done so much, anyway."

She did not appear convinced. "If you're certain…"

"I am," I said, too firmly for her to argue any further.

We continued our chores in silence for a time. In the next room, Botan yodeled something about missing her hair curlers and best suspenders; Shizuru yelled back that she'd buy Botan new ones if she'd just shut up, because Shizuru and Atsuko both had hangovers the likes of which they'd never before experienced. Celebrating our victory had called for booze immeasurable, more or less. I chuckled as they argued back and forth, banter amusing and familiar—and in that manner, comforting.

"Keiko?" Yukina softly said.

I hummed, smiling. "Yes?"

"Do you… know who my brother is?"

My brain promptly blue-screened, hands freezing with the cold weight of shock and roaring nerves. From the corner of my eye I could see Yukina staring at me, her crimson gaze locked on my face—an intense gaze, but one quite different from her recalcitrant brother's. Crimson instead of scarlet, calm instead of irate, curious instead of demanding… the two of them, for all their shared blood, could not have been more distinct.

Her voice sounded different than his, too, when she quietly intoned, "You do, don't you. You do know who he is."

I took a breath that shuddered in my chest. "Yukina…"

"I know you don't want to speak out of turn or tamper with the laws of destiny," she said. Despite her calm demeanor, the barest undercurrent of fear placed a waver in her voice, a slight vibrato that spoke of yearning and desperation. "So if not his name, then can you tell me how to find him?"

"I—"

"Keiko. Please."

She looked at me with hope in her eyes, unvarnished and vulnerable. Anger filled my chest in response, but it wasn't aimed at her. It was aimed at the knowledge that I had to crush that hope, and held no power whatsoever to see it through.

"It's not my place to tell you who he is, or how you find him—or if you even find him at all," I said, bracing myself for the pain that would surely rise in her bright gaze. "For that, Yukina, I'm sorry. But I can't tell you anything."

Yukina stared at the sink, watching as suds spiraled around the drain before vanishing into its dark maw.

"It's all right," she whispered.

But that was a lie. I could see it in every line of her face, heart shattering into the same thousand tiny pieces in which Yukina's heart now surely lay. But I had made a promise to Hiei to keep his secret—and much though I hated that look on Yukina's face, it was not my promise to break.

It was a relief to join Botan in the bedroom to pack. She whistled to herself as she folded her clothes, placing them beside her curlers and suspenders (which she had managed to locate, apparently) in her large suitcase. I flopped onto the floor beside her and dragged my duffle bag to me with my toes, hoping I wouldn't have to get up and walk too much to find the rest of my possessions.

"Oh, hello, Keiko," Botan said as I hunted through the bag. "How's the pain this morning?"

"Manageable, thanks to Yukina's help."

"She's wonderful, isn't she?" Her face fell, just a touch. "A pity she'll have to return to Demon World, but…"

"Yeah." A beat. Then: "Say, Botan?"

"Yes?"

"How do they enforce that, anyway? Keeping demons from just staying here once the tournament ends?"

"Well, they can't make all of them go back to Demon World," she said, shifting to face me with a smile. "Some demons come to this tournament as a pretense for coming to Human World so they can stay behind illegally, in fact. Minor members of the SDF are occasionally sent here to police the migration efforts and collect stragglers, but typically just the threat of Spirit World retaliation is enough to keep the demons in line."

"Oh. I see." I shivered at the mention of the SDF. "So long as Koenma doesn't send them after me."

"Oh, Keiko, he wouldn't do that," Botan was quick to assure me. "I might not be in his good graces at the moment, but Koenma isn't cruel. You're cooperating with us, and clearly you are being manipulated by forces outside of your control." She patted my knee, careful to avoid the bandages above it. "You have nothing to fear from them."

"Maybe. I'm just wondering if he's still gonna keep me as Hiei and Kurama's parole officer."

"Oh! Good question."

"Did he say anything more about you returning to Spirit World?" I asked, hoping the question wasn't too invasive. "You ran after him when he left, so I thought maybe you'd talked."

Her face fell again, further than the time before. "Unfortunately, Keiko… Koenma isn't at liberty to make promises," she said, turning away from me again. "He said it's clear I'm a valued member of this team, and that this little feature of mine—" (she rubbed her forehead, where her Jagan Eye lay hidden from view) "—can function as an asset in some situations. That I am something more than a mere ferry girl because of it. But…"

"But?"

"He still fears that I can't control it. Not yet." Before I could react, she reached into her suitcase and pulled something out of a small zippered pouch. Handing it over, she said, "Do you remember this?"

The watch she'd handed me was small and dainty, with a pearly face inscribed with gold numbers. The hands on it didn't tick, however, and the glass covering its face bore a long crack from bottom to top. When I'd first seen this watch, the glass had been whole and intact, and the hands had ticked with perfect time.

"It's the inhibitor watch that Ayame gave you, to help you control your eye," I said. "Is it broken?"

"Yes." Her face fell; she tucked a strand of blue hair behind her ear, magenta eyes crestfallen. "It typically prevents me from losing control, but when I was injured in our fight while rescuing Atsuko, even it could not keep me from losing grip completely." Taking the watch back, she gave a resolute nod, sadness changing to strong determination. "I have work to do yet, is what this means. More training. More discipline."

I eyed her over as she stowed the watch back in her suitcase. "So, if the watch is broken…"

"Koenma gave me another," she assured me. "It's the last contact we will have for some time, I should think. He asked me to continue to assist Yusuke and wait patiently for his next word." Sadness returned in a melancholy wave. "At least for the time being…"

"Botan, I…" My mouth dried; working up saliva, I hoarsely managed to whisper, "I feel like I owe you an apology."

Botan's brow knit. "About what?"

"I said last night that one of the changes from the legend—"

"Manga."

"Right, manga. One of the changes from the manga was you getting hit by that sword instead of me. That's what got you into this mess. And I just…"

But Botan had already started shaking her head, taking one of my hands into hers so she could rub soothing circles on the back of my wrist. "Oh, Keiko. From everything you told us, it sounds like you tried to help me, back when this happened. You did all that you could, and you succeeded in preventing this eye from taking over completely. It was only thanks to you that I wasn't turned into a demon." Her bright, gleaming smile could've powered an entire city block. "I remained myself due to your sterling efforts. That is a victory, not a loss."

"But it wasn't enough," I said, unable to share her sentiments. "And I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry that I wasn't enough."

"Not enough?" she repeated, and she gave me a little shove. "Keiko, I'm surprised at you! You're normally so confident!"

"I am?"

"Of course you are!" Botan laughed at some private joke I did not understand. "But I suppose this just means that you and I are more alike than I realized."

"What does that mean?"

"I've been feeling like I'm not enough for Spirit World, as of late," she admitted with a small, bitter smile. "Koenma assured me that his father was the one pushing against my return, but I still can't shake the feeling that Koenma won't argue on my behalf with his father, either." The resolute cast returned to her eyes as she gave a determined nod. "I have to forge my own path. It sounds like the Botan in the manga had an easy path, in comparison."

"She had her struggles. But they're nothing compared to yours." I couldn't keep a smile off my face, remembering all the times Botan had come in clutch in the past few months—saving me from bug-infested teachers, aiding Yusuke on his cases, beating demons to rescue Atsuko, and so much more. "She wasn't a fighter at all, for instance. She could swing her oar with the best of them, but compared to what you're capable of…"

Botan pulled a face. "I can't imagine not being able to assist and support the others in this way. Whatever it has cost me in terms of my home, the eye certainly has its advantages." Rubbing at her forehead again, Botan caught my eye and winked. "As much as it pains me at times, this eye is a gift—make no mistake about that, Keiko. If Koenma, and King Enma can't see my value, then that is a failing of theirs, not mine. I have to admit that a part of me is glad, that this happened to me."

It took every ounce of my willpower to keep my jaw from dropping. "Wait, really?"

Botan nodded. "It's allowed me to see so much I had taken for granted before." Here her smile vanished, replaced by grim resolve and dark acceptance. "The prejudice of King Enma. The way Koenma won't stand up to his father. The fact that ferry girls are not trained for combat, even when consorting with Spirit Detectives. And as you said to Koenma once before, recruiting teenagers to do Spirit World's perilous work is simply…" She shook her head, sadness pouring from every pore. "There are flaws in the system, Keiko. And before this eye, I could not see them."

"You've always been such an optimist. I wish I could be like you in that respect," I said, meaning every word of it. "And in your abilities, too."

Botan cocked her head, blue hair falling against her long neck in a silken wave. "What do you mean?"

"Well… I'm still the only normal person in this whole group," I said with a shrug. "Aside from Atsuko, of course."

Botan frowned. "Still?"

I couldn't keep the sheepish smile off my face, hand creeping up to rub the back of my neck. "I've been hunting for ways to make myself stronger. More psychic. That sort of thing. But nothing I've done has worked. That's how you ended up getting cut with the sword instead of me. Like I said last night. I tried to get Hiei to cut me with it. To maybe give me a type of power. But…"

"That Hiei is as stubborn as they come," Botan said with a huff. She crossed her arms over her chest, ponytail flapping as she shook her head from side to side. "Tell him to do something, and he'll do the exact opposite—AKA, he'll cut me instead of you." She reached for my hand again, sympathy playing over her features. "I'm sorry, Keiko. That your plan didn't work, I mean."

"It's all right," I said, although I didn't really mean it.

And perhaps Botan picked up on that, because she said, "But you're not useless, if that's your fear. You're also a valued member of this team." Squeezing my fingers, Botan laughed with merry abandon. "You keep Yusuke grounded, and I dare say you're the only one who can. You also make Hiei less prickly, and you actually bring Kurama into the fold. And as for Kuwabara—"

She stopped talking, biting back her words with an embarrassed cough. Slowly she released my hands, turning back to her suitcase with awkward, jerking movements.

"Yeah," I said, sighing. "That."

"I'm just saying that we're all useful, in our own way," she said, folding more clothes to busy her hands. "And I'm so glad you came with us this time! We needed you here—of that, I am absolutely certain."

Botan appeared sincere enough when she voiced this statement aloud. I only wished, despite her claims to the contrary, that I could be more confident in both myself and in her assessment—but Botan had enough to deal with. She didn't need to worry about my troubles on top of everything else. Copying her, I began folding my clothes, too, reaching first for a pair of socks crumpled way at the bottom of my duffle bag. The socks were oddly heavy, though, and something inside them clinked when I lifted them from the sack.

"Keiko?" Botan said when she saw the way the socks stretched toward the floor, weighed down by their heavy contents. "What's in there, I wonder?"

I didn't need to look inside the socks to remember. I just stood up, bid Botan goodbye, and headed for the door—because while I was not really confident in myself, I was confident I knew exactly what to do next.

Otoha's dark eyes widened so much, I feared they'd devour the rest of her pretty face, baby-pink scales and golden skin and all. "You can't be serious," she said, staring into the depths of my sock. "You just can't!"

"I can, though."

"But these are—" She paused to swallow, looking up at me in abject disbelief. "These are priceless."

We stood in the tunnels below the hotel, where maids and cooks and the rest of the hotel staff bustled about, packing up and getting ready to leave now that the tournament had ended. Otoha sat on an overturned bucket in the supply closet where I'd met Koto only a few days prior, clutching my sock to her chest in her slender fingers, staring at me with more of her wide-eyed disbelief. She'd also worn disbelief when I handed her my socks and told her they contained a gift, prompting her to make a joke about foot fungus—but her jokes had died when she saw the glittering jewels wrapped tight in my clean clothing.

"They are priceless," I agreed. "Which is great, because you said you needed money."

"Well, yeah, but… I didn't mean this much money!" She shook the sock, listening to the way the gems struck each other with sounds like tiny bells. "My family will never have to bust their butts again, and—"

She ranted for a bit about how much her parents deserved a vacation, as if daring me to try and take the gems away again, but I just sat back and giggled. I had no intention of taking Yukina's tear gems back to my life on the mainland, and I could think of no one but Otoha who deserved them more. I'd given her every last one of the gems Yukina had asked me to get rid of… expect for the pink gem of happiness, which I'd set aside for myself. Otoha could have the yellow Hiruiseki stones, I'd decided. She deserved them, after all I'd put her through. Now I just had to get Otoha to agree.

"You've been the biggest help," I said when she fell quiet. "I can't leave without repaying you."

Otoha waved the sock haphazardly. "But all of these?" she said, as if the notion was utterly ridiculous. "All of them?"

"You could give one or two to Tobi if you see him, if you feel weird taking the whole lot." I shrugged, grinning at her flabbergasted face. "Split some with the other hotel staff. Maybe give a few away to some lucky random demons on your trip home." But my smile faded a touch when I admitted, "I worry that you won't have employment next year."

Otoha blinked. "Huh?"

"The tournament backers," I said, voice gentle as I broke the news I'd figured she already knew. "Toguro said he killed them all. So I don't know who will run this show next year."

Otoha didn't appear broken up by the news; she just scoffed, saying, "Well with this motherlode, I won't need to come back, anyway!" Pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes, Otoha bent over her knees and groaned, "Ugh! I can't believe this!"

"Can't believe what?"

She looked up at me, glare as accusatory as it was playful. "You actually made me like a human," she said, sticking out her tongue. "I never would've guessed anyone could do that—not in a million years! But you? You're my favorite!"

I put a hand to my heart, touched. "Aww, Otoha!"

"I'm serious!" Hopping up off the bucket, she threw her arms around my neck and hugged me tight. "I've never sent a letter to Human World, but could I have your address so I could at least try?"

I hugged her back. "Do we have compatible postal services?"

"Great question, and probably not, but it's still worth a shot. Never leave a sister hanging, right?"

"Right." Pulling away, I looked into her eyes and smiled, throat going just a little thick with emotion. "Otoha… I'm gonna miss you."

"Call me crazy, but I'm gonna miss you, too!" she said with a brilliant laugh. "But this isn't the end of the sisterhood, I promise."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, Keiko." Her hand slipped into mine, fingers warm and gentle. "We'll meet again. I just have this feeling."

"I'm holding you to it," I said—and as she ushered me out the door, I looked over my shoulder and said, "Oh, and Otoha?"

"Yeah?"

"If anyone asks where you got those, when you try to sell em? Say you found them on the island in a dead man's room." My smile was all gone, replaced by stark severity. "Don't give anyone a reason to come looking for more from you. Do you understand?"

She gulped, but she nodded. "Will do." Giving me one, final hug, Otoha whispered in my ear, "Goodbye, Keiko."

"Goodbye, Otoha," I whispered into her oversize bat-ear. "Until we meet again."

Saying goodbye to Otoha was hard—harder than I thought it would be, and by a much wider margin than I ever could predict. Tears beaded in my eyes as I walked out of the staff tunnels, a few of them dribbling down my cheeks as I wondered when (or if) I ever would lay eyes on her again.

But my goodbye with Otoha was not the most bittersweet farewell of the day. Not by a long shot.

As Jin carded his fingers into my hair, I asked, "Have you ever seen the Wizard of Oz?"

And nose scrunching, Jin replied, "The wizard o' what now?"

He looked like a blooming sunflower from my vantage point. With my head in his lap, gazing up at him placed his fiery mane against the sky above Hanging Neck Rock, a riot of red atop cool blue. But it was his eyes that blazed with warmth even gentler than the springtime sun, smiling down at me with so much humor, I almost started laughing at the sight. A giggle passed my lips as I reached up and framed his face with my hands, cheeks warm and smooth under questing fingertips.

"It's a movie," I explained, tracing a nameless pattern into his skin. "About a girl named Dorothy taken to another world on the winds of a storm, where she meets people who change her life as she tries to return home again."

"Winds of a storm, eh?" Jin mused, fingers caressing my scalp. "Color me intrigued, pet."

"I knew that would interest you." I couldn't keep a laugh inside, at that—but soon my humor abated, melancholy stealing its way inside my head. "But Dorothy's story isn't all cool winds and happy breezes. She spends the entire movie looking for a way to go home, but by the time she finds one, she's made so many dear friends, it's horrible to say goodbye to them." My hands stilled upon his face. "Especially the Scarecrow, whom she'll miss most of all."

Jin's eyes turned the color of homesickness, desolate and blue. "Sounds a bit weepy, if you ask me."

"Maybe the way I describe it. But Jin?"

He leaned closer to whisper, "Yes, sweet girl?"

"I've made a lot of good friends on this island," I said. "I didn't expect to, but… you were there for me exactly when I needed you." Tears, traitorous and hot, leaked over my temples and into my hair, wetting his hands with drops like rain. "I know this is about to end, but… when it's over, Scarecrow, I think I'll miss you most of all."

He leaned closer still to murmur, "And I, you, Dorothy."

We exchanged kisses, and between them pretty words, and vague hopes—not quite promises; we didn't dare—that we'd see each other again someday. Fate was bittersweet and strange, drawing us together only to draw us apart so soon, and we both would hate it when this had to reach its end… but that ending wasn't here just yet. Breaking away from him for just a moment, I whispered against his mouth, "Think you could do me one final favor?"

"Anything," Jin breathed into my throat. "Name it."

"Could you tell me where to find Touya?"

He pulled away, uncertain—but still Jin said yes, and away we flew.

Touya's bright green gaze possessed the chill of winter, and underneath its glacial force, I shrank into Jin's warm side. Still, I managed to smile and say to him, "So, Touya. It's nice to meet you again."

"Likewise," he said (but after a moment's pause, as if he had to decide whether it was truly nice at all). Crossing his arms, Touya looked me over and brusquely said, "What do you want?"

"Me, personally? Not much." Stepping aside (and dragging Jin along with me) I gestured at the person behind us. "I just want to introduce you to Yukina."

We stood in the hotel lobby, Touya and Yukina both summoned to meet us downstairs near the front desk. I'd managed to prep Yukina as we escorted her to the meeting point, so it was with poise and grace that she dipped Touya a humble bow. He didn't appear impressed with her, however, turning back to me without a word for her.

"The question," he said, "remains: What do you want, Keiko?"

Yukina and I exchanged a look, after which she nodded. I took a deep breath.

"I asked Yukina before we came here, and she's on board if you are," I said, "but… I was just wondering if you happened to be looking for an apprentice."

Touya frowned. "An apprentice?"

"The shinobi ranks were thinned by the violence of this tournament. And I don't know how apprenticeships work in the shinobi league, but…" Again I gestured at Yukina. "My friend here is an ice maiden, one of the Koorime. She has natural abilities and an affinity for ice. So I thought…"

"Touya-san." Yukina cut in with another bow, her voice the softest of winter winds. "I know this offer comes apropos of nothing, but… I want to learn to fight. And I believe you are the best person to teach me."

He examined the surety in her expression, the confidence in her stance, in silence. Yukina did not wither under that look, although I was sure I would do so if I stood in her stead. She merely met Touya's eyes with bold determination, hands loose at her sides, shoulders back, head held high. This was not a woman looking or charity; no one could mistake her for such, and soon Touya's eyes fell shut.

"One of the Koorime…" His eyes opened again, wintergreen a touchless chilly than before. "It's rare to see your people away from their isolated clime."

Yukina nodded. "Yes."

"I must ask, in that case… why are you here?"

"I was searching for someone," she said at once. "But I know now that any search I conduct will end poorly if I do not learn to fight my own battles."

He looked her over again, assessing—and when she lifted a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, her sleeve fell back the slightest bit. A thin white scar encircled her wrist, but it was gone in an instant, hidden once again beneath her clothes.

"I take it you've been prey for many a would-be abductor," Touya said—but when Yukina winced, he did not back down. "The tears of the Koorime are priceless, after all. But if you pursue your own ends, why should I induct you into an apprenticeship with the shinobi?" His head lifted, pride evident in every line of his wide shoulders. "Would you abandon our goals in favor of your own, should they fall in opposition to one another?"

Yukina hesitated. "That…"

As she struggled to find the words, I watched the pair of ice demon with uncertain eyes, wondering if I should step in—but just as I considered doing so, Jin's arm stole around my waist, pulling me away from them and across the lobby elsewhere.

"Leave them be, sweet girl," he said into my ear. "Let them talk."

"But—"

"I can see the urge to meddle dancing in your gaze, but Touya won't take kindly to the intervention of a stranger," he said, voice musical and soft and soothing. "You've introduced that icy pair, and that is all you can do, dear heart. Now leave them be, and let the wind take them where it will."

Stealing a glance over my shoulder, I saw Yukina begin to speak—and Touya's eyes sparked in response. Though I wanted to watch more, I made myself turn away.

"You're right," I said, hating the admission. "She's on her own." A wry smile; a sharp laugh. "Not like I can follow her into Demon World and be a helicopter parent, anyway…"

Jin laughed, too. "No idea what that is, dontcha know, but I ken your meaning regardless of the words." His grip tightened, drawing me against the heat of his side. "Now come with me. We have our own goodbyes to say."

I was right, I found out.

Saying goodbye to him was the hardest thing of all.

Coincidentally, I ran into Yusuke after Jin dropped me off in front of the hotel. Yusuke had come down to the lobby for snacks, which the remaining hotel staff had happily given the tournament winner—in the form of an enormous gift basket, no less—upon his request. I tried to sneak past him as he stood by the front desk, but he turned around and spotted me almost instantly. Damn Yusuke and his senses!

"There you are!" he said, a half-eaten cinnamon bun clenched in his fist. "Where've you been, anyway?"

"Just doing some last-minute meddling before we shove off." I ran a hand over my hair, hoping it wasn't too horribly messy. Jin had gotten a bit grabby with it, which I hadn't minded at the time, but... Stifling the panicked grin threatening to overtake my face, I cleared my throat and asked, "You?"

"Taking a walk; getting snacks." He shoved the bun into his mouth, and as he chewed, I thought I'd averted disaster—but then his eyes narrowed. Stalking toward me, gift basket in tow, he stared at my collarbone and asked, "Hey. What's that on your neck?"

I clapped a hand to my throat with a gasp. "Mind your own business!"

But he only grinned, deviance on full display. "So who's the lucky guy?" A pause. "Or girl. Never quite know with you."

"Very funny," I snarked. "And also, you know that I'm…?"

Yusuke just scoffed. "Dude, you're not subtle. You make goo-goo eyes at Kurama just as much as you make them at Yukina. Pretty obvious you're a dual-wielder."

"Huh. Well, that saves me one kind of coming out."

"I'll bet." He jabbed a cinnamon-coated finger at my neckline, grinning when I dodged back a pace or three. "So spill it, grandma. Who have you been—?"

"Urameshi Yusuke!"

We spun in tandem toward the source of that irate bellow, but it was just Koto, of all people, striding quickly across the hotel lobby in our direction. Her heels clicked against the marble floor with every step she took, a funerary beat matched by the grim-repeater-flutter of her heavy trench coat. Yusuke shrank back at the rage burning in her luminous green eyes, clearly thinking he was about to get an earful—but when Koto reached us, she came to a stop and planted both hands on her hips, tossing her hair with a vicious grimace. (I, meanwhile, backed the hell up and took cover behind a couch.)

"Urameshi Yusuke," she said. "You were a thorn in my side from the moment you stepped into that ring, you know that? A target on your back, committee intervening and demoting me for standing up for you, messing up my sacred rules to try and knock you off your game—"

"What can I say?" Yusuke snarked. "I'm a popular guy."

"You're an entity of chaos, is what I'd call you!" Koto shot back. "You turned my tournament into a circus. A circus! What do you have to say for yourself, huh?"

Yusuke thought about that for a minute.

Then he grinned, cackled, and declared, "You're welcome!"

Koto's cheeks flushed, catlike whiskers vibrating with pent-up energy. "Well I—" she said, fuming. "I—I—!"

Yusuke's smile vanished when she took a sharp step toward him. He shrank back, eyes screwing up as he braced himself for the attack he clearly expected her to launch—but she didn't raise a hand to slap his cheek.

What she did, instead… was kiss it?

My eyes practically bugged out of my face when she laid a big, fat kiss on Yusuke's cheek, leaving upon it an unmistakable lipstick kiss-mark in Koto's bright red shade. Yusuke's eyes behaved similarly to mine, flying open so he could stare in unmitigated shock down at Koto's smirking face. She flipped him a wink when their eyes met, expression then as mischievous as his had been before.

"I have to admit, this was the most exciting tournament we've thrown in years," Koto said, voice a flirtatious purr. "And it's all thanks to you."

"Oh," said Yusuke. "Well. Uh?"

She laughed at his befuddlement, spinning with a flourish back the way she'd come. But she only took a step or two in her tall high heels before looking over her shoulder at him and tipping another sassy wink.

"If you're ever in Demon World… call me, 'kay?" said Koto, and then she strut her stuff across the lobby and out of sight.

Yusuke watched her sashay away from him in silence, clutching his lipstick-stained cheek in one numb hand. I emerged from my hiding place and gradually sidled up to him, suppressing a giggle as I gave him a nudge with my elbow.

"So… you gonna tell Botan about this?" I said.

His face purpled, clashing horribly with Koto's lipstick. "Shut up!"

"Oh, that's a 'no,'" I teased. "So am I gonna have to tell her, or—?"

"Shut the hell up, Tex!"

"One, don't call me that. And two, fine." Pointing at my neck, I flashed him a grin and said, "Call us even, then."

Because it felt fitting to prance away and leave him in shock just like Koto had, I headed toward the elevators while whistling between my teeth—but Yusuke didn't follow, and soon I stopped to tell him to hurry the hell up. He wasn't looking at me, though. He stared off in the direction Koto had gone, brows lowered over intense eyes I almost didn't recognize.

"Hey, Keiko?" he said—so softly I almost couldn't hear him. "Can I ask you something?"

I wandered back toward him, concern rising like a high tide. "Yeah, Yusuke?"

"What's next for us? In the legend. Manga. Whatever." Bright brown eyes cut sideways, sizing me up askance. "What happens now?"

I laughed. "Are you asking when you'll see Koto next?"

But he wasn't in the mood for jokes. "Don't be stupid," he said. "Just… tell me." At last Yusuke turned to face me, uncharacteristic gravity turning his gaze to stone. "Keiko. What happens now?"

I didn't reply right away. The flint in his eyes cut sharp—too sharp to answer flippantly. It demanded honesty, no jokes or distractions from the truth he sought… but this was not a truth I was prepared to give. Not yet, anyway, and he knew it.

"You know I can't tell you that," I said, apology in my eyes and voice alike. "You're just gonna have to trust me, I think."

He deflated like a punctured hot air balloon, sagging back to earth as he mopped a hand over his cheek. "OK. But you owe me dinner or something. Call it condensation for pain and suffering."

"I think you mean compensation."

"Shut up," he said, angling toward the elevators. "You knew what I meant to mean."

I followed where he led. "Yeah, yeah…"

Perhaps it was my recent bittersweet goodbyes, or perhaps it was simply knowledge of what was to come, but the smile faded from my face as we boarded the elevators and waited for the doors to close. Yusuke noticed, like he always did, and grabbed a banana from his gift basket so he could prod me with it.

"Hey. Grandma," he said, jabbing me in the ribs. "What's that look on your face for?"

"Just thinking about what's to come," I admitted, smile bitter on my mouth. "I said this before, but… Keiko is supposed to be the helpless girlfriend archetype. So I'm not sure how much use I'll be in the days to come."

"Helpless girlfr…" His spine went ramrod straight, Yusuke facing forward with an awkward clearing of throat. "Uh. Hey, Keiko?"

"Hmm?"

"You know…" He looked at me sidelong and then glanced away again, face flushing. "You know I'm not in love with you or anything, right?"

I pretended to look hurt. "Well darn, and here I was planning our wedding and picking out the name of ours kids—yes I fucking know you're not in love with me!" I cat-slapped at his arm a few times in disgust; he retaliated by pulling my hair. "Ouch! And don't be gross. It'd be like kissing my brother!"

"Oh, thank god!" he said, sagging against the side of the elevator car. "Because when Hiruko said that thing about people loving you, and then you said the girlfriend thing—and since I'm the main character, for a second there I just thought—even though it's obvious to me who's actually in love with you, but—"

"Well…" I waffled a bit, then said. "You're not wrong. Not exactly, anyway."

He blinked. "Wait. What?"

"Keiko… well, she was supposed to be Yusuke's girlfriend." It was kind of fun admitting that particular truth, because Yusuke's expression of horror was absolutely hysterical. "But that just didn't happen. And here we are."

"Like I said," he groused. "Thank god for that!"

"Hey. Rude!" I said, slapping his arm again. "I'm a catch!"

"Yeah, a catch like a virus," he retorted. "To me, you're more like…" He paused, scratching the side of his face and smearing lipstick everywhere. "Well, I guess if I had to be one of those people Hiruko talked about, you're like my sister. Maybe?" He chortled a little. "Now, if he'd said grandma, that'd be it, for sure."

"Yeah, I suppose it would." Fishing a tissue from my pocket, I said, "Yusuke?"

"What is it?"

"Thanks. For having my back through all of this."

He grinned. "You've always had mine, right?"

"Right." Dabbing at his messy cheek, I said, "That's right."

Koto's lipstick wouldn't come off easily, but I tried my best to get him clean—and to hide the well of emotion that had made my eyes start to sting. Yusuke saw it, though, and dodged away with a groan of exhaustion.

"Don't start cryin'!" he said, scowling. "You aren't my girlfriend, I did not sign up for—"

It didn't matter, how much he hemmed and hawed about disliking my mushy side. He still gave me a half-hearted hug with one arm and let me shed a tear or two into his shoulder, telling me that I needed to suck it up, and that was a direct order. Since none of his other wishes had come true, he reasoned, consider his command to stop crying his tournament-winner's request.

And not knowing yet if his true wish would come true, I was more than happy to oblige this minor one.

The girls finished cleaning and packing first, and once we left the hotel suite even cleaner than we'd found it, we headed down to the boys' suite to help them finish up.

Not that four teenage boys (one of whom didn't have any luggage whatsoever and who might not've actually been a teenager at all) actually needed help packing. It's just that I liked Otoha quite a bit, and I'd be damned if we didn't make sure the boys' suite was spotless before we checked out and headed home. Neither Kuwabara nor Yusuke could be trusted to perform tasks like cleaning out the fridge or making the beds, so I was more than happy to micromanage their asses as they vacated the hotel room.

And it's a good thing I followed that instinct, because their refrigerator was a wreck, and they'd tossed pillows and blankets just about everywhere. As Botan and Yukina gathered linens and forced Kuwabara into assisting them, I sat in front of the fridge and tossed everything that could no longer be considered edible. Luckily we hadn't been there but about a week, so the boys hadn't done too much damage… but someone had knocked over a soda at the back of the icebox, and I soon found myself up to my elbows in cleaning supplies as I scraped out the sticky residue.

After a few minutes, Botan called from the living room, "Keiko? How's it going in there?"

"Fine!" I called back. "Just takes some elbow grease, that's all!"

Kuwabara muttered something in the distance, but I didn't quite catch what he said. A few minutes later, Yusuke's voice ricocheted out of one of the distant bedrooms, somehow carrying despite the walls between us.

"Keiko?" he bellowed. "Have you seen my good shoes?"

"By the front door!" I called back,

And then, not long later, Botan stuck her head through the kitchen door. "Hey, Keiko?" she said. "Do you have any—"

"Stop calling her that!"

I froze at Kuwabara's outburst. So did Botan. A minute later he appeared beside her in the doorway, glaring at me through eyes as dark as they were irate. He didn't say a word, though. He just scowled, looking at me as he uneasily fidgeted next to Botan. Out of his line of sight, Botan shot me a questioning look. But all I could do was stare helplessly back, because nope—I had no idea what this was all about, just like she did. Eventually Botan got tired of not knowing, though, and turned to Kuwabara.

"Kuwabara," she said, face as sweet as her kind words, "what are you talking about?"

"Stop calling her 'Keiko,'" he said, and then he turned to me. "That's not your name, right?"

"It's—"

He didn't let me finish. "You might as well tell us your real name. I know you said it didn't matter when you were explaining things last night, but it's weird to keep calling you Keiko when we know that's not your name." He crossed his arms over his broad chest, not budging an inch in the face of my pleading stare. "So tell me what else I can call you, because—"

"It's not that simple!"

"The hell it's not." His eyes darkened considerably, not at all buying my penitent expression. "Just tell me your—"

Kurama appeared beside him, hand alighting on his shoulder. "Kuwabara. She can't tell you," he said, not flinching from Kuwabara's dark eyes.

"But—!"

"She can't tell you," Kurama said, "because she doesn't remember her old name."

Kuwabara stared at him, expressionless. Botan, however, actually gasped, spinning to face me with her hands over her mouth.

"Is this true, Keiko?" she asked, clearly disturbed. "Do you really not remember your own name?"

"Um. Yeah." Turning back to the refrigerator, I mumbled, "I remember everything else. Just not that."

"How awful," Botan said—and when she hesitated, I suspected I knew what she'd ask next. "But he raises a good point. Do you still want to be called Keiko?"

"It's been my name for 15 years," I said, scrubbing a little too aggressively at the stained refrigerator. "Don't see why I'd go changing that now."

A murmur of agreement followed that declaration. Footsteps slid across the floor, and once I thought I was alone, I stopped scrubbing. I dropped my head into my hands and sighed, shoulders sagging with depressive, dark defeat.

A gasp cut the air.

But when I looked up, whoever had made the sound had already disappeared.

While Atsuko and Shizuru raided the bar one final time, the rest of us waited with our luggage in the mostly deserted hotel lobby.

And when I say "mostly deserted," I mean that quite literally. A sheet had been draped over the grand piano in the lobby's corner, and most of the potted plants had been wheeled out and stashed… somewhere. The remaining staff member at the front desk had actually had to remove some sheets from the lobby seating so we could rest our feet; the rest of the many plush chairs and shiny tables had been covered to protect them from dust. It was almost eerie, seeing the normally bustling lobby in that state… but I was the only one bothered, I think. Yusuke and Kuwabara kept themselves busy as they demolished the food in Yusuke's gift basket, and Kurama read a book in peaceful silence while Hiei took a nap in the chair beside him. I tried valiantly to enjoy a novel, but I confess I absorbed very little of it, skimming and reskimming the same paragraph a dozen times before finally putting it away with a sigh.

Kuwabara glanced my way at that, but he looked away again just as quickly.

"I miss Yukina already," Botan said in her spot beside me on a couch. She kicked forlornly at the rug beneath our seating area, magenta eyes downcast. "I wonder when we'll see her again…"

No one replied. We'd all gone together to see her off at the portal to Demon World, which had been erected in the first of the tournament's two stadiums. She'd walked through the gaping, jet-black hole in space and time alongside Touya and Jin—in good hands, I thought. I just hoped Touya would let her stay by their sides once they made it to the other side, my insides twisting with the same anxiety that no doubt gripped Botan.

Kuwabara sighed, leaning back in his chair to gaze at the skylights overhead. "Feels weird, to think we're going home," he mused aloud.

"Yeah?" said Yusuke after he finished gobbling down a chocolate chip muffin. "How do you figure?"

Kuwabara shrugged. "I mean, it feels like we've been here for years—but also like the tournament passed in the blink of an eye, somehow? Like, I can hardly believe it's really over." His face screwed up tight, etching deep lines between his eyebrows. "And nobody at home knows what we did here, so it's like… did we even come here at all?"

"How very solipsistic of you, Kuwabara," I remarked.

He didn't bother looking at me. "I mean. I guess?"

Kurama eyed him askance. "Not in a philosophical mood, are we?" Rather than wait for an answer, he just turned to me and smiled. "If you'd like to discuss it, Kei, I'd be happy to step in."

Kuwabara's head jerked up, narrow eyes now aimed at Kurama, who ignored him. I smiled at each of them in turn, but only Kurama returned the look.

"Nah, it's fine," I assured him. "Was just thinking out loud."

"Yeah," Kuwabara muttered. "We heard you."

I froze. He spoke the words with such acidity, even Hiei opened his eyes to shoot him an expression of brow-raised skepticism. Yusuke stared at Kuwabara with a grimace, socking him on the shoulder until Kuwabara yelped. Kurama looked his way with outright chill, green eyes like a forest blanketed in heavy snow. But soon he smiled again, although he only did so at me.

"Would you like to take a walk with me, Kei?" Kurama said. "It feels quite cold in here, all of a sudden."

"Oh, uh." I climbed to my feet. "Sure."

Yusuke whispered something at Kuwabara as we walked away, but Kurama put a hand on my elbow, steering me toward the doors quickly enough that I couldn't hear whatever Yusuke said. Stepping out into the sunshine, Kurama's urgency diminished; he let me take the lead, walking toward the nearby forest with slow, meandering steps. He waited until we stepped beneath its shade to speak, darkness in his eyes matched only by the shade-shrouded canopy overhead.

"You shouldn't let him speak to you that way," he said, looking me over as though for injury.

There was no questioning who he meant by that remark. "He's just mad. He'll cool off eventually," I said, shrugging. When Kurama's eyes did not brighten, I reached for him, patting his elbow reassuringly. "Really, Kurama, it's fine. He's allowed to be mad at me."

Still, Kurama did not react. He stayed as stony as a moss-covered boulder, unyielding and impenetrable.

"Really," I insisted. "I appreciate knowing you're on my side, but he's entitled to his emotions. Pushing him in any one direction or another will just make it worse. I can only prove through my actions that I'm not the person he thinks I am." Another shrug. "It just takes time."

Kurama stirred at last to say, "The others adjusted quickly enough."

"I think it's different for Kuwabara."

He paused. Then: "I suppose it is."

Smiling, I patted his arm again. Walked away, back toward the hotel.

Kurama's voice floated after me like dandelion on the wind.

He said, "But that doesn't make it right."

Although I knew he had a point, I didn't have the heart to agree.

Soon Atsuko and Shizuru returned from the bar, the pair of them pleasantly buzzed judging by their red cheeks and relaxed expressions. "Hey, everybody," Shizuru said as they rolled up on our party "You ready to go?"

"We are!" said Botan, hopping gamely out of her chair.

"And we've got plenty of time to make it to the ferry." Atsuko grinned, looping an arm around Yusuke's neck. "What's say we take a nice, leisurely stroll there, huh?

"I'm game, Ma," he said, grinning back. "You all ready?"

We were, so with one last look at the opulent interior of Hotel Kubikukuri, we departed in a train—of friends, of exhaustion, of the glow of a task completed and a job well done, too. Everyone talked, chatting as we ambled out of the hotel and down the path to the seashore, where the 4 o'clock ferry bound for home waited to whisk us back to our lives again.

No one else pondered such a thing, judging by their merry conversation. Botan, Yusuke, Atsuko, Shizuru, Kurama, myself and even the bellicose Hiei traded wit and wordplay with every step. Only Kuwabara, at the edge of the group, remained conspicuously silent, staring off into the trees as if he could see straight through them. I couldn't help but notice that silence, shooting him glance after glance the further we walked—but when I spotted movement in the brush beside the path, my attention wandered there, instead. And suddenly, I understood what Kuwabara had been staring at.

"Oh, hey, look!" I said, grabbing Kurama's arm. Pointing, I said, "A cat! Do you see that?"

Kurama looked, smiling at the small orange tabby sitting underneath a tree. Breaking away from the pack, I trotted toward it, stopping when the cat stood up and made a move for the safety of the forest.

"Here, kitty-kitty!" I said, making kissy noises to no avail. "C'mere, kitty!"

"I don't think it's interested in socializing," Kurama observed.

"Probably feral. But I have some tuna I could give it…" As I unzipped my bag, I called out, "Hey, Kuwabara! Wanna try and make friends with this cat?"

Kuwabara didn't reply. In fact, he just turned his back on me, putting on a burst of speed to catch up with the others, who had walked a ways ahead. At that rejection, I cursed; hadn't I just been telling Kurama that I intended to give Kuwabara space? But there I went, trying to engage with him thanks to a dumb feral cat. Stupid, stupid, stupid—

As the cat observed us from a distance, gravel crunched underfoot behind me. "Forget him, Kei," Kurama said as he came to stand at my side. He didn't bother to keep his voice low, although he didn't exactly raise it, either. "It isn't worth it."

But apparently Kuwabara had sharp ears, because he stopped dead. "You got a problem with me or something?" he shot over his shoulder along with a searing glare. "Because I heard that, Kurama."

Kurama only lifted a brow, though. "Excuse me?"

"Don't play dumb," Kuwabara said, turning around in full. Over his shoulder I watched the rest of our group continue along the path, oblivious. "You got a problem with me, huh? Because that isn't even the first shitty thing you've said today, and I've been feeling all week like you're giving me the goddamn stink eye."

Kurama eyed him over coolly. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, really?" Kuwabara took a few steps forward, glowering down at Kurama through intensely narrowed eyes. "Because it looks to me like you know exactly what I'm talking about."

Zipping my bag back up, I shot to my feet, hands up in the universal gesture of peacemakers the world over. "Now, now," I said through a nervous, uncertain laugh. "We won the tournament, so whatever this is, we should put it aside and celebra—"

Only cold, dark eye turned my way. "This has nothing to do with you," said Kuwabara. "Butt out."

I shrank; I couldn't help it. But before I could even think of standing up for myself, Kurama took a decisive step forward, putting himself between me and Kuwabara like a slender, redheaded wall.

"Don't take your emotions out on Kei, Kuwabara," Kurama said—and as Kuwabara bristled, I got the sense that I was witnessing the beginning of a train leaping the tracks, disaster all but guaranteed to follow. "None of this is her fault."

"Maybe not, but that doesn't make me any less annoyed at you," he replied. "You've been weird toward me for basically the whole damn tournament, and I'm getting sick and tired of—"

The scent of burning tobacco drifted through the air; a hand alit on Kuwabara's shoulder just as Shizuru said, "Bro. Chill out."

Had it not been for that telltale aroma, she would've approached us in complete silence. Now Shizuru stared at her brother with an icy gaze, her honey eyes as hard as amber as she glared her brother down. But he wasn't so easily intimidated, throwing a hand in Kurama's direction with a sputter of disbelief.

"Sis," he said. "You can't really be defending—"

"If Kurama's snippy, it's not because of you. And it's not even about Keiko, either." Chucking his shoulder, Shizuru smiled around her glowing cigarette. "So lay off, all right?"

Kurama's lips twisted into a wry smile. "Thank you, Shizuru."

"What are you talking about?" Kuwabara protested, not understanding. "Kurama's been treating me weird all week, and—"

She cut him off with a laugh. "He's been treating me like that, too. Or at least he was. But unlike you, I actually asked him about it ages ago. And I didn't come at him like a bullet train, either."

As Kuwabara gaped, gears turning desperately behind his eyes, Kurama's smile widened. "You have always been admirably logical, Shizuru," he said. "I appreciate your temperance."

But Shizuru just turned her glare on him, then. "Oh, shut up," she growled, blowing out a plume of ash and smoke like an irritable dragon. "I'm not happy with you, either. It's a tough subject, sure, but you should've just talked to him about it. We wouldn't be standing here if you'd done it like I said you should."

"There wasn't time," Kurama said in his defense. "We couldn't afford distractions before the finals, as you may recall."

Kuwabara threw up his hands, totally over their enigmatic conversation. "What the hell is going on?!" he demanded.

Shizuru only had eyes for Kurama, though. Swiping her cigarette from her lips, she pointed it at the fox demon and said, "Go on, Kurama. Finals are over, right? So tell him. I know you don't think it's wise or whatever, but clearly my brother is perceptive enough to know when you're icing him out."

"You know why I don't think it's wise," Kurama said, frost dripping from every syllable.

He waited a beat, after that—but Shizuru didn't back down. Soon Kurama's head rose. His eyes hardened further still.

"If you insist," he said, and he mechanically turned to Kuwabara.

"OK," said Kuwabara. "What's this all about?"

Kurama said nothing.

Kurama lifted his chin into the air.

"Kuwabara," Kurama declared with cold, dead-eyed dispassion. "Our parents' relationship is completely unacceptable."

For a minute, I wasn't sure I'd heard him right. And Kuwabara felt the same way, judging by his baffled silence and dropped jaw. Soon, though, he shook his head and stammered a reply, mouth chewing on air between each syllable.

"Wait. Wait. What?" he said, gesturing with no particular intention I could discern. "You—? That's what you—?" He laughed, though no humor occupied that sound. "What the heck, man? What's your problem?"

As Kurama drew himself up to reply, and as Shizuru crossed her arms to watch the argument play out, I grabbed my bag and took a deep breath. I only made it one step away from the group before Shizuru blocked my path, however, cutting off my avenue of retreat before I could sneak like hell away.

"Oh, no you don't," she muttered. "You're staying."

"But this seems like a family affair," I whispered in protest, "and—"

"Sorry, kid," she whispered back, "but I get the feeling that I'm gonna need help with the fallout when this is said and done."

Ignoring us completely, Kuwabara threw up his hands again, still gesturing with frantic speed. "What do you mean, their relationship is unacceptable? They're just dating! What's so wrong with that?"

"Tell me, Kuwabara." Kurama's stare could've frozen lava solid, but Kuwabara didn't appear to notice. "Just how honed are your father's psychic abilities?"

"Uh. They're pretty strong. Why?"

"Strong enough to discern that I am not a typical human teenager?"

"I mean, probably? But—"

"And how much have you told him about your friend Kurama?" Kurama continued. "Your exploits with Spirit World? This tournament?"

"Well." Kuwabara's face flushed. "A lot, but—"

"And therein lies the issue," came Kurama's chillingly logical response. "If allowed to pursue my mother, your father will eventually realize that your demon friend Kurama and her son Shuichi are one and the same… that is, if he doesn't realize it already." Tossing his hair, imperious as an emperor, he stared down his nose at Kuwabara said proclaim, "Do you honestly expect your father to keep my secrets for me? To lie about the existence of the supernatural to my mother, as I have done for 15 years? To hide his own nature from a woman he claims to love?"

Kuwabara blanched. "Who said anything about love yet?!"

"Your father's presence in my mother's life poses a real and present danger to the longevity of my secrets, not to mention my relationship with my mother," Kurama said, not bothering to address Kuwabara's yelped query. "Furthermore, bringing more supernatural influences into her life could endanger my mother's wellbeing. As such, I do not intend to allow your father to date my mother for any length of time, Kuwabara."

"You—" His face was nearly purple, now, eyes taking a turn toward livid. "Are you saying that you're going to break them up?"

"Yes." He had no shame at all, making that declaration. "Rest assured, the moment we return, I will do everything in my power to prevent this relationship from coming to fruition."

For a second, Kuwabara didn't, couldn't react.

Then, with a genuine innocence that defies description, he blurted: "But—but what if she's happy? With my dad, I mean."

And yet, Kurama remained unmoved. "My mother's happiness is no concern of yours," was all he said.

"But it should be your concern!" Kuwabara retorted. "If she's happy, what right do you have to break them up? Why would you take her happiness away?"

"That, too, is no concern of yours," Kurama said. As Kuwabara started to speak, Kurama held up a hand, silencing him with another subzero stare. Derision dripping, he said, "I suspected you wouldn't see reason, Kuwabara. Your giddy reaction to the news of their involvement told me everything I needed to know about your stance on this matter. So, Kuwabara—know this." Raw intention burned behind green irises, jealousy made flesh, purpose made positively audible: "You will not stand in my way. I will protect my mother. And there is nothing you can do to stop me."

Kurama walked away before anyone could argue—not that arguing with tenacity so set in stone is even possible. Kuwabara stood in silence in Kurama's icy wake, watching him walk away with jaw slack and eyes wide… and then he, too, turned and walked away, travelling back down the path the way we'd come.

For a single, endless moment, I floundered. Then I cried out Kurama's name, and Kuwabara's, but neither of them heeded my call. Soon Shizuru muttered a curse and darted after her brother, abandoning me to the fitful sunlight filtering through the forest's canopy—and leaving me standing in the crossroads of a ruined friendship, with no idea where either Kurama or Kuwabara's disparate paths might lead them.

By the time I caught up to our group, Kurama had firmly settled into step alongside Hiei. I tried to talk to him, but he only offered me the barest of subtle smiles before facing ahead again. He had no intention of discussing Kuwabara with me. He was too busy being stony, clearly lost to the tide of his own thoughts as our party rounded a corner and found ourselves at the top of a tall cliff. The road continued down the side of the cliff, but from our high vantage point, we beheld a gorgeous view of the ocean. Sunlight sparkled on the bright blue water; below us, boats bobbed alongside a pier, where Morrie's ferry waited to take us home again. We all stopped walking at the sight of the view, Yusuke striding out ahead to place a foot on the cliff's farthest and most precarious edge. Atsuko soon joined him, clapping a hand onto his shoulder with a grin.

Somehow, even though she faced the sea, I heard it loud and clear when she said, "Can't wait to get off this island."

"Ah!" said Botan, shielding her eyes from the sun. "There's our ship!"

Knowing the way home was so close at hand put a murmur of disquiet into my chest, but I tried not to let this show on my face. "Goodbye, goodbye, to the island world," I hummed instead.

Yusuke grinned over his shoulder at me. "Let's go aboard, huh?"

"Yeah," someone behind me said—but it was only Kuwabara and Shizuru, the pair of them appearing behind me along the path. Kuwabara didn't smile as he muttered, "Let's blow this joint."

Yusuke's grin widened. "All righty!" he declared, lifting a fist high. "Off we go—victorious!"

A shout rang up from all assembled—a shout of victory, of cheer, of relief and the feeling of releasing a breath held for far too long. Only I didn't raise my voice in chorus. Only one thread had been left hanging, as near as I could tell… but it was a thread upon which much hung. No cheer lived in me while it dangled unresolved.

No one noticed my trepidation, however, judging by the smiles on most faces in our group. Botan heaved a sigh and put a hand to her cheek, wistfully staring across the water as she murmured, "And that's that, I suppose."

"Yeah." Yusuke spun to face us, grin sparkling in the sunlight. "Now let's move."

Everyone nodded. Turned to leave, down the path that led to the shore below.

But then a thin, hoarse voice carried to us on the wind.

It murmured, "With nary a look back, eh?"

I closed my eyes.

"Huh?" said Kuwabara.

Relied crested over me in a cool and bracing wave.

"That voice…" said Yusuke.

My throat tightened, full of joy unsung- but I didn't open my eyes to see her. I just listened in silence as a shout rang up, and feet pounded the earth, and the cry of Genkai's name rang out across the endless sea.

"What?" she said, miffed at their cries of disbelief. "Gonna leave an old lady stranded?"

But the answer to that, of course, was no—and when I opened my eyes, I saw my friends surging forward toward her, to the spot where Genkai stood just beyond the shadows of the woods, her smile as bright as the sun glinting off the ocean and far more beautiful than it could ever be. They swept her into their collective embrace with cries of joy and the scent of shedding tears, crying out with wonder and with gratitude that Genkai had been delivered back to them, born back to the world of the living on the power of Yusuke's wish. I didn't have time to join them, much though I wanted to. I was too busy covering my face with my hands, a sob wrenching free of my chest with a sound like twisting metal.

"You knew that I'd grant his wish, I take it?"

This was Koenma, of course, who had come to stand beside me on feet as silent as a moth's light wings. He watched my friends, too, sparing me a glance as I tried in vain to cease my sniffles and compose myself. Finally he offered me a tissue, which I accepted, because I was a mess and I knew it.

"No," I told him when I regained my ability to speak. But he looked skeptical, so I added, "I mean… that's what was supposed to happen. You were supposed to bring her back. But things have changed, so I wasn't sure." And then the tears flowed once again, and all my ire for the prince of Spirit World vanished like dew in the light of morning. "Thank you. Thank you, Koenma. If anything could go to canon—anything at all—this is what I wanted the most."

The corner of his lips curled up, smile somehow wry and genuine at once. "I could tell by your reaction, when Yusuke proposed sending you to your other life, that you wanted this even more," he said, gesturing toward Genkai. "It was difficult to argue with a reaction like that, even if I had to bend the laws of Spirit World to make it happen."

"Thank you," I said, because it was all I could say. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

As Koenma preened, basking in unexpected praise, a flash of muted pink caught my eye. Amid the throng of my friends, Genkai stared at me, her rheumy eyes bright and glittering. I stared back in silence, tears and a smile waging war upon my face.

Eventually, Genkai gave me a nod.

I nodded back, and I again began to cry tears of unbridled joy.

As I stood at the bow of the ship, staring before us into the scintillating blue of the sea, I breathed deeply of the salted air. I closed my eyes. And I reflected, silently, that I had told Koenma the truth—something I had trouble telling, but something I could grow to love, if given enough time. I'd told him the truth when I said that if I could've wished, at the start of the tournament, for any one thing could go to canon, it was Genkai's resurrection.

Hiei's lost matches? Kuwabara's unexpected wins? Atsuko's kidnapping and Hiruko's meddling? None of these things had gone to plan, but I could live with them—so long as we got to live with Genkai. So long as her resurrection happened, I would greet whatever chaos that inevitably followed with gladness in my heart.

When the boat at last pulled away from the shore, my friends retreated from the bow of the ship to the cabins below deck. I stayed put, however. I stayed where I was on the bow of the boat, reveling in the feeling of the sea spray on my face and the sound of the waves rushing past the hull. I felt alive and invigorated, and I did not intend to waste that feeling in some dreary hold out of the shine of the evening sun. I did not intend to waste the high of a canon fulfilled on whatever peril lay before us.

So much had happened on Hanging Neck Island. My secret had come out. Kuwabara wouldn't speak to me. Kurama and Kuwabara were at war. Hiruko had cursed me with old tattoos and new secrets. But even though so many bad things had transpired, I refused to look back. I refused to dwell on that past. I chose, instead, to look forward, toward the light of home gleaming just on the horizon.

But although I vowed to not look back, I couldn't help but wonder if we were headed home at all—because could it really be called "home" when everything had changed so much?

I wasn't sure.

I only knew that wherever Fate took me next, I would greet it with arms wide open.

Notes:

Some dialogue was borrowed from the manga during the Genkai scene; hope y'all spotted it.

Think of this chapter as a montage wrap-up of the Dark Tournament arc. From here on out, we're in new territory. Fucking despised writing this chapter, every second of it, which is why it took me so damn long. It's also the longest chapter of this fic yet, which explains something.

Many thanks to all who commented on the previous chapter. Times are hard, and while I'm happy to write this fic, it adds a lot of pressure to my already full plate. Your comments really helped cheer me up when I was in a rough spot, and they keep me motivated to produce chapters at a steady pace. This, and what comes after, is dedicated to these people and the gift that is their readership: Allyallyonthewall, sdelacruz, tauau, ChaosdreamingSiren, Konkubus, NatsumeCross, zoostitcher89, FabulousElvinBiatch, Nollyn, I_Am_IronMaiden, Seyuuu, musiquemer, Sanguinary_Tide, ShiaraM, DragonsTower, Bzzz, Ignis76, Ms_Liz, GerbilFriend, PaddyGirl, MyMindIsTellingMeNo, chigi23, silverpaper_toffeepaper, SarcasticallyDances, NotQuiteAnonymous, MidKnightOwl, Unctuous, willowfire, JestWine, DameAmaryllis, theNewDesire, LadyEllesmere, Durinsdottir, Rara_Nunadashia!

Will see you in two weeks (May 31) with the next chapter. Need time to put stuff in order before we enter the Sensui Arc.

Chapter 107: plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose

Summary:

In which things stay the same.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Once I placed my outdoor shoes into my locker at school, I shut the door—and behind it, where I had expected empty air, there appeared a grinning face. I flinched, but it was only Junko and her enormous smile, teeth gleaming and white between her painted lips. The teachers would tell her to take the makeup off before the first bell rang, but in the interim, she wore the color well.

"Hey, Keiko!" she said, leaning casually against the locker next to mine. "How was your spring break?"

Gulping, I toed on my indoor shoes, looking carefully at the ground. After a deep breath, I shot Junko a quick glance and a smile—but she only frowned. I looked back at the floor again, even quicker this time.

"It was great," I mumbled to my feet. "Yours?"

"…OK. You're being weird." Junko leaned forward to catch my eye; I averted my stare, heat creeping into my sallow cheeks. "Well. Weirder than usual, and that's saying something."

Through gritted teeth I told her, "It's good to see you too, Junko."

But she was unimpressed. "Don't try and butter me up." One foot tapped impatiently against the tile floor. "So spill. What's wrong?"

"Uh…"

Though her stare demanded a response, I couldn't look her in the eye. I couldn't exactly wear sunglasses in school, after all. My only camouflage was my very best Keiko-Face, practiced and perfected for the last 15 years; I just hoped it would serve me well and shield me as I wanted it to today, and not crumble and betray the girl behind the façade. So I pasted it on and smiled at her, trying to work up the nerve to breezily chat—the way any normal girl would chat on their first day back in school. We had catching up to do, after all.

Only when I finally summoned the courage to look at her, words failed me. Junko watched me struggle to talk for a minute in silence, then gave up, sighing and rolling her bright brown eyes.

"Well, anyway," she said. "I went to visit a friend in Korea, if you were curious."

I pounced on the distraction like a lion on a rabbit. "I am curious!" I gushed. (Junko stumbled back a pace, startled by my outburst.) "How was your trip? Tell me everything!"

And so, Junko grudgingly told me all about it: what the city had been like, the language barrier, her friend's clothes, the different fashions she'd observed. Dutifully I followed along, Keiko-Face firmly in place, chirping bright hellos to our friends as we passed them in the hall on our way to our new classroom. We'd advanced a grade, the start of the Japanese school year in spring instead of autumn like it was in America. Even Yusuke had somehow advanced a year, against all odds and our wildest expectations.

Vaguely I wondered how he was doing. He'd be in a new classroom, a new class. Was he in the same class as Kuwabara? And how was Kuwabara? Was he—?

Ripping my mind away, I focused on Junko once again.

We reached our classroom in short order, and since we didn't yet have a seating chart, I was able to sit close to Junko near the windows. I didn't let my mind wander as she spoke, concentration aimed with laser focus on every last detail of her trip. My concentration only broke when Amagi walked through the classroom door. Her hair had grown a little in the past few months, her unfortunate bowl-cut replaced by a cute bob. She smiled when our eyes met, but I just shrank down in my seat and looked pointedly out the window, hanging my head with sheepish apology—only I had nothing to be sheepish about, I reminded myself, and I forced my back to straighten and my gaze to return to my friends.

After all, these friends weren't the ones who had learned my secret recently. It was hard to remember that, though. I kept thinking they'd point out some unseen but obvious change in my demeanor, catch on and expose me… and I was totally on edge because of it.

Junko and Amagi greeted each other as Amagi sat down near us. Junko quickly caught her up on the contents of her vacation, and as Amagi stowed her bag under her chair, she asked, "So what did you get up to over the break, Keiko?"

"Yeah," said Junko. "Any particular reason why you're being so weird?"

"Weird? Who, me?" A laugh like a braying mule donkey-kicked its way out of my throat. "I just went camping with friends, that's all! Nothing weird about that!" An awkward pause followed this declaration. "So, uh… what do you mean that I'm acting weird?"

"You're hanging on my every word like I'm telling you the answers to next week's tests," Junko immediately deadpanned. "And then you're babbling about nothing, and you keep looking around like you're trying to find an escape route." Her eyes narrowed, perfectly plucked brows lowered. "Suspicious, if you ask me."

"Oh, Junko," Amagi chided. "That's just the way Keiko's face falls, I think."

"Gee, thanks," I grumbled.

Junko's eyes narrowed further still, but before she could interrogate me, our teacher called her name from the front of the class. "Junko?" he said, waving a stack of papers. "Can you please help pass out these worksheets?"

Her ire vanished, an obliging smile taking its place. "Yes, sensei!" she said, and she left Amagi and I alone.

Try though I might to resist the siren song of avoiding eye contact, I forced myself to look at Amagi (as much as I could, anyway). "Thanks, Amagi," I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair. "Appreciate you standing up for me."

"You're welcome," she said with a pleasant smile. "You'll tell me what really happened during spring break, won't you?"

"I, uh." My ears flushed, probably turning fuchsia in the process. "I don't know what you mean."

Her smile didn't waver. "I can see in your eyes that something—Keiko? Are you all right?"

As soon as she'd said the word "eyes," I'd flinched and turned away, pivoting around in my seat to face the windows—but my reflection's eyes glared back at me with a flash of dark brown, utterly normal in Keiko's pretty face. And judging by the confused stare on Amagi's face, one I could see quite clearly in the window, I'd overreacted pretty badly. She'd probably just meant her remark to be a figure of speech, then. Yeah. Yeah. A figure of speech. No need to freak, Keiko. Your eyes hadn't changed. You were still normal—well, as normal as you could be, but whatever. Just calm down…

I didn't have to continue our conversation, however, and for that I thanked my lucky stars. Class got into swing just a moment later. I paid dutiful attention to the lesson, not allowing my mind to wander even the smallest fraction as our teacher walked us through our chemistry lesson for the day. Whenever my brain got even close to drifting, I snapped back to the lesson with a mental punch of unadulterated willpower. Still, I was more than happy when the bell eventually rang for lunch, allowing me to escape the classroom with a garbled "goodbye" that left both Junko and Amagi staring.

Not that I gave any particular damn. I was just happy to be out of there.

Although I wanted to vault up the stairs to the school library, I resisted the impulse, taking the steps one at a time with measured hefts of one knee and then the other. Couldn't risk moving too much, of course. Even though I wore bike shorts under my long uniform skirt, I couldn't risk letting my tattoos show even the smallest, tiniest bit. Every gust of wind threatened to expose me, and I wouldn't let Hiruko's little "gifts" get me kicked out of school just yet. Nerves still twisted at my belly, though, and by the time I made it to my usual landing for lunch, my shoulders were a rigid mess of iron-hard knots.

Not that Kaito noticed. He sat on his usual windowsill with a book in his hand, like always, and only barely glanced up when he heard me coming. He looked the same as ever, with his mop of curly black hair pushed back and out of his freckled face, glasses perched like gleaming crescent moons on the bridge of his long, thin nose.

"Yukimura," was all he said as I approached.

"Kaito," I replied, sitting near him on the flight of ascending steps. "What're you reading today?"

He turned a page without looking up. "An examination of the use of metaphor in adolescent literature."

"Sounds fun."

"Riveting." He stopped reading long enough to roll his dark, narrow eyes. "I suppose it's only natural that I ask you about your spring break. Camping, was it?"

"Yeah."

"… that's it?" he said after a time, putting down his book at last. One thin brow threatened to retreat into his hair, arching high with incredulity. "No thrilling tales of derring-do or humorous anecdotes to share?"

"It was camping." I busied myself with unwrapping my bento, motions mechanical and perfunctory. "Not much to talk about but sticks and rocks."

"Why do I find that hard to believe?" When I didn't reply and instead stuffed a bite of rice into my face, he decided to be merciful. "Because I can see you squirming, allow me to change the subject." He raised his book again, eyes scanning the page. "I had a nice break. Blessedly quiet."

"Get a lot of work done?" I said, eagerly jumping upon this new distraction.

"Of course," Kaito said. "My parents were both unexpectedly busy, so I had the house to myself. Perfect conditions for my favored pastimes."

"I see," I said, forcing myself to be interested. "What were your parents up to?"

"Saving lives," said Kaito. When my brow furrowed, he sighed. "They're physicians. Apparently there's a nasty bug going around that required their expertise."

From not too far away, a new voice musically intoned; "Then it's a good thing your parents were available to provide support, Kaito."

Relief flooded my veins with bubbles, effervescent and cool. "Minamino!" I said, eyes drawn toward him like iron shavings to a magnet. "Hey!"

"Hello, Kei." He stood by the descending flight of stairs, green eyes warm, red-tinted hair glittering in the shaft of sunlight streaming through the stairwell window. I hadn't heard him coming, but that's not exactly unusual. As he moved to sit beside me on the stairs, I couldn't keep a smile off my face, utterly overjoyed that an ally—someone who already knew, who wouldn't tell on me, who understood—had arrived at last. But if he felt similarly, he didn't say so, and only gave Kaito and me a nod. "And you, Kaito. It's good to see you."

"Minamino. Nice of you to join us." Kaito didn't bother disguising the dry antipathy in his tone. "Am I to assume you will remain as tight-lipped as Yukimura regarding your spring break?"

"Yes and no," Kurama replied with a mild, apologetic smile. "I'm afraid there's very little to keep tight-lipped about on that front."

"Oh?" said Kaito.

"I stayed home with my studies. Quite boring, I assure you."

Kaito harrumphed and did not bother to look convinced, but he shoved his nose back into his book and didn't try to argue. He just began reading aloud, stopping to insert his commentary into the recitation and demand Kurama and I engage with his analysis. I was more than happy to allow him to take the reins of the conversation, allowing Kurama to do most of the debating so I wouldn't accidentally open my mouth and say something stupid. Or incriminating. Or whatever. Basically I just pasted on my very best Keiko-Face and tried to survive.

And given the sidelong look of amusement Kurama at one point shot me, I think he knew precisely what I was up to.

I kept the aforementioned Keiko-Face intact after lunch ended, throwing me to the wolves of my return to homeroom and then my various elective classes. The day went well, for the most part. I focused on math, literature, science and German class with single-minded determination and threw every last scrap of effort into my dance lessons, grateful I wasn't taking the typical PE class with students who hadn't chosen a physical elective. The PE uniform incorporated bloomers (gag me) but I could wear tights under my dance leotard, tattoos hidden by a layer of opaque spandex.

But my happiness didn't last long. Although Meiou wasn't like your average Japanese high school, allowing electives and various other deviations from the norm, my dance teacher was something of a stickler for the dress code. As we shuffled out of the gym and back to the locker rooms to change, she flagged me down and gave me a once-over with a critical stare.

"You," she said, gesturing.

I blinked. "Who, me?"

"Yes, you. You will have to lose the leggings next time." She glared, not at all happy with me. "The leotard alone is your uniform, do you understand?"

My shoulders sagged. "Yes, ma'am."

That really threw a wet blanket over my day, let me tell you. I enjoyed dance, but without leggings, there was no way I'd be able to hide my tattoos from my classmates. Would I have to quit the class or something? No, then I'd have to take regular PE, and the bloomers were a no-go. How would I handle this, then? It was the only thing on my mind as the final bell of the day rang, dismissing us for home. Trudging to my shoe locker felt like walking to the gallows, and I barely even noticed as Junko fell into step beside me not too far from the school gates.

"Say, Keiko?" she said, clocking my weary expression and slumped shoulders. "Wanna grab a milkshake or something? Call it a reward for surviving our first day in tenth grade. Plus, I could use a little girl time, ya know?"

"Oh," I said. A distraction certainly sounded nice just then, but if my eyes starting playing tricks on me with her around… "Well—"

"Apologies, Junko. But I'm afraid Yukimura already promised me her afternoon."

For the second time that day, Kurama appeared like a phantom, steps silent and approach unheard. Junko did a double-take at him when he spoke, hand flying to her cheek as she gave a delighted gasp.

"Oh, Minamino!" she warbled, voice high and feminine with excitement. "I understand, it's no trouble! We'll catch up another day." Leaning toward me and turning her back on Kurama, her smile turned conspiratorial as she growled, "Keiko, you lucky dog."

"It's not like that!" I protested, but she just grinned.

"Sure, it isn't." She waved over her shoulder as she trotted away, still grinning. "See you tomorrow!"

"See you," I grumbled after her, and when I turned to Kurama, he wore an amused smile. In response, I glared, but that only made him laugh. "Oh, shut it, you!"

"Should I carry your bag?" he teased, reaching for it. "Really give them something to talk about?"

"Not on your life." Snatching it out of his reach, I backed away down the sidewalk, keeping my bag firmly tucked out of sight. "So what's the occasion, anyway?"

Here his smile faded, lines appearing on his alabaster brow. "I'd like your help with something. Or to talk about requesting your help, to be more accurate."

"Oh. Uh. All right. Lead the way."

We headed out in silence, nodding at our classmates as we passed them on the street. These instances grew fewer the further we got from campus, and soon we didn't see any of them anymore—but judging by some of their curious stares, I had to wonder if going with Kurama would bite me in the ass someday soon. I got lunch with him out of sight of the rest of the students, after all, so not everyone knew we were friends. It's not like I wanted another incident with his fangirls, even if I'd managed to make friends with them, and—

When his hand closed around my elbow, I almost ripped it away out of pure instinct, looking around with worry someone might see that all-too-familiar bit of contact. But Kurama held on tight, and when I saw the intensity on his handsome face, I stopped struggling at once.

"What's up?" I said, voice dropping low.

"We're being followed." Still hanging on tight, Kurama inclined his head and said in a voice that brooked no argument, "Whoever you are, I suggest you show yourself, now."

We had been walking down a short residential block, sentineled on all sides by tall fences, hedges and parked cars. There were too many obstacles to see the streets clearly, and the windows of the neighboring homes glimmered like a cadre of watching eyes. I scanned the streets in panicked arcs, but Kurama stayed quiet still, head drifting almost imperceptibly to the left in long, slow increments. His eyes narrowed when a footfall slapped against the pavement, and then movement from behind a car drew my gaze, too. Soon a woman stepped out from behind the parked sedan, figure clad in a black kimono, her black hair gathered at the nape of her neck in a low bun. I relaxed when I saw her, but as she bowed in our direction, my shoulder tensed once more.

"Ayame," I said, half in greeting, half in accusation. Gesturing at her, I said, "Kurama, this is—"

He shook his head. "I know who she is."

"You've met?"

"In a manner of speaking. She introduced herself in Demon World shortly after I was taken into custody, back when Hiei and I stole the artifacts from their vault."

Ayame cut in as if Kurama hadn't been speaking, words smooth and cool and deceptively pleasant. "You're looking well, Keiko. And you, Kurama," she said, and she dipped another graceful bow. "Congratulations on your victory at the Dark Tournament. You've recovered well from your final bout, I trust?"

His face betrayed no emotion whatsoever. "As well as can be expected."

Ayame smiled, expression gentle. "And you, Yukimura Keiko. I hear you had a particularly eventful stay on Hanging Neck Island."

"You could say that," I said—and when Ayame didn't say anything more, looking at me through gaze unblinking, I fidgeted where I stood. "What are you staring at?"

"Why, your eyes, of course," she said. "I had hoped to see them change color, of course."

My cheeks colored. "Very funny," I said, forcing said eyes to look down at the street. "So what brings you here? You don't usually hang out in Human World without a reason."

"So this is to be all business, then. Very well." She sounded a tad disappointed, but being the consummate professional that she was, she soldiered on without delay. "I have come to deliver a message from Prince Koenma."

My mood soured further still. "Figures," I grumbled (mostly to Kurama, although I didn't mind if Ayame heard, too). "Can't even go one day back without hearing from him, can we?"

"After everything you revealed during the tournament?" Kurama murmured back. "I should think not."

I laughed, though there was little humor in it. "Right." Taking a deep breath, I rounded on Ayame and asked, "So I suppose you're here to tell me that I'm no longer going to be functioning as Kurama and Hiei's parole officer?"

I'd been thinking about this ever since my secret had come out (which was only a few days prior, but still). Lying awake at night, I'd suspected Koenma would strip me of my duties, declare me a subject of Spirit World as opposed to an ally of it. A part of me (a large part of me) would be grateful for no longer having to report to what I viewed as a fundamentally corrupt institution, so I wasn't too beaten up over the idea of having my mandated contacgt with Kurama and Hiei come to an end. Our friendships would continue on in spite of that, after all, so I stared at Ayame with defiant eyes, as if daring her to deliver the news I was certain she'd been sent to deliver.

Only Ayame surprised me, as she always seemed to.

"No," she said with a resolute shake of her head. "You are to continue your duties in that regard without change."

A minute passed in silence.

Then: "Wait. Seriously? Are you serious?" I grabbed Kurama's sleeve, pointed at Ayame with my other hand, and said, "Is she serious?"

Kurama shook his head. "I admit, I'm flummoxed by this, as well."

We turned to Ayame as one, both of us staring at her in expectant silence. Clearly Kurama had thought about my fate as his parole officer as well. Spirit World had considered me a suspicious subject for a while now, and since confirming the truth about me, I guess we'd both been certain my reluctant alliance with them would come to an end… but Ayame only smiled in our direction, beautiful face inscrutably sphinxlike.

"Given the… unusual… nature of your presence in this world, it's only logical we continue to monitor you closely," she at last revealed. "How better to do that than to keep you meeting with me each week to give a thorough report on your activities?"

My mind raced, connecting dots until they formed a rather dubious new picture. "So… you're not firing me as a parole officer, because you're now going to be my parole officer?"

"In a manner of speaking," she said.

"… wow. Wow." I threw up my hands, lost for words. "OK, then!"

"And I am not the only one," Ayame continued. "Yusuke, too, has been instructed to keep a close eye on you in the weeks to come, and he will be contacting you shortly with his conditions for your service." Her lips twitched, a spark of humor lighting her dark eyes. "But knowing his temperament and tendency toward truancy, we thought it best to task me with monitoring you, as well."

I guffawed, but wryly. I think. It was hard to tell just what I was feeling right them. Kurama proved my saving grace just then, thank my lucky stars, putting himself between Ayame and I with one swift step forward.

"How closely will you be watching her?" he said. "Although I wouldn't put it past Spirit World, I should hope you'd still afford a former operative her privacy."

A valiant question, on his part—but Ayame only smiled again, silent as an Egyptian monument. I couldn't help but blanche at the sight of her impassive face, shouldering forward next to Kurama with a growl.

"Right. You won't say," I said with unconcealed accusation. "What is this, the panopticon?"

Her lips twitched at the corner. "Your words, not mine." And with that, Ayame's job was done. She wheeled with a flutter of black sleeve, her wooden sandals striking the pavement with a clatter. "The park this Saturday after school. See you then."

"Sure," I said, rolling my eyes. "Bye, Ayame."

"Goodbye," she said—and although I thought she'd walk away, her footsteps instead slowed, and then they stopped completely. One dark eye turned over her shoulder as she asked, "Yukimura?"

"Yeah?"

Her lips twitched again. "A manga?" she asked, skepticism dripping from every syllable. "A manga? Truly?"

My eyes rolled. "It's too weird a detail for me to make up, if that's what you're asking."

"… yes. I suppose it is." Ayame shook her head, laughing like a rustle of velvet. "But a manga, of all things…"

She continued to laugh as she began to walk away again, vanishing from sight as she rounded the corner of a fence and out of sight. Her laughter lingered a moment longer, and when it faded away entirely, I turned to Kurama with a look of deadpan annoyance.

"I don't know what's worse," I said. "Ayame being my legit parole officer instead of just a vague eye in the sky, or Yusuke being in charge."

Now it was Kurama's turn to laugh like warm wind through the trees. "Time will tell, it seems. But in the meantime, I welcome you to the ranks of felonious degeneracy."

"Oh, so there's a club? Do I get a nice lapel pin or something?"

"I'm afraid not," he solemnly intoned. "We gave up the idea after Hiei destroyed his."

"Ha!" Finally, a genuine laugh escaped me. Unable to keep a grin off my face, I laced my hands behind me and rocked back onto my heels, humming under my breath. "Well, this has still gone better than expected."

"Do tell."

"Well, I half thought I'd end up in a Spirit World jail, once my secret came out," I confessed—and saying that out loud felt good. "Ayame was keeping an eye on me even before I spilled the beans, so… this isn't all that bad, in the grand scheme of things."

"What remarkable optimism," Kurama observed. "Typically you're rather dour."

"Yeah, well. What's that saying?" Summoning the idiom from the depths of my past, I said, "Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose?"

Kurama's brow shot up. "Can't say I've heard that one before."

"Maybe not the words," I said. "But I bet you know the tune."

Kurama didn't argue. I get the feeling he knew what I meant, language barrier notwithstanding. In silence he merely fell into step beside me, walking with companionship quiet into the evening's descending dark.

Kurama's house looked just as I remembered it—only with more flowers, because springtime at Kurama's house would not be complete without a garden in full bloom. The cherry tree in the front yard wept bright petals onto the sidewalk and across the grass, drifting on the evening air like drifts of pale pink snow. Irises bloomed in the flower beds beside the front door, and as we walked across the picturesque front yard, I realized not all was as I recalled from past visits to Kurama's home.

The motorcycle parked in the narrow driveway was certainly new, after all.

Kurama barely paid the vehicle a second look, however. Perhaps he had seen it before; I wasn't sure. But as he opened the front door and bade me enter ahead of him, I realized I should've seen the owner of the bike coming. He saw at a low table in the center of the home's Japanese-style living room, large hands cupped around a mug of tea, black ponytail hanging like a glossy snake over his shoulder. Even though he'd tipped back his head with laughter, the man still cut an imposing figure thanks to his earring and facial hair, looks contrasting sharply with Shiori's traditional Japanese beauty as she sat across from him at the table, fingers picking gently over a platter of crackers and fruit. They were an unexpected pairing, and as Shiori rose to her feet with a cry of Kurama's human name, I realized exactly why Kurama was so alarmed by the man sitting so closely to his mother.

Kuwabara senior was, after all, spitting image of a member of the Yakuza—but Shiori didn't seem perturbed by him in the slightest. In fact, as she rounded the table to join her son and me in the home's foyer, her fingers trailed lightly over Kuwabara-senior's shoulder, a gesture that telegraphed ease and intimacy as unmistakably as thunder heralds a storm.

As Shiori made her way toward us, I snuck a glance at Kurama.

His face remained perfectly composed into a small, bland smile, eyes locked on his mother's beaming face—and not sparing Kuwabara even the smallest spare look.

"Shuichi, you're home!" Shiori said, voice as soft and warm and gentle as her dark, liquid eyes. "Come say hello to Kuwabara-san—" She spotted me at last, smile growing as I gave her an awkward wave and bow. "Oh, and Kei-chan! You're here, too?"

My bow deepened. "I'm sorry for coming over unannounced."

"And I apologize for not asking for permission to bring over a friend, Mother," Kurama said, taking the blame with smooth alacrity. "But there is a test coming up, and we would like to study together."

Shiori put a hand to her gorgeous face. "A test so soon?" she said. "Well, I suppose you're in a new year now; of course it's harder."

Kuwabara laughed again, a booming sound that would've been infectious under other circumstances. "Wish my boy would study as hard as you two do!" he said in his deep, rich baritone. "Think you'll swing by for a tutoring session soon, Keiko?"

"Ah, maybe?" I said, rubbing the back of my neck. To my feet I mumbled, "Depends on Kuwabara, I think."

His happy expression clouded. "That's right. Shizuru mentioned you're fighting."

"Fighting?" Shiori repeated. She turned to me with a gasp, reaching for my hand with a mother's instinct to give comfort. "I'm so sorry to hear that! Whatever could you be fighting about?"

"Just a teenage squabble, right?" Kuwabara suggested (and when Shiori's back was turned, he gave me a knowing wink. "It'll pass like a summer shower, don't you worry." Turning from me at last, he nodded at Kurama, smile still firmly affixed across his broad face. "Good to see you, Shuichi-san."

"Likewise, Kuwabara-san." Kurama's smooth reply bore no malice that I could see, perfectly pleasant as always. "Do you intend to stay long?"

"No, not today—though your mother was kind enough to offer me something to eat before I leave."

"Well, of course I did!" Shiori chided—and as a faint flush entered her pale cheeks, I almost did a double-take. She's been so unhappily pale the last time I'd seen her, cheeks wan and colorless after her near brush with death… but now she faced Kuwabara with a smile, face flushed with health and pleasure, both. To Kuwabara she said, "I couldn't let you go emptyhanded!"

It didn't seem possible, but his smile grew even wider. "Your mother is a generous woman, Shuichi-san. You're one lucky guy."

"Yes, I am." I swore I heard a firm note creep into his voice there, but it vanished as he bowed low to his mother and Kuwabara's father. "Apologies, but Kei and I must—"

"Of course, of course," Shiori said, ushering us toward the stairs. "I'll be up in a minute with some study-snacks."

"Thank you, Mother." Another bow, formal and prescribed. "Kuwabara-san."

Kuwabara waved back—and as Kurama mounted the first step, I happened to look over my shoulder at him.

When our eyes met, he shot me another wink.

Uneasily I followed Kurama up the stairs, listening with half an ear to the sound of Shiori talking to Kuwabara on the floor below. As I kept my eyes locked on the space between Kurama's shoulder blades, I had to wonder what, exactly, he was thinking. Kurama hadn't seemed outright upset by Kuwabara-senior's presence in his home, but that lay in sharp contrast to his behavior on Hanging Neck Island. In fact, he'd seemed downright pleasant to Kuwabara—and that made me incredibly suspicious. Had his congenial interaction been nothing more than a façade? Despite our closeness, Kurama was still impossible to read when he didn't want to be read. But I supposed it was possible he could've gotten over his feelings of animosity toward Kuwabara-senior… right? Only it had only been two days since Kurama and Kuwabara and had their blow-up, so that wasn't likely, was it?

At the top of the stairs lay a short hallway lined with a handful of doors, spaces between them sporting photographs in carefully matted frames. As we passed, I noted that most of them were of Kurama and his mother from various points in Kurama's life. One of them in particular showed Kurama as a small child, face round and absolutely goddamn adorable as he sat beside his mother on a bench. The photos that didn't depict the Minamino family showcased close-ups of various flowers in full bloom—and unexpectedly cliché item to find in Kurama's house, of all places. I didn't comment on them as he led me to a room at the end of the hall and opened the door, gesturing for me to step inside ahead of him.

Stepping into Kurama's room—because that's undoubtedly where he'd taken me—was like stepping into a dream, or diving underwater, or disembarking a ship in another country. The scent of evergreen, mint and earth washed over my face as we entered, Kurama's scent concentrated in his space in a way I had never experienced before. I tried not to grin like a dork as I looked around, cognizant that I bore witness something every fangirl dreamed about. His room was extremely tidy, to the point of austerity, minimalist décor complementing the complete lack of clutter on the single bed, desk and trio of neatly arranged bookshelves lining the walls. The only protest to Kurama's minimalism lay in the rack of houseplants plants sitting in front of the window on the far wall, healthy greenery soaking in the last fitful rays of sunlight streaming through the north-facing pane even as they showcased Kurama's green-thumbed touch. An assortment of posters tacked to the wall in perfectly spaced intervals also added some personality, but upon closer inspection, most of them were movie posters dating back a few years, and I'd never heard him mention any of the films before. Had he hung them up just to have something on the walls, I wondered?

"Enjoying yourself?"

I spun in place with a gasp, feet having carried me on curiosity's wake deeper into Kurama's room. I couldn't keep a nervous laugh at bay when I saw his knowing smirk, fiddling with the edge of my sleeve as I tried not to look like a cat caught with a canary in its mouth.

"Sorry," I said, waving at the posters. "I've just never been in your room before."

"Does it live up to your expectations?" Kurama teased.

"Yes and no." Desperate for anything to distract him, I wandered over to one of his bookshelves. The titles represented a strangely diverse range of topics, from a book about the history of combustion to dictionaries to classics to some novels far too pedestrian to suit him. I ignored them, though, in favor of an object on one of the middle shelves. "Are you into photography?"

"Hmm?" Kurama said.

I pointed. "I saw the pictures of flowers outside on the wall, and then there's this, so I thought maybe…"

The camera on the middle shelf was nice; I knew just enough about photography to tell that much, although I wasn't sure of its exact brand. Definitely a traditional film camera, though, all black plastic and brushed nickel, item displayed in front of a sturdy but plain leather case that looked deceptively expensive. Kurama joined me in front of it after a time, trailing a fingertip over the camera's lens cap as a smile ghosted across his face.

"I did take those, actually," he said. "The photos of the flowers, at least."

I resisted the urge to drop my jaw. "You're pretty good. You know that, right?" I said instead, impressed. "How did I not know you're into photography, though? Have we never talked about it?"

He shrugged. "I suppose it's never come up." He chuckled when he noticed my aggressively curious expression, humoring me as he said, "The camera was a gift from my mother. She was a photographer before she fell ill. Weddings, mostly, and portraits. But she enjoyed fine art photography when she had the time for it."

"Oh." A beat. "I had no idea."

"To be fair to you, I've never brought it up," Kurama said. "And I confess I mostly pursued the hobby to please her."

Picking up the camera, he turned it over in his hands, long fingers pale against the camera's dark body. He wore an almost fond expression, luminous eyes distant as he examined the viewfinder and wiped a streak of dust from the knob that controlled the F-stop. I held my breath as the moment extended into one, then two, afraid to break that delicate look. It wasn't often Kurama looked like this, after all: unvarnished, genuine, vulnerable. Trusting me with this feeling of softness, letting me witness something other than his careful affectations and purposed masks.

"When she became too sick to continue taking photographs, I made use of her gift so I'd have something to share with her," Kurama murmured. "To keep her spirits up." He placed it back on the shelf, hand disappearing into his pocket. "I haven't touched a camera since she recovered, however."

"Is that so?" Grinning, I told him, "I bet she'd like it if you two went out sometime and took some pictures together."

Kurama chuckled. "She would, I believe. I'll have to ask about her schedule." But then he tensed, face swinging toward the door. Under his breath he muttered, "She's coming upstairs."

It's a testament to his hearing, the fact that I didn't hear her coming up the stairs until almost ten seconds later. But soon the door creaked open, Shiori's lovely face appearing past the frame, bearing a smile that grew even warmer when she caught sight of her son.

"Shuichi?" she said. "I'm sorry to bother you, but would you mind helping me in the kitchen? I'm making a tray for the two of you."

"Yes, Mother," he said, moving toward her at once. "Is Kuwabara-san still here?"

"He just left."

"May I ask why he came by?"

Her face flushed; words poured forth as if someone had uncorked a bottle of champagne. "Of course you can!" she said, opening the door wider to let Kurama through. "He dropped off some fresh bread as a way of saying thanks for the photos I took of his motorcycle. He's opening a new shop, and he needed—"

They continued talking as they descended the stairs—and every word Shiori said came out a bit too quickly, a bit too eagerly. Like she was over-explaining Kuwabara's presence, trying so hard to justify his presence that she couldn't quite keep from babbling. It made me wonder if she had formally told Kurama that she was dating Kuwabara's father. If she had, she wouldn't need to work so hard to explain why he'd dropped by. But then again, maybe she hadn't told Kurama; he was more than smart enough to pick up on her obvious, giddy, fondness for the man without her help. But why would she cover up her feelings? Did she not think her son would approve?

Uneasy, I turned back to the bookshelf, skimming the titles from right to left, top to bottom. Their weird variety didn't make a lot of sense, but my confusion turned to satisfaction when I reached the bottom shelf. It was almost completely full of books about plants and flowers, from an encyclopedia of native Japanese flowers to books on the soil types represented throughout Asia—AKA, the exact type of book I'd hoped I'd find, because this was Kurama encapsulated. Grinning, I knelt and pulled one of them onto my lap, unable to keep from giggling as I flipped through its glossy pages. The air disturbed by the pages stirred my long bangs, sending a fresh waft of Kurama's evergreen-and-mint scent across my face. Putting the book back, I let my fingers drift down the spines of a few more titles—and then they froze as they crept over the image of a single, very familiar flower. Tall and thin and shaped like a teardrop, comprising a dozen small royal blue blossoms with a cluster of white at the top, the image of that flower stole the breath from my lungs and the thoughts from my head with the force of pure nostalgia.

It was, of course, a bluebonnet—which was only natural, given the book was titled The Native Wildflowers of Texas.

For a long time, I didn't move. Then, as if fearing the book might disintegrate on contact, I gently pulled it off the shelf. Opened it across my lap. Gasped and covered my mouth with my hand as I beheld the sight of native paintbrush, pink evening primrose, wine cup, star thistle, Texas lantana—and more bluebonnets, of course, dotting Texas' rolling hills and splayed beneath the state's infinite span of bright blue sky. I had run through fields of those flowers a million times before, but I hadn't laid eyes on most of them in 15 years.

In response, my wildflower-starved eyes—suddenly full after so long spent empty—filled with a glut of tears.

"Kei, I can't remember—do you prefer green tea, or should I—Kei?"

I turned, still holding the book. Kurama stood in the doorway with a tray in his hands. He watched me in silence, eyes flickering first to the book and then to my face and then back again. Without a word he crossed the room and placed the tray on his desk, brushing away a vine trailing from one of the planters in the window.

"Ah," he said, eyes lingering on the book. "You saw that."

I held it up, open to a panoramic shot of a field of wild bluebonnets. "Why do you have this?" I demanded. "Why?"

Kurama stared at me without speaking.

Then, slowly: "I should think that would be obvious, Kei."

The book fell back into my lap. My eyes fell with it.

"I guess," I said. "Just…"

The tears welled again. Angrily I wiped them on my sleeve, but Kurama had already appeared beside me with a flutter of his dark hair, evergreen invading my personal space like wildflowers creeping across the Texas plains. A hand found mine, warm and gentle but still so firm.

"Kei," Kurama said. "Are you all right?"

I tapped the book with my knuckles, shaking my head—though whether this was a yes or a no, I wasn't sure. "Homesick, I think," was what I eventually settled on. "Just surprised me, that's all."

Kurama eased back, leaning against the bookcase as I continued to flip through the volume on my lap. Every page bore a full-color photo and some text about the flowers. I drank it down like water after too long spent in a desert, the taste of home like wildflower honey on my tongue. Kurama watched in silence, observing without speaking. And I was grateful for that.

"My grandmother," I said when my scattered thoughts at last settled. "She would go out each winter and scatter windflower seeds along the highway. Bluebonnets, mostly. But her favorites were the native blanket. I always liked the brown-eyed Susans, though." Flipping to the back of the book, I hunted for an index. "Are those in here? I can't find—"

I never did find an index.

The book had, instead, fallen open to a specific page near the back—because between that page in the next lay a bookmark. Or at least I thought it was a bookmark until I got a closer look. What I'd found was some glossy paper, like from a magazine, depicting a trio of flowers stacked and glued together with a bow of ribbon affixed to the places where the stems intersected. They were arranged like a 2D bouquet, a collage of chrysanthemums, azaleas and bells of Ireland... a familiar collage of chrysanthemums, azaleas and bells of Ireland. Half laughing, half gasping, I held it up and grinned, pointing at it with my other, startled hand.

"You kept this?" I said, hardly daring to believe it.

He mopped a hand across his face, looking both tired and amused. "You're discovering all my secrets today, it seems."

"Turnabout is fair play after what I went through last week. But don't think you can distract me." I held the bouquet toward him, slapping his knee with it. "Why do you still have this, huh?"

"You put effort into it. Seemed a waste to throw it out."

"Well, thanks for respecting my emotional labor, I guess." Tracing the flowers with a fingertip, I muttered, "I was so mad at you when I put this together."

"Funny," Kurama said. "Those flowers don't speak of anger."

"That's because I left out the anemones."

"… anemones," he deadpanned, because he knew exactly what they meant. "Really."

"Yup," I said, feeling oddly proud of myself. "Had them all picked out, but… thought I'd catch more flies with honey, if you'll pardon the expression." At his unamused expression, I explained, "I spent all that time getting to know you, getting to be your friend, only for you to hide that stupid goodbye bouquet in my locker. A totally indirect goodbye. You shut me out the second you stole that stupid mirror. Just… acted like we weren't even friends."

"I wasn't—"

I know you shut me out to keep me safe," I interjected, rolling my eyes. "You thought I was just a regular human at that point, all your suspicions about me aside."

"The puns were difficult to ignore, I will admit." Kurama's lips curled, though I couldn't quite tell if he was smiling or grimacing at the memory of the horrors I'd put him through. "But you aren't wrong. That is exactly why I sent you that bouquet."

"You thought you'd signed your death sentence when you stole that mirror." It was bittersweet, thinking back on those early days of knowing him. "You thought you were a walking dead man, and it was just a matter of time until you disappeared for good. I knew no matter how mad I got, I couldn't just throw up my hands and walk away. Not when you were in a mindset like that. So I made this." I placed the papers on his knee, letting them rest there, giving that gift to him a second time. "To tell you that even if you'd given up, I hadn't. And I'd be there when you got back from your little burglary lark."

"And that's why I kept it, in the end." Picking it up, he traced the bow on the front and the images of the blossoms, a genuine smile curling his mouth, this time. "It brought me comfort in a time I needed it most. Would I were to need that comfort again, I…"

He trailed off, just staring at the flowers, smile lingering even still. When I proffered the open book of wildflowers, he set them back between the pages, watching without a word as I closed them into the book again and returning it to the shelf for safekeeping.

We knew what those flowers meant. No sense belaboring that point. It wasn't why he'd brought me here, after all.

"So." I braced my hands on my knees, grinning. "You said you needed my help with something?"

His smile vanished, jaw settling into stiff, all-business tension. "Kei—you are familiar with the Kuwabaras, correct?" he said, cutting right to it.

"… yes?" I said, earlier feelings of suspicion returning in full force.

He nodded, matter-of-factly ignoring my distrustful stare. "Given your familiarity with that family, and your familiarity with them from the source material that is—what was it called? Yu Yu Hakusho?"

"Yeees?"

He nodded. "Given your familiarity with the aforementioned, is it safe to say you will be able to in some manner predict their reactions to certain stressors?"

"I don't think I like where this is going," I muttered, resisting the urge to run the hell away.

"Perhaps not," Kurama said. "Regardless, it should come as no surprise that I am requesting your assistance in ending the relationship between Kuwabara's father and my mother."

Silence reigned for a good long while after that. Kurama watched me without blinking, a predator watching their prey for any sign of weakness. I stared back with blank detachment for a bit, but soon the reality of his request sank home, and I was forced to heave a sigh and hang my head.

"Kurama," I said.

"Kei," he countered with maddening calm.

"You can't—you can't just put me in the middle of this." I searched his face for recognition, but I found none. "You know that, don't you?" And when he still did not respond, I pressed, "Right?!"

"Of course," he replied at once, "and that is not my intention. I merely wish to acquire your guidance." He grinned, a, incomparably charming and guileless smile I did not trust in the slightest. "A trivial thing, I assure you."

"Is it, though?" I said, letting my disbelief fly free. "Because it sure as heck sounds like you're asking me to reverse-Parent-Trap your mom and Kuwabara's dad."

"If that's a reference to something, I don't follow."

"Never mind. Just—are you sure that's the right thing to do?" I said, desperation creeping into my voice unbidden. "Breaking them up, I mean?"

More maddening sincerity followed that question. "You heard my reasoning when I explained it to Kuwabara, did you not?" he said, every word measured, slow, and intentioned.

"I mean, I did," I admitted, "but—"

"Then you know that I'm right," said Kurama, head rising like an emperor from his throne. "To involve my mother in the supernatural is to place her even further into harm's way. She has already been targeted once by my enemies." When I said nothing and did not agree, he continued, "In the first round of the Dark Tournament, the demon Roto—"

"Took your mom hostage and threatened to kill her if you fought back, yeah, I know," I said, rubbing at my aching temples. "I remember."

He frowned, but soon his expression cleared. "This was in the manga, I presume."

"Of course."

Kurama smiled. "Then you know full well the dangers of increasing her exposure to the supernatural, Kei," he said. When I groaned and pillowed my head in my hands, he added, "And besides. Prolonged association with the Kuwabaras brings her one step closer to discovering my secrets. And we both know from firsthand experience that that is unacceptable."

I looked up at him with unintended sharpness, but he didn't so much as flinch. I wanted to tell him that his mother loved him and would accept him not matter what, as I'd done in the past—but I'd be a hypocrite if I argued such a thing. I, too, was too chicken to "come out" to my family, and he knew it. It was all I could do to glare and grumble that he was a stubborn ass, scrambling to my feet so I could investigate the snack tray. My nerve-filled stomach balked at the idea of eating, however, so I settled for crumbling a sesame cracker between my agitated fingers.

"It's just… I do think Kuwabara junior had a point," I said to the sesame crumbs coating my fingertips. "About not standing in the way of your mother's happiness, specifically."

Kurama hummed. "She was seeing someone before she met Kuwabara senior. She mentioned him when you had dinner here—a man named Hatanaka."

Keeping my face impassive, I turned around. Kurama had not moved from his spot on the floor. He'd pillowed an elbow on one bent knee, back resting against the bookcase in a way that probably would've been uncomfortable for anyone less graceful than him (which meant… anyone else, really). Somehow he managed to appear in control, powerful despite this relaxed position, face not betraying anything but unyielding resolution.

"Hatanka was a kind man, gentle and respectful," he said. "He made her happy enough… but she prefers Kuwabara-senior. She stopped seeing Hatanka shortly after meeting Kuwabara." Finally his expression soured a little, lips thinning into a severe gash. "If I had to guess, she's enamored of his… what's the word? Tough guy attitude?" He huffed, air rushing from his nose in an unamused laugh. "Quite different from my human father or her past paramours."

"Girls do tend to put the bad-boy types on a pedestal," I said, hoping that helped make sense of things for him. "It's honestly kind of annoying. You wouldn't believe the fangirls and what they did with Hiei."

Kurama startled. "Hiei? Fangirls?" he repeated, and when I nodded, his lips parted in horror. "I… I cannot even begin to imagine that. And I'm not sure I want to."

"You're better off not knowing, honestly." Blotting my hand on my skirt, I said, "Anyway. So is your plan to get her back together with the old flame?"

"In part, yes."

Looking demurely at the floor, I said, "I see."

I said nothing else. He studied my carefully neutral face with eyes that could cut. Soon his eyes narrowed; Kurama rose with a flex of lithe muscle, standing a few feet away, though it might as well have been a few inches. The pressure of his presence had me backing up a step on reflex, bumping into his desk so hard the rack of plants upon it rattled. Suddenly, being in Kurama's room wasn't quite so fun.

"Is this the correct course of action?" he said, searching my unnerved face like a hound scenting a fox—ironic, all things considered, but no less scary for the effort of that joke. Watching without pity as I squirmed, Kurama said, "I have heretofore refrained from asking you to divulge the details of canon to me directly, but I am afraid I must set aside my caution in this instance." Taking one sharp step in my direction, I could've sworn his eyes flashed gold when he demanded, "Is my mother meant to associate with Kuwabara senior in the long term? Or is my plan to reunite her with her former romantic interest more prudent?"

Casting about for some, for any means of escape, I said, "Kurama, you know that I can't—"

"Kei."

We held a staring contest, then. I'm ashamed (but not at all surprised) to admit that he won. Far too soon for my pride, I found myself lowering my head and running my fingers through my hair, aggravation and fear a potent drug inside my throbbing veins.

"I guess it depends on which former romantic partner you're talking about," I grudgingly admitted. "But—"

"Good. As I suspected." Though I'd tried to be vague, he saw right through me, snaring his answer as a hunter snares weak game. Despite the glow of his make-a-girl-go-weak smile, all I felt was annoyance when he said, "Thank you for your cooperation, Kei."

"This doesn't mean I approve of what you're doing," I said, glaring all the while.

"Of course not," he said with breezy insouciance. "But I'm happy for your assistance, just the same."

"I didn't assist you. You dragged it out of me."

"If that's the way you want to see it…"

"Sometimes, you can be a total ass."

I swear to god his eyes once again sparked gold. "And yet, you find me charming."

"Whatever, fox boy. I'm a gullible fool." With a huff I threw myself into the chair at his desk, arms crossed and tense. "Just—just promise me you're not going to do anything to break your mother's heart, OK?"

"I would never willingly harm my mother or her emotional wellbeing," Kurama said, eyes as hard as malachite. "You know better than to suggest otherwise."

My hands shot up. "Hey. I'm not coming at you, OK? So stop glaring at me." When the green fire in his gaze cooled, mollified at last, I shrugged and said, "I'm just saying that sometimes we get so wrapped up in "I know what's best" that we forget to wonder what other people want. That's what happens to me when I start overanalyzing canon, anyway, and I can see you doing the same thing if given the opportunity." I tapped a finger to my temple. "Different body, same mind and all that. Literally and metaphorically, in our cases. But anyway."

Understanding dawned behind his eyes. "You think I'm taking my mother's wishes for granted."

"I'm saying it's a possibility you should be wary of." But when he did not look convinced, I shook my head and sighed. "Just… if you really need my help, ask me for it, but don't get mad if I say no, or if I ask for time to think about giving it, OK?"

For a minute, I thought he might not agree. He stared without speaking, without moving so much as an inch. But two could play at that game, and I stared back without letting myself back down. He'd won one staring contest, but I had no intention of losing a second time.

And somehow, I got my wish. Kurama looked away first, a deep breath swelling his chest like a gently rising tide.

"Fine," he said, words much softer than before. "I can respect that request."

"Thanks," I said, and I meant it. Because this conversation wasn't one I wanted to continue, I reached for my school bag. "Well. We should probably do a little work. Make it look real for your mom, and stuff."

"Yes." Kurama nodded. "You're right."

Kurama on his bed and me at his desk, we did our homework in silence punctuated only by the rustle of papers and the scratch of pens. Sometimes one or both of us would ask questions, but these were few and far between. Banal math problems and routine essays weren't exactly engaging, and soon my mind—which I'd held to such rigorous standards while at school—wandered away from the books open on the desk before me. It felt odd, sitting there with him in that calm quiet, working on homework when so much else had happened, and when so much more would happen soon. My pen tapped a restless tattoo against my work, beating along with the pulse of my frayed heart. Even the fact that I was sitting at Kurama's desk, in his room, in his home, couldn't chase the anxiety from my chest. Shouldn't being here, at least, bring me some kind of peace? I would've killed for this opportunity fifteen years prior. Heck, I would've been over the moon last month! But now nothing felt the same, and I could not stop fidgeting.

Papers rustled, and Kurama asked, "Is there something on your mind, Kei?"

I didn't bother turning my head, staring instead at my homework. "This just doesn't feel real, I guess," I muttered—and then I winced, because although the words felt true enough, I hated that I'd said them. I tried to cover my unease as Kurama shifted on the bed, cognizant of his eyes cataloging my every move. "I guess I'm just thinking about what Kuwabara said back on the island, right before we left." Looking at Kurama askance, I waved vaguely at him, the room, our homework. "It's weird. To be here like this, I mean. We were just fighting for our lives a few days ago, y'know? And now we're sitting here doing homework like none of it ever happened." I threw up my hands and sighed. "It's too normal to be normal."

"The homework never ends," Kurama quipped.

"I mean, I guess." Hesitating for a second, I added, "Do you feel any differently?"

"In what sense?"

"You… you were Youko for the first time in forever." Wishing, hoping, praying he knew how I felt, I turned to him in full to ask, "What does coming back here, to your human life, feel like to you?"

For a long time, Kurama said nothing.

Then he murmured, "I'm not sure. Not yet." Before I could ask him to elaborate, however, he kept speaking, smiling a smile that made him look the spitting image of Shiori. "Everything will be all right, Kei. Barring some notable exceptions, the revelation of your secrets went smoothly indeed." His eyes glittered; with a laugh he added, "Supernaturally smoothly, one might say. It's a testament to your handling of the situation that events went as well as they did."

"Flatterer," I grumbled. "But thanks. That's kind of you."

"I'm not being kind. I'm being honest." It seemed inevitable, the way our eyes met, his full of the comfort that I'd hoped he'd share, but ones that did nothing to quiet the storm brewing inside my heart. Still, I didn't look away as he slowly said, "You have nothing to worry about, Kei. The worst is over. You've made it through to the other side, and the skies ahead are clear."

"Maybe you're right," I said, after a time.

"I am right," Kurama insisted.

But as we returned to our endless homework, I couldn't shake the memory of how he'd changed the subject, refusing to talk about himself and offering reassurances, instead.

I could not shake that memory because I suspected those reassurances might, in fact, ring hollow.

Notes:

There are about 400 people following this story. That's not a huge number compared to others, but it's big in this fandom, and I'd be remiss if I didn't use this platform to say the following:

BLACK LIVES MATTER

Please get informed about the protests going on not just in America, but around the world. They're led by people fighting for necessary and long overdue civil rights. There are lists of charities, essays, videos, and all kinds of articles to read to get educated about what's happening. I've amassed some on my Tumblr (LuckyStarChild) if you need a place to get started. Scroll through it, follow the hashtags, and educate yourselves, PLEASE. Prioritize Black and other POC voices and then amplify them. And then donate your money or time or attention and do some good in the world.

But most importantly, white readers: LISTEN TO THE BIPOC IN YOUR LIVES WHEN THEY TELL YOU THAT THEY'RE SUFFERING. Listen and DO NOT tell them that their experiences aren't real. They have been trying to speak for decades. It shouldn't have taken this long for us to LISTEN.

White supremacy is a cancer, and it's going to take all of us to excise it from society.

I get that some people aren't going to like that I'm talking about this. Some of you may even quit this story over it… but if this issue makes you that uncomfortable, you need to take a long look in the mirror and ask yourself WHY THAT IS. If a fanfic author stating their belief in civil rights upsets you more than the fact that innocent people are dying at the hands of police, you need to reevaluate your moral compass.

Spent my week volunteering at my county jail and washing tear gas out of teenage protestors' hair, and I'm mad as hell, and you should be mad, too.

###

If chapter 106 was a "tie up loose threads" chapter, chapter 107 is a "pull new threads loose" chapter. Before the ball of the plot really gets rolling, we're going to have a few "Keiko lives her life" chapters that will set up events to come. Setting up the new status quo through exposition, I guess. I hope the character work is fun to read, even if it's not as tense/action-packed as the recent tournament arc. But then again, a lot of you have stressed that you really need a break from the action, so maybe this "normal life" stuff is just what the doctor ordered? I dunno; you tell me! This was at least fun to write. Lots of tiny things in this chapter will actually matter very soon.

In any case, we're basically entering the last formal arc of LC's storyline (… surprise…?), so we need to take these character moments while we can get 'em.

The paper flower bouquet in this chapter was first mentioned in chapter 38 of this story. Reread that chapter for more information. I hope y'all enjoyed the fun Kurama moments!

The phrase "Different body, same mind" in Japanese is basically analogous to the saying "those two are kindred spirits" in English.

See you in two weeks on June 21 for chapter 108.

Many thanks to everyone who tuned into chapter 106. You make updating a joy: silverpaper_toffeepaper, I_Am_IronMaiden, brawltogethernow, allyallyonthewall, CaliforniaArchivist, SapphireStream, Seyuuu, Capriciousfan, Cptkitten, Unctuous, MyMindIsTellingMeNo, chigi23, Gerbilfriend, Sdelacruz, NotQuiteAnonymous, Nollyn, Sanguinary_Tide, Mz_Liz, RainbowWordStrings, willowfire, WitchofWriting, meow, Paddygirl, Konkubus, Spellweaver, ShiaraM, TokiMirage, musiquemer, MidKnightOwl, Bzzzz, terminalmigration, shin_tenshi, Not Me, Nathan_The_Ram, JestWine, DrNekuHamada, Dragon Kale, Paddygirl, Artist_Otaku, ChaosdreamingSiren!

Chapter 108: Patience is a Virtue

Summary:

In which NQKeiko waits. And she isn't happy about it.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The moment I got home from school, normalcy swallowed me like a ravenous shark.

"Keiko? Is that you?" Mom called when she heard me come in through the side door. "We need help in the kitchen, ASAP!"

"Coming, Mom!" I said as I kicked off my outdoor shoes, and then I joined her in the kitchen for an evening of hot broth, chewy noodles, and madcap vegetable chopping—punctuated by frequent trips to the pantry, where my schoolbooks lay open atop a crate of corn. Stealing bites of knowledge between morsels of food, I studied and slung ramen to our hungry customers in turns, jotting down answers to math and science problems with hands made sticky from buckwheat flour. I didn't mind, though. This was the normal after-school evening rush hour, where patrons hungry after a hard day's work sought to sample my mother's famous cooking. Nothing I hadn't done a million times before, and nothing I wouldn't do a million times after. Like a stone into water, I sank deep into the routine, and when a certain regular customer of ours sat down at the counter with a sigh, I didn't even blink.

"Lookin' good in that hairnet, Keiko," Yusuke said, lazy grin surfacing in increments. "Totally suits you."

"Shut up," I grumbled as I finished chopping a bunch of scallions. "The usual?"

"What, no lunch lady special tonight?" he teased. "I'm hurt."

"My bad, Yusuke," I said with no sympathy whatsoever. "Tell you what—I can offer you a knuckle sandwich, on the house. How about that, huh?"

Dad chuckled where he stood by the giant pot of simmering brother. "Simmer down, Keiko. You're scaring the customers!"

Well. 'Scaring' wasn't precisely accurate. The customers near Yusuke and I were laughing, and Yusuke joined them with some snickers of his own. I just glared and put together his favorite beef bowl, slicing the meat thin just the way he liked it, silently bearing his taunts and mockery as he slurped his noodles and put on quite the littler performance for the crowd at the ramen counter. His jibes didn't get under my skin, though—this interaction, too, was normal, and nothing I hadn't suffered before. I just scowled and rolled my eyes and jeered until the dinner rush slowed and they no longer needed me in the kitchen, and when Yusuke disappeared upstairs, I doffed my apron and followed on socked feet.

Yusuke wasn't in my room, but a spring breeze blew through the open window. I showered away the scent of ramen and soon crawled out that window to join him, lying beside him on the roof's warm shingles below the field of clouds blotting out the sky above. City lights dyed them hazy yellow, a sun-warmed olive at odds with the darkness of the night. Yusuke stared at it without speaking, the green of his jacket more brown in the rooftop shade. I said nothing, for a time. The spring breeze tasted of soil and light rain, vaguely floral as it danced across the tongue.

"Hey," I said at last.

And Yusuke said, "Took you long enough."

"Yeah, yeah." Rolling onto my side, I faced him and propped my head up on one hand. "So how was your first day back at school? New grade and everything. And you even showed up today, right?"

Dark eyes darted in my direction. "Why do you sound shocked?"

"Just amazed you passed. First you win a dangerous, demon-infested fighting tournament, and then you manage to advance a grade. And then you go to school. Will wonders never cease?"

"Hey, you're one to point fingers," Yusuke grumbled. "Still can't believe you didn't ditch today, yourself."

"Me, Keiko?" I said, placing one offended hand atop my chest. "Golden Girl and model student? Apple of my parents' eye? Why would I ditch my first day back at school?"

"Uh." Yusuke looked down, at our legs splayed out before us. "Because of those?"

For a moment, I wasn't sure what he meant—but then I followed the trail of his eyes and saw the way my shorts had ridden up, exposing flesh painted in a dozen rainbow colors. An octopus and a lion with golden eyes, staring up at me from where they lay entrenched in golden skin. I flinched when my gaze met theirs, unaccustomed to seeing anything there besides blank thigh, and tugged my shorts back down as far as they would go.

"Oh my god." Yusuke's eyes glittered as brightly as his teeth. "Did you forget about them?"

"Fuck you, Yusuke." The insult slipped out in English, unbidden. "It was a long day."

His grinned widened. "Your eyes are grey again."

"Shit." My hands flew to my face. "Really?"

"Yeah." His arms lifted, hands tucking behind his head. "You know, I was watching you tonight. That's kind of why I came over. Well, one of the reasons, anyway."

"You came over to watch me? Um, creepy much?"

"Oh, fuck off, Keiko. Can't blame me for thinking about your stupid color-changing eyes—eyes that keep changing when you speak English, by the way." His eyes, in contrast, missed absolutely nothing as they raked over my face, observant and surprisingly shrewd. "They stayed brown the whole time you were downstairs. Call me crazy, but do ya think it was because you were busy making ramen?"

"Not funny, Yusuke."

"I'm not joking. You were busy doing something you've done a million times—as Keiko. But up here, you're just you. You're Tex."

"I thought I told you to cool it with that nickname."

"Since when have I ever listened to you?" he countered. "Face it, Tex—right now, you aren't the same person you were downstairs."

I flopped onto my back again, not wanting to meet his eyes. "Is it that obvious?"

"To me it is. Not so much to other people."

We sat in silence for a while. The damp, earthy wind curled into my wet hair, matting it to my cheeks in sodden strands. Oddly cold, that wind. I regretted shorts and a t-shirt, wishing as I wrapped my arms around myself that I had brought a sweater.

"So what you're saying," I said, suppressing a shiver that had little to do with the wind, "is that when I wasn't thinking about anything, and when I was just being Keiko, my eyes stayed brown."

"And when Tex came out, they changed," Yusuke added.

"Still not on board with the nickname."

"Well tough titties, because I like it," he said. "Can't keep calling you "grandma" after Genkai came back from the dead. Too many old ladies for one lifetime." Yusuke grunted as he sat up, hands running over the roof's shingles in broad, searching arcs. "We gotta update that thing we carved up here…"

"What thing?"

"You know. That thing you carved into the shingles back when you baked me that weird coffin cake on my Death Day." He reached down by his knee, then grinned. "Here it is!"

I sat up, too. His fingers pored over a message carved into the roof in messy scratches, and I knew what it said even without reading the words. But I read them anyway, because the nostalgia couldn't be ignored.

RIP Urameshi Yusuke

March 26 1977 – Dec. 3 1990

Survived by his Grandma

Badasses till the bitter end

It had barely faded since its initial inscription, but Yusuke set about updating it nevertheless. He pulled a Swiss Army knife (where had he gotten that?) from his pocket and popped out the tiny blade with a grin, poising the knife over the message with steady hands. "Now let's see… how do you write Tex in English?"

I showed him, and he dutifully drew and X over 'Grandma' and wrote 'Tex' just above it, trading one nickname for another as easy as pie. A murmur of disquiet settled into my belly at the sight of that word. I'd been 'Keiko' all night, just like normal, but the tattoos and Yusuke's nickname for me… they felt alien in this familiar space. Like interlopers, intruders who didn't belong, whose presence could shatter the quiet night into pieces. But the night didn't shatter, and soon Yusuke lay back against the roof again, satisfied by his handiwork.

I didn't join him. I sat with legs drawn against my chest, arms wrapped tight around my knees as I stared moodily into the night. Was Yusuke right when he said my eyes changed when I spoke English? They changed just as I remembered the tattoos, too. Was that the reason they changed? Or perhaps it was a combination of reminders of my old life bringing physical evidence of my past self back to the surface. Hard to say. It certainly seemed like the eyes could be connected to my mental state. But…

"It's a solid theory, I agree," I muttered eventually. "But it doesn't answer the question of why Hiruko gave me these or what's happening to my eyes."

"You can say that again," said Yusuke. "I only met the guy for a minute or two, but being annoyingly vague kind of seems to be his thing." He glanced down at my legs, lips hitching at the corner. "The tattoos aren't bad, though. You look like a Yakuza's girlfriend, but the colors are nice. So did it hurt?"

"Did what hurt? When I fell from heaven?" I asked sweetly.

"No! Getting the tattoos, dumbass!"

"It hurt more to get them this time. The pain was more spread out when I first got them, but these got sliced into me all at once." Tracing a finger over the lines of the octopus' tentacles, I murmured, "You know, I got this one outside of Disney Land."

"Cool," said Yusuke. "But why an octopus?"

"Because they're awesome."

"But why?" he pressed. "It's huge!" When I didn't immediately answer, he added, "I know Americans aren't as weird about ink as people are here, but still. Seems like a big patch of ink to commit to."

"Not really," I said. "It's not like either of these was my first."

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah. The octopus was my second and the lion was my third." I traced the lion's mane with a fingertip, where pinks morphed into greens and greens into vivid blues. "I got this one after my back piece."

"Wait," he said, sitting up. "You had a back piece?"

"Yeah. But Hiruko didn't give me that one." My lips pursed. "I guess he didn't bother because I can't see it and be annoyed by it if it's on my back."

"A back piece," Yusuke said, grudgingly awed by the idea. "What was it of, anyway?"

We talked about my tattoos for a little while. Yusuke wanted to know how much they hurt, and why I got them in the first place. I held back telling him about their sadder aspects; it didn't feel right to burden him with those details, young as he was. But his curiosity burned bright, and I told him all that I could until the embers of that fire cooled. He settled back onto the shingles with a grin, gazing at the ink on my legs with new appreciation.

"Well, gotta hand it to the guy," Yusuke said. "Hiruko did it to piss you off, but I'll bet you're pretty happy to see something from your past again, huh?"

I grimaced. "Not as much as you might think."

"Why's that?" said Yusuke.

I didn't reply right away. I just stretched out my legs and looked at my tattoos, until I could read the lines of my thoughts in their swirling, rainbow ink.

"I got these because they represented me," I said, words slow and careful and controlled. "Things I was proud of. Things I had accomplished. Things I wanted to commemorate during my life, when I was—"

I faltered.

"When you were Tex?" Yusuke supplied.

"… fine. When I was Tex," I relented. "But they don't really apply to my life as Keiko. If I'd wanted tattoos in this life, they wouldn't have been these pieces. They'd be specific to this life, not my old one." My hands crept to the lion and the octopus again, tracing the subtle variations in texture across both pieces. "With these, I wasn't given a choice."

"Oh." It took a moment, but soon Yusuke gnashed his teeth, the terms of my reality settling in at last. Throwing one fist into the opposite hand, Yusuke growled, "Then that just makes Hiruko even shittier. All the more reason for me to kick his ass the next time he shows his stupid pink hair."

"Fighting for my honor, Yusuke?" I pretended to swoon. "My hero!"

"What can I say? I'm the savior of humanity." He preened for a minute—and abruptly deflated. "And yet I still have to do math homework."

"Life just isn't fair."

"Nope." He bared his teeth. "It's not."

"Uh oh." Leaning my head on my knees, I asked, "What's that look for?"

His grimace intensified. "Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but apparently Spirit World isn't a fan of yours right now."

I huffed. "What else is new?"

Yusuke hesitated before saying: "Me being your parole officer."

"Yeah. Ayame told me this afternoon."

"Wait, she did?" He did an impressive double-take, then flopped back against the roof to drape his arm over his face. "Oh, thank god! I thought I was gonna have to explain everything."

"You're off the hook." Bracing for impact, I told him, "Well, go on. Rub it in my face how I answer to you now."

But Yusuke just shrugged. "Nah."

"Excuse me?"

"Nah. As in, no. This whole thing's just stupid." He laughed, derisive sound aimed skyward—aimed at Koenma, of that I had no doubt. "You've been watching out for us this whole time, and they wanna repay you by making me your damned jailor? I'll pass, thanks."

I couldn't help but feel touched. "Yusuke, that's so…"

"Don't get me wrong," he interjected before I could get mushy. "Making you do whatever I say sounds like a blast, but… I dunno. Being handed it on a silver platter sucks, and the whole thing is just too much trouble, if you ask me." Yusuke shut his eyes, pretending to nap. "So if they ask, just tell 'em I'm making you eat hot peppers every few days and that you hate it. Make me sound like a good jailer, yeah?"

"While I appreciate you looking out for me like that, at least stop by the restaurant once a week for dinner," I suggested.

One sly eye cracked open. "But I do that already."

"Yeah, but we can pretend you're doing it special just to keep an eye on me," I said. "That way if anyone asks, we can say we have a check-in appointment like I do with Kurama and Hiei, and we won't technically be lying." In a conspiratorial whisper I added, "We'll be technically correct, which is the best kind of correct."

"Loopholes." Yusuke grinned. "You've always been good at loopholes."

"Technically the term is 'malicious compliance,' but…"

"Whatever it's called, I'm on board." He raised a fist. "Let's stick it to the man, eh?"

"Yeah." I bumped his fist with mine. "Let's."

Contented silence fell like a warm spring rain, one broken only by the sound of laughter occasionally drifting from the restaurant below. Yusuke's eyes stayed shut; I wondered if he actually slept, or if he played possum for my benefit. He knew I must not like the idea of sneaking around, my enthusiasm for malicious compliance notwithstanding. Still, I was merely grateful to know Yusuke was on my side, not to mention that his terms for my parole were going to be so lax. I had half expected to be forced to eat a hot pepper or three to amuse him, but… I supposed even Yusuke knew when not to push it. His lack of desire to monitor my whereabouts suited me just fine—because, as I kept reminding myself, a storm loomed on the horizon, one I hadn't yet decided how best to handle. It had been bothering me ever since our return from Hanging Neck Island, although I hadn't allowed myself to dwell upon the matter. All I knew was that I didn't fancy the idea of Spirit World watching my every move in the days to come. I just hoped they wouldn't be monitoring Yusuke overmuch, either. Not to mention our other friends…

"Say, Yusuke?" I asked.

He didn't move. Just hummed an affirmation that he heard me.

"How's Kuwabara?"

Yusuke scoffed, eyes opening at last. "Hell if I know. He avoided me all day."

"Really."

"Mm-hmm."

Trying to appear casual, I studied my nails. "Well, I have some gossip that involves him, if you wanna hear it." When he turned toward me sharply, like a shark scenting blood, I said, "Remember how Kuwabara and Kurama found out their parents are dating recently?"

"Tough to forget, honestly. Botan won't shut up about it." He rolled his eyes. "So what's the problem?"

"Kurama doesn't like that they're together," I said. "Back on the island, he told Kuwabara flat out that he wants to break them up."

"Weird," Yusuke said, nose scrunching in confusion. "But why?"

"He doesn't want her interacting with someone so connected to the supernatural. Could end up outing Kurama's little demon secret or something, y'know?"

Yusuke made a face—like he got it, and didn't like it, but at least understood.

"And I was at Kurama's house earlier today," I went on. "And guess who at his house when we showed up?"

Yusuke's jaw dropped. "No!"

"Yes: Kuwabara senior," I said. As Yusuke buried his face in his hands and appeared to die of secondhand embarrassment (making me wonder if I still had enough ingredients for another coffin cake) I said, "Kurama's mom scrambled to make up an excuse for why he was there, so I don't think she's actually told Kurama about their relationship herself yet."

"No way!" Yusuke said, horrified. "Why do you think she's hiding it?"

"Not sure. Maybe she thinks he wouldn't approve?"

"And she's not wrong."

"He basically asked for my help breaking them up when I came over earlier," I confessed (once more prompting Yusuke to pretend to die, that gossip-lover). "It sucked."

"Talk about a mess," he said once he recovered enough to speak. "What do you think Kurama'll do about it?"

"Honestly? I have no idea. And that's more than a little scary," I said with a shudder. "It's Kurama, after all."

"Yeah." Yusuke covered his mouth with a hand, staring into the middle-distance in horror. "Oh, man. And Kuwabara really likes Kurama's mom, too." And here he laughed, a loud bark of wry joy. "Sucks to be him, because against Kurama, he doesn't stand a chance!"

"Are you gonna tell him about this?" I said once he finished having a chuckle.

But Yusuke just shrugged. "How can I, when he refuses to get within ten feet of me?" He heaved a sigh and lay back again, staring at the clouds through hooded eyes. "Nah. Kuwabara's gonna have to get over his weirdness if he wants any help outta us. Serves Kuwabara right for ignoring me." He huffed through his nose. "And for ignoring you, now that I think about it. Definitely serves him right."

I liked that he used the word 'us,' but I didn't say that out loud. Yusuke would just tell me to stop getting mushy, after all. Instead I lay beside him again, propping my head on a hand once more.

"Anyway," I said. "How's Botan doing?"

Another shrug. "She ran off this morning to go find Hiei and train. No clue where they are, but it's no skin off my nose."

"Uh huh. Sure."

Yusuke glared. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing," I said in a singsong voice. "Nothing at all."

A growl of warning slipped from between his teeth. "Tex—"

"Wanna play some Dragon Quest?" I was already up and scrambling out of arm's reach, heading for my bedroom. "I'll let you have the controller!"

Yusuke, being relatively easy to bribe, took the bait and followed me without threat of death or noogies or being force-fed spicy peppers. Sure, he glared a bit whenever Botan came up that night, but the gift of Dragon Quest was enough to keep his ire at bay. He sat on my floor while I took up residence on my bed, the pair of us lapsing into silence as the game queued up and we began to play through our most recent save file. Neither of us talked much, except for when Yusuke yelled at enemies or I nagged his reluctance to use healing magic on his party. Soon even that talk quieted, inconsistent light flickering through my dim room as the TV cast odd shadows over my bed, my desk, my bookshelf, setting hollows in Yusuke's cheeks and boogeymen beneath my bed. It's little wonder I flinched when Yusuke at last spoke, his voice little more than a sibilant whisper in the dark.

"Hey, Keiko?" he said.

"Yeah?" I said.

"How long until the next big emergency comes knocking, do ya think?"

I paused.

I told him, in time: "I'm honestly not sure."

And that was the truth, of course.

We had been back from the tournament for little more than a day, after all.

I knew what was coming, but I had no idea when it would arrive—and that made thoughts of what I should do next all the more agitating. It meant that all I could do was wait… and in the wake of my delayed expectations followed the riptide of uncertainty.

Because I couldn't decide how the hell to handle my tattoos in light of my dance classes, the next day I took the coward's way out and just didn't go to school at all.

They can't kick you out if you don't show up, right?

Right. Yes. Foolproof logic, if I do say so myself.

Anyway.

In order to minimize the chances of getting caught while taking a "mental health day" (my somewhat euphemistic term for playing hookie and ditching class), I left home wearing my uniform and headed off in the direction of the school. Once out of sight of my parents' place, I booked it to the train station and headed downtown, where I disembarked, changed clothes in the bathroom, and stared at the station map as morning commuters swirled around me like eddies of water in a rushing stream. No one paid me any attention as I decided where to go—a decision made when I recognized one of the most distant stops on the map, the city's name standing out like a gold ingot in a field of stones.

Mushiyori City, the map read.

"Mushiyori, huh?" Hitching my bag higher up on my shoulder, I murmured to no one at all, "Well, I've got all day to waste before aikido lessons tonight, so distance isn't an issue." A pause. Then: "Might as well get the lay of the land while I can, in that case."

Mushiyori was, after all, the city where our next adventure concerning Sensui and Itsuki would largely take place. Getting to know the city's secrets couldn't possibly go amiss, right…?

Well. It wouldn't go amiss so long as I didn't run into Sensui, that is. Which was a possibility, I admit, but I shoved the notion to the back of my mind and boarded the train anyway.

Much like Sarayashiki, Mushiyori City lay on the outskirts of Tokyo, more like a suburb than a true township in its own right. In its general makeup and layout it also resembled Sarayashiki, possessing a downtown shopping district along with an industry center and several areas of residence. I headed for downtown, as it seemed the most interesting and the most likely location to serve as the grounds for the Chapter Black arc of Yu Yu Hakusho. Nothing about the bright, shiny and populous district gave itself away as the site of eventual chaos I knew it would become, but nevertheless I walked its many streets and perused its many businesses with dutiful attention paid to alleyways (potential escape routes) and centers of human society (which we'd want to avoid, if we ended up fighting in this city). Try though I might to spot them with my mundane eyes, I didn't see any strange psychic bugs, however, nor did Sensui or Itsuki show their faces. Because it felt like the right things to do, I kept looking for and expecting oddities, but none availed themselves. By the time noon rolled around and hunger gnawed my belly, Mushiyori had proven itself to be little more than a reflection of Sarayashiki's small-town coziness replete with its own quaint vibes—an utterly normal town full of utterly normal people who went about their utterly normal business wearing utterly normal smiles and suspected nothing amiss at all.

But all of that felt like a damn lie—like a thin façade you could scratch away with the edge of a single coin.

It felt like that because I, meanwhile, felt anything but normal. Like a tumor growing where it didn't belong, conspicuous in the way it infiltrated a space where it was not meant to be. Shop owners treated me kindly, but I walked away from them with haste. People on the sidewalk smiled, but I looked at the ground without a word. When I felt eyes on me, I walked in the other direction rather than meet their kindness full on. I knew what was coming to their sleepy little town, after all, and I wasn't going to warn them about Doctor's murderous rampage or Sensui's destructive powers. I didn't deserve their smiles, in that respect.

Thus, I kept my head down, and I just kept walking.

When I could no longer ignore my hunger, I went to the nearest café and ordered something to eat. It was warm that day, cheery cherry blossoms floating in pink drifts to the café's flagstone patio. I sat at a table and watched people walk by, sipping tea and nibbling a scone as I tried to reconcile the picturesque scene with the restlessness bubbling in my chest. It was tough, however, when a mother and her child walked past, child laughing all the while as she reached for the petals falling from the sweet-scented tree.

My hands clenched around my teacup.

I wanted to tell that mother to run. To take her child and flee, because who knew what might happen here? Who knew when the chaos would descend, turning this sleepy town to the site of a demonic invasion?

But looking around, watching that child laugh, I couldn't help but wonder: Was this really the place where Chapter Black would take place? Was this utterly normal place really the spot where Sensui would open his gateway to Demon World? Was this utterly normal locale already crawling with psychic bugs I couldn't hope to see with my mundane eyes? Because surely Sensui had already started carving that tunnel to another dimension, allowing the bugs to invade this city of oblivious humans…

My eyes did not behold any bugs that day.

They did, however, behold American tourists, which is almost as alarming.

The tourists ambled past not long after the mother and her child walked away. They held cameras, and they oohed and ahhed at the sight of the cherry tree under which I sat. Their shutters clicked like hail striking a tin roof as they snapped photo after photo, talking to each other in English and laughing far too loudly for my tastes. Their Midwestern accents grated in my ears, too, and in spite of myself, I couldn't keep from wincing when they shrieked and pointed at the café's cute signage. Much as I felt out of place in Mushiyori's normal environment, so too did I feel out of place beside those Americans—odd, given I used to be one. Was that how I'd appeared when I visited another country? I sure as heck hoped not. Talk about embarrassing…

I much preferred the next gentleman who walked by, whose reserved nature stood in sharp contrast to the boisterous Americans. This middle-aged gaijin tourist wore a pressed linen suit (complete with matching trilby and a white-handled cane) and a large handlebar mustache, auburn hair streaked through with grey, and he stopped to admire the cherry tree in appreciative silence, smile serene and quiet as he caught a single cherry petal on his open palm. I watched him with a smile; he reminded me of my uncle, a little bit, and the sight of him made me feel oddly at peace for no particular reason at all.

That peace didn't last. Soon his eyes drifted in my direction; I looked away as fast as I could, but it was too late. He'd caught me staring, and with another serene smile he tipped his hat at me.

"Lovely day, isn't it?" he said—in a British accent, and the resemblance to my uncle made my heart swell.

"Yes, it is," I replied in English. "The cherry blossoms are beautiful this time of year."

His bright blue eyes glittered. "Ah, jolly good—the king's English!" he said, clearly delighted. "Haven't heard that spoken clearly in quite some time. Wondrous country, Japan, but I confess I miss my mother tongue." Another tip of his hat. "You have a cracking day, madam. Fare thee well!"

He walked off whistling a tune between his teeth, swinging his cane in a jaunty circle as his heels clicked against the sidewalk. I couldn't keep from giggling—but another passing tourist, hearing me speak English, approached to ask for directions, and I forgot about the dapper British gaijin entirely.

The latter half of my day passed as quickly as the first half, but try though I might, I didn't much enjoy my time away from school. "So much for a mental health day," I muttered as I headed back toward the train station. The process of wandering around, caught up in dreading the events to come, hadn't been particularly restful… but it wasn't all bad. "At least I didn't run into any familiar faces. Because that would've been—"

As soon as the words left my lips, I regretted them… because the minute I spoke that concept into the world, the universe heard me, and it delivered.

I'd been passing the front of an arcade as I spoke. Lights from the games placed neon sparks in the business' front windows, reflecting infinite colors in a whirlpool of like and hue. As I passed, a face swam forward through the colors, catching my eye the way a lure catches the attention of a hungry fish. However, for a second I didn't register to whom that face belonged, and I walked past the arcade without turning to glance at it—but then, reaction embarrassingly delayed, I backpedaled and all but smashed my face against the glass, peering through it at the boy on the other side. He played a crane game, and he didn't notice me as I stalked toward the arcade's front doors and marched inside. I must've stood behind him, fuming as I watched the reflection of his face in the game's glass front, for a good three minutes before I remembered to speak, clearing my throat with pointed articulation.

"Excuse me, young man," I said. "But shouldn't you be in school?"

"Huh?" said Amanuma as he turned. He looked panicked for the most fleeting of moments, but then he saw me and grinned, panic fleeing out of sight. "Oh, nee-san, it's just you! I thought you were a teacher for a second there." His face fell as he looked behind me and spotted no one. "But where are Yusuke and Kuwabara? Aren't they with you?"

"They're in school," I said. "Which leads be back to: Shouldn't you be in school?"

Amanuma, that brat just shrugged. "Shouldn't you?"

I blanched.

Amanuma smiled smugly.

I tucked my chin to my chest and grumbled, "… fair point, Ferris Bueller. I concede."

"Ferris who?"

"Nothing." I stepped toward the machine and pasted on a smile. "Whatcha playing, huh?"

Amanuma laughed and loaded another coin into the machine, explaining that he could've long won a prize, but he was aiming for the grand prize, and he needed to jostle loose a few other prizes before he could grab the big kahuna. I watched him play in silence, noting how easy it seemed for him to manipulate the claw and eventually pry loose the capsule containing the grand prize. As it dropped into the dispenser for him to claim, he gave a whoop of joy—but it turned quickly into a sigh, weary and quiet and slow.

"Too easy," he said under his breath. "I've played all these games already."

I tutted sympathetically. "Looks like you need something fresh, huh?"

"I guess."

"Thought so." I jerked my thumb at the door. "Why don't we go get some ice cream? Change up your pace a little, huh?"

His eyes brightened as he stuffed his prize in his pocket and out of sight. "Sure!"

An ice-cream parlor stood next door, luckily for us. I bought us our treats and snagged a spot on the patio, where we watched passersby do their shopping and chatter with one another, warm spring air a balm for Amanuma's dour mood. Ice cream cures all ills, and he shoveled his down with gusto and a grin… which made it all the more painful when, albatross instincts taking flight, I knew I couldn't let his behavior go unacknowledged any longer.

"Hey," I said, setting aside my cup of ice-cream. "I know this is awkward, but can you tell me why you skipped school?"

Amanuma's smile vanished. Giving his cone another lick, he shrugged, freckled face downcast as his mop of brown hair fell into his luminous blue eyes. I leaned forward, though, to catch his eye and smile.

"Is it maybe too boring?" I pried. "Or not challenging enough?"

He pulled a face. "That's not the reason."

"Then what—?"

Amanuma bared his teeth. "I didn't want to look at their stupid faces anymore, OK?" he snapped—a snap so loud, it was almost a yell. I jerked back at once, and Amanuma (whose face flushed bright pink with shame) averted his eyes, ice cream lying forgotten and melting in his slack grip.

"OK, OK. It's OK," I said, forcing myself to smile. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

Amanuma said nothing.

Then he grumbled, "Good," and went back to eating his frozen treat.

In silence we ate our ice-cream, but our silences possessed vastly different tenors: Amanuma's frustrated and self-conscious, mine mystified and uncomfortable. He wouldn't look at me as we ate, and I couldn't keep my thoughts from straying back to the anime from which Amanuma hailed. In it, Amanuma joined Sensui in his quest to obliterate the human race, as eager as Sensui to see that fate enacted on the unsuspecting humans of the world. He joined Sensui after Sensui appealed to Amanuma's feelings of alienation—because, I reminded myself, Amanuma thought his peers were all stupid and shallow and ignorant, that he was disliked and unloved because they were just too different. He even felt that way about his parents, absent as they so often were. Thus, he became easy prey for Sensui in that respect, tempted into compliance by Sensui's offer of payback against the people Amanuma thought had wronged him.

Back when we first met Amanuma, I had wondered if I was allowed to change those feelings. If I was allowed to give him friends and make him feel less alienated, knowing kindness would make him that much less likely to submit to Sensui's manipulation. And I thought, before then, that I had succeeded in that respect.

Now, though?

It looked like my influence hadn't really changed Amanuma's feelings about his classmates at all. And did that mean—?

In spite of myself, my skin began to crawl, and I set aside my ice-cream with a clatter of cup on shiny tabletop.

"Say," I said. "Amanuma."

He didn't look at me. "Hmm?" was all he said around a mouthful of rocky road.

"Have you heard from that friend of yours lately?" I asked as my thudding heart crept high into my throat. "The weird adult one we've talked about before?"

"Oh." Amanuma scowled. "I haven't seen him."

"OK." A held breath leaked from my lungs, relieved and tense. "OK, good."

He grunted, then asked in an oddly frantic rush: "You have a good spring break, nee-san, or was it super boring or something?"

"Oh. Uh. No. It was… good, I guess," I said, stammering at this unexpected question. "I… I went camping with friends."

He stuck out his tongue. "That sounds boring."

"It was." Better he believe that than the truth. "How about you?"

Amanuma shrugged. "Just played video games."

"I see." A beat, awkward and uncomfortable. "And was that fun?"

"… sure. I guess."

We lapsed once more in awkward silence. Amanuma crunched into his cone, expression sullen as ice-cream smeared across his nose. I tried to dab it away with a napkin, but Amanuma dodged my hand and glared until I withdrew.

"Kinda thought I'd see you and Yusuke and Kuwabara around during spring break, though," he said, staring at me with accusation painted in his eyes. "Would've been a lot more fun if…"

He trailed off.

His eyes averted.

Accusation changed to hurt in the span of a misplaced heartbeat—and in that time, my own heart broke in two.

So that was the problem.

Well, shit.

"Ah. I'm sorry, kiddo," I said, meaning ever word. "We weren't in town during spring break, or else…"

Amanuma glared again.

"Yeah," he said. "I noticed."

I wasn't expecting him to get up and leave, but that's exactly what he did: He stood, chair scraping horrifically against the pavement as he darted away from our table and toward the edge of the patio, leaving his napkin and the rest of his cone abandoned on the table. I stared after him in shock before bolting down the rest of my ice cream (and giving myself one hell of a brain freeze in the process). But my goodie-two-shoes nature wouldn't allow me to leave behind our trash, so I grabbed it all and basically chucked it into the wastebasket near the patio's edge, and at that point Amanuma was sure to have vanished into the many streets of Mushiyori's downtown—but as I left the patio and jogged in the direction he'd gone, I spotted him almost at once. He stood stock still under the awning of a florist's shop beside a display stand of daisies and lilies and tea roses, barely visible in the shadows of the heaped blossoms and awning's shade. Approaching him was like stepping into a cloud of perfume, cloying and sweet, and because he stared with such dogged intensity down the street, I said his name as I neared so I wouldn't scare him.

But I didn't scare him. He just turned toward me with an absent "Hmmm?" before looking away again, down the road toward… nothing. Just wandering passersby and a few cars, a pair of laughing children and their nearby parents.

"Amanuma," I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Are you OK?"

He seemed to come back to himself, thousand-yard-stared returning to the present. "What?" he said, as if waking from a deep sleep. "What did you say?"

"Are you OK?" I repeated. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"It's nothing," he blurted, a hectic flush pinking his cheeks. "I just thought…"

My mind leapt to a worst-possible-scenario, of course. "Was it that friend of yours?" I said. "Or did you see a bug, maybe?"

His nose scrunched. "A what?" Amanuma shook his head.

"Nothing. Never mind." And because he looked both mystified and embarrassed—a potent combination indeed—I changed the subject. "But I really am sorry, kid. About not seeing you during the break."

He hesitated. Then his chin ducked and he muttered, "Yeah. Thanks."

"Want to maybe hit up an arcade on Sunday?" I said. When Amanuma didn't reply, I sweetened the pot with an offer of, "I can get Yusuke to come with."

He looked up at once. "That'd be nice," he admitted. "And maybe Kuwabara?"

"Oh. Uh. Maybe him, too." Curse my need to reassure small children! Because I didn't want him forcing me to make an outright promise, I hastily added, "I'm going to be an albatross now and remind you that you can call me any time. For any reason." I pinned him with my best, Keiko-inspired no-nonsense stare to show him I meant business. "Allow me to reiterate: Any time for any reason. All right?"

But Amanuma didn't look entirely convinced. He just offered me a smile, one that only barely touched his eyes as he said, "Sure. See ya round, nee-san."

He broke into another trot, more sedate than the one before, and I watched him go in silence. Surprising no one, I couldn't help but wonder why he'd run so suddenly from the ice cream parlor—not to mention what he'd seen that had prompted that break for the street. Had he spotted Sensui, as I'd first suspected? Or perhaps Itsuki? Were they watching him, as I'd wondered so many times before? I'd asked Spirit World to keep an eye on the kid for me, so perhaps he was even sensing their presence (provided they had done as I'd asked in the first place and were monitoring him, of course). Amanuma was destined to develop a powerful psychic Territory thanks to expose to Sensui's hole in time and space, so perhaps whatever he'd sense had been a result of his burgeoning psychic abilities.

If he developed them at all, that is.

Would distance from Sensui at this crucial time in his development stunt his powers? It was a possibility I had briefly considered in the past, but there was no way to know for sure until the rubber met the road and the Chapter Black arc got going.

It was all conjecture, in the end. I reminded myself of that as I turned toward the train station, ready to head off to my aikido lesson and the promise of a reunion with Kagome. I reminded myself that there was nothing I could do but wait, and that meddling would likely do more harm than good. I reminded myself, perhaps futilely, that patience was a virtue I'd do well to emulate. All I could do was wait, and in the meantime hope that when Amanuma developed his Territory, he remembered that he could call me for any reason at all.

As I entered the station, a chill skated up my spine.

I wondered again if Sensui was watching.

And I wondered what the hell I'd do about it if I found out that he was.

Notes:

I literally have a checklist of all the characters in NQK's sphere; these exposition chapters will explore basically all of them one by one to see where she stands with all her friends before the plot kicks off in earnest. That means we've covered Kurama (at least in part), Yusuke, Kaito (mostly) and Amanuma. We'll get it all done soon, promise.

Definitely modeled that one gaijin on my uncle (rest in peace, you magnificent bastard). Miss him lots and was thinking about him today.

This chapter was going to be twice as long, but I decided to axe the final scene (Minato and Kagome catching up with Keiko) and do a shorter one so I could update again next weekend instead of making you wait. See you with the next chapter on Sunday, June 28.

And yes, the next chapter will be about Minato, Kagome and Keiko catching up on stuff. Stay tuned for the fun!

Thanks to everyone who chimed in last week. I'm so grateful for your support, especially in light of that milestone, and I can't thank you enough for continuing to read LC: silverpaper_toffeepaper, ShiaraM, PaddyGirl, MyMindIsTellingMeNo, Unctuous, Sanguinary_Tide, basketofseals, Cptkitten, NotQuiteAnonymous, Ms_Liz, Gerbilfriend, chigi23, RainbowWordStrings, willowfire, Capriciousfan, Seyuuu, JestFine, Nollyn, Sdelacruz2, Maruli, DragonsTower, musiquemer!

Chapter 109: A World Full of Zombies

Summary:

In which the Not-Quites philosophize.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Like a childhood companion long forgotten in time and faded memory, the aikido dojo greeted me like an old friend—familiar yet alien, a place I hadn't seen in a hundred years but had changed not a bit in the time I'd spent away. I froze when I walked through the door, stunned by the scents of sweat and plastic sparring mats, oiled blades and sawdust, determination and desperation and triumph blending in a heady swirl. The warehouse's dim lights swung from chains high above, groaning faintly as air drifted from the pair of young men tussling in the dojo's center ring. From the sounds of their struggle to the weapons cache in the corner to the group of students cheering the fights on, it was like stepping back into a dream you'd forgotten upon waking, and the shock of it stopped in my tracks.

Even though no one was looking at me, I felt as exposed and out of place as a nail awaiting the strike of some impartial, heavy hammer.

The sight of Kagome—the back of her head, specifically—brought some comfort, cold though it was. She stood off to one side of the fighting arena, her back to me, hands flying as she told an animated story to a group of our sensei's other students. Her voice rang exuberant and loud through the cavernous warehouse dojo; it was oddly heartening to hear her voice, I just stood there, watching her and counting the dojo's other familiar faces. Many students I had seen before. Others I had not. Still other old friends had not appeared, Ezakiya conspicuously missing. But I barely had a chance to wonder where he was and if he'd quit his lessons when a dry voice creaked through the air beside my elbow.

"Yukimura," Hideki-sensei said, emerging as though manifested by shadow itself. He looked me over as I calmed myself, grey hair falling into his observant black eyes. Once he'd ascertained I had arrived on two feet instead of inside a body bag, he observed, "I see you survived."

"Nice to see you too, sensei."

"No obvious scars," he dryly intoned. "All limbs intact."

"And only slight mental scarring," I assured him.

He harrumphed, ghost of a smile curling his lips. "About the norm for a Dark Tournament winner. Welcome back."

"Thanks, sensei. I—"

He ignored. "Don't expect me to go easy on you just because you lived through a difficult ordeal, by the way," he said, almost with a glare. "And at some point, I'll want details. Few witness those fights and live to tell about it."

"Naturally." This was about the warm fuzzy welcome I'd expected, and something oddly comforting lay in Hideki's gruff treatment. "So what's on the training menu tonigh—?"

"Oh my god, Keiko!"

She'd spotted me at last, and true to form, Kagome sprinted away from the knot of other students and threw her arms tightly around my waist, babbling about being happy to see me and needing to go get fro-yo so we could have a nice gab-sesh, stat. People stared, openmouthed, until I gave a nervous giggle and fought my way out of Kagome's grip (girl had arms like an octopus). She barely even noticed when I dragged her over to the wooden cubbies and coat hooks beside the door, just as she didn't seem to notice the many pairs of eyes watching our every move.

I said before that I felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb, but that moment had nothing on this one.

Luckily the boring sight of me taking off my shoes and putting away my backpack convinced people to stop staring sooner rather than later. One by one their eyes drifted away, and when Kagome and I finally lost our audience, I breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

"Girl, can we talk about you've been totally evasive since you got back?" Kagome was saying, hands on her hips and oblivious to my discomfort. "Can't believe it took two entire days for me to see you!"

"Yeah, well." I shrugged. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder and whatnot."

She rolled her eyes before socking my arm with a playful punch. "So spill! How'd the rest of the tournament go? Like, clearly you won, which was expected because it's not like you'd accept anything less, but—"

I shook my head with a wince. "Not here."

Kagome pouted. "But Eeyore…"

"We should probably have Minato here if we're gonna play catch-up."

"… fine." Even through her excitement, Kagome saw the logic in that excuse of mine—because it was an excuse, little did she know it. Kagome leveled an accusatory finger at me and declared, "But you owe me details and fro-yo, missy."

I told her she'd get both, though I couldn't promise in what order, and before she could protest or pry for a preview, Hideki-sensei called everyone over to do warmups in preparation for our lesson. Saved by the sensei, thank my lucky stars…

Falling into the rhythm of training didn't take long; muscles have long memories. We stretched and ran and exercised sting into our limbs, the bite of lactic acid like comfort nipping at my heels. Kagome stayed by my side, of course, little legs working double-time to keep up. She shot me excited looks at every opportunity. She knew that as soon as our training ended, we'd head to Minato's and dive into the source of her curiosity headfirst… but I met her excitement with trepidation, try as I might to not look like I was marching to my own funeral. It was bound to be a painful conversation, but still a part of me felt eager to get it over with. At least I'd be in the presence of friends who truly got me, right? They'd get it, the way no one else did. Whatever growing pains we went through together, that shared destiny of ours was bound to mend all woes.

But still. I sort of dreaded what they'd have to say about my actions during the final round. I knew I hadn't handled the chaos perfectly, and Minato and Kagome—especially Minato—likely wouldn't let that go unremarked upon.

It was like facing a teacher after you failed a test, I guess.

Or maybe I was overthinking things, as usual.

My emotions felt mixed when the class seemed both to take forever and pass in just a few minutes, our sparring and conditioning ending far too quickly for my reluctant tastes. I couldn't keep from dragging my feet when the lesson ended, trudging after Kagome to grab our bags and put on our shoes. Kagome got ready far quicker than I did, standing by the door and dancing from foot to foot as I slowly gathered me things. I shot her a smile as I bent to put on my shoes, but I straightened up again like a shot when someone spoke low into my ear.

"Hey, Yukimura," he said—and when I spun around with a yelp, I found Ezakiya standing behind me, large hand passing slow over his severe crewcut.

"Ezakiya!" I said. "When'd you get here?"

His hand disappeared into his pocket. "Right around when you did."

"… oh."

Ezakiya didn't say much else. He just smiled as I looked him over, confused, taking in his rumpled gi and bare feet with a frown plastered across my face. His tanned face ran slick with sweat, and a sweat-stain colored the front of his undershirt; clearly he'd been working out with us, thought how the fuck had I not seen him?

"Weird," I said, uneasy. "Somehow I missed you."

"That is weird," he agreed. He'd always had pleasant features, a boy-next-door face complete with dimples when he smiled. These dimples show up in full force when he said, "Anyway. I was wondering if you and Higurashi might wanna—"

"Sorry, Eza, but she's with me tonight." Kagome manifested at my side and threaded her arm through mine, smiling like a crocodile. "We'll catch up another day, OK, bye, see ya—"

I barely had time to shove my feet into my shoes before she dragged me out of the warehouse dojo and into the night beyond. Ezakiya's glum face was the last thing I saw before the door shut behind us, but Kagome left me no time to reflect on it; she was too intent on pulling me through the rows of warehouses surrounding the dojo, alleys lit by moth-orbited lamps and the glow of the nearby city. Eventually she pulled me into an alley between two dilapidated buildings and toward a door in one of their walls. I was pretty sure the building—which bore gaping holes in both its roof and walls—was condemned, or about to be labelled as such, and I started to point out that this was not a great location for Kagome's requested gab-session when she shoved a hand into her pocket. From it she pulled a small fistful of glittering objects, and for a second I wasn't sure what the heck they were.

But that was before she bent and placed one of the objects—a tiny moon forged of glimmering gold—against the bottom corner of the door's wooden frame. She couldn't reach the top corners, though, and soon had to ask me for my help.

"Since when has Minato trusted you with his little portal doodads?" I grunted as she clambered onto my neck.

"Since he got tired of having to come get me whenever I wanted to come over," she said, reaching upward to smack moons against wood. "Apparently I'm demanding. Now put me down!"

I obeyed, and when Kagome pulled the door open by its rusted knob, we did not see the interior of the dilapidated warehouse. Instead we looked upon the faintly lit arcade floor of the Game Crown Center in Tokyo. The starchy scent of vacuumed carpet wafted out the door, dry on the tongue and nostalgic for playlands past. A few still-active games beeped and buzzed, casting pinpricks of neon light across our faces; they turned Kagome's red overalls pink in tiny bursts and set blue stars into the depths of her eyes. As we stepped through the portal, the damp spring air changed abruptly to the cool, dry air of the air-conditioned arcade, making my skin itch at the sudden change in temperature and humidity—but before I could comment on this change, Minato's voice cut through the quiet.

"Kagome." He appeared in a ripple of shadow from around the corner of a racing game, blue eyes black in the dark. "I thought I told you to at least call before you—ah." He lifted a hand in greeting, expression relaxing somewhat. "Hello, Captain."

"Minato. It's good to see you." I quirked an eyebrow and forced a smile. "Have time to play catch-up?"

Minato smiled.

"Always," Minato said.

Without another word, we followed him to the Sailor V game in the center of the arcade floor and into the secret lair concealed beneath its glittering façade.

Silence rang like a hammered gong when I finished speaking. Then, slowly, Kagome wet her lips with a sharp flick of her tongue. Minato passed a hand over his buzz-cut hair, blond strands dyed pale violet in the light of the eddying galactic map embossed across the lair's domed ceiling. The stars moved slowly, their progress nearly indiscernible to the naked eye, infinitesimally slow and unnervingly steady. I watched these stars as Minato and Kagome continued to process what I'd told them, distracting myself from the telltale horror in their expression with the overhead dance of nebula and stardust. We sat on the half circle of couches that ringed the gigantic computer terminal in the center of the high-ceilinged room, the device's many panels and knobs and buttons glimmering with iridescent light, faint beeping and whirring undercutting the heavy silence that had fallen over our little band of displaced souls.

I'd been here before, but like so much else, I did not feel at home beneath the whirling stars.

"That's…" Minato began.

"A lot!" Kagome finished.

And that was true. All the changes in canon, my handling of them, everything Hiruko and Cleo had revealed, the reactions of my canon friends… it was just so damn much to take in, wasn't it? So I sat back and let them mull it over, because what else could I do?

Lucky me, though: They had the courtesy to read the stress on my face and not nitpick my actions too much. What was done was done, after all. But the looks on their faces when I told them what Hiruko had whispered in my ear as the stadium came down, and then everything Koenma had revealed about the Makers…

"Koenma said he'd do some research, try and see what Hiruko might be planning if we can dredge up any details about the Makers," I said, hoping to comfort them a little in the face of so much unknown. "But I have no idea when he'll find anything worthwhile, or even if he'll find anything worthwhile." Spreading my hands helplessly, I said, "So right now, all we can really do is wait."

"And you hate waiting, as you've so famously told us before," said Minato as he massaged his temples.

"Exactly." Very to the point, as always. Slapping my hands against my thighs, I said, "Well. You're all caught up now. So…" A pause, but neither Kagome nor Minato met my gaze. "Where should we even start?"

"Perhaps we should begin with Hiruko's gifts," Minato suggested after a minute pause. "Namely tattoos."

"Don't forget the iPod!" Kagome added. "And the eyes!"

"Bad things come in threes." A shiver skated up my spine; I pressed on. "Minato, you said on the phone while I was at the tournament that you had a theory about the iPod, but that was before the eyes and the tattoos. Care to share?"

"The theory remains the same, and it isn't a particularly groundbreaking leap of logic." He sat with perfect posture, shoulders back and head held high, but something in his bearing firmed as I watched him—firmed into steely resolve, a soldier facing down the enemy. Minato said, "In the theater of war, undermining the enemy's resolve can turn the tide toward victory."

"Resolve?" Kagome asked.

"The captain has been dedicated to playing her role as Keiko for quite some time, even at the expense of her own feelings and identity. The iPod constitutes a reminder of her past—a seductive reminder." His bright blue gaze grew distant, as if peering into the ether between worlds. "Music appeals to the most emotional parts of our minds, our souls."

"Awfully poetic of you, Minato," I muttered.

He ignored me. "How could the captain not feel more connected to her past life after listening to the music of her former existence?" he continued without pause. "And the more tightly she becomes ensnared in the feeling, the mood, the ambiance of her past self, the less likely she'll be to react to events as Keiko, which will result in her changing canon."

Silence invaded like a hostile force. Blood thudded in my ears, my lips. I tried to ignore it, but it wasn't easy. Every word a battle, I forced myself to say, "So you're saying that by giving me reminders of my past, I'm more likely to act like Tex than Keiko, and canon will suffer for it."

He frowned. "Tex?"

"Yusuke's new nickname for me. Not my favorite, but…"

"But you're correct," Minato said when I trailed off. "The iPod is a point of subconscious manipulation on Hiruko's part… and it appears to have worked, judging from your own account of choices made not as Keiko, but as your core self." He laughed, a sharp exhale through the nose. "I'd be impressed by Hiruko's tactical prowess if his work wasn't quite so insidious."

"Do you think the tattoos and eyes are part of that manipulation, too?" Kagome asked.

"The tattoos, yes. The eyes… are you sure Hiruko is behind them, Keiko?"

"Not sure what other explanation there is," I said, shrugging.

"Occam's Razor, I suppose," Minato mused—but to my surprise, he didn't appear convinced. Not totally, anyway. "But I will reserve judgment until proof is proffered. And besides…" His eyes narrowed, slivers of flame-hearted indigo against blond lashes. "That isn't the only suspicion I harbor about the nature of your experiences on Hanging Neck Island that currently lacks definitive supporting data."

I shifted in my seat, uneasily sliding my hands up and down my thighs—over my tattoos, I realized, and I snatched my hands away. "What do you mean?" I asked as I tucked them under my arms. "What other suspicions?"

But Minato shook his head. "I don't want to bias you, nor contribute to a self-fulfilling prophecy. But please keep in informed of your activities as time passes. If my hunch is correct, we'll know quite soon if what I suspect is true."

"You been talking to Cleo or something?" I said.

"Hm?"

"You're being very cryptic. Don't start calling me 'my child' every two seconds or I'll think you're colluding with the Fates or something."

But Minato didn't laugh at my joke. He merely rose from his seat and walked to the computer, sitting at the lone swiveling chair at the center of the large console. Screens flickered to life in the air above the console, panels of projected pastel light replete with charts and graphs and figures—all labeled in German. My German was coming along fine, but most of the words I did not recognize. I thought that maybe he was pulling something up to show us, but when he neither turned around nor spoke, Kagome and I exchanged a Look.

Minato, the Man of Mystery, we silently said. Neither of us could read him on the best of days, and I got the sense that just then, he did not want to be read.

Still, though. Burning with curiosity though we were, we didn't push him or pry, both our mouths kept tightly shut. Minato was a man of his word. He meant what he said, to borrow a certain motto of mine. I trusted Minato to do as he said and to clue me in when the time was right, revealing the nature of his super mysterious suspicions exactly when it became appropriate.

And besides. I was enough of a scientist to know the value of a blind study.

"Well, anyway." Pulling my bag onto my lap, I reached inside and drew the iPod into view—earning a delighted gasp from Kagome in the process. "About the iPod. What do you two think I should do with it?"

Minato didn't turn around, nor did he stop typing. "My first instinct is to throw it away, or lock it out of sight and away from temptation," he said, eyes locked on the flickering graphs and charts projected above him, "but I get the sense you'll resist that advice."

"Damn straight! Who would give up Beyoncé willingly?" Kagome said with a giggle, and then she turned her large, watery eyes my way. "Not to make this totally awkward, but, like… can I please listen to some more Beyoncé before we make a decision about the iPod?"

Curse her puppy-dog eye. I handed it over without a fight. "Be my guest."

"Oh, thank god," she muttered, and she took the iPod from me with something close to reverence. Her eyes grew larger and larger as she scrolled through the music selection, and I half suspected she might start crying when her face screwed up in confusion. She turned that frown my way to say, "Hey, I thought you said you didn't have 'Check On It' on here."

"I don't."

"I mean… then what's this?"

She'd hit play and started blasting a song at top volume, and despite the tiny headphone speakers, I could hear the song quite well: 'Check On It' by Beyoncé, unmistakable bass line thudding against Kagome's hand with a rattle and a buzz. I stared at her as she started to dance, body moving but face frozen in an expression of confused accusation. Me, keep her favorite song from her? Heaven forbid.

"Oh. Uh." I scratched the back of my neck, uncomfortable. "Must've not seen it the first time I looked, I guess."

"Well, whatever." She bounced back fast, popping to her feet so she could dance. "I can't keep still when I listen to this. Dance break time!"

It's tough to say no to Kagome, especially when she's got that enormous, gleaming grin on her face. She grabbed my hand and pulled me up to dance with her, and soon she did the same thing to Minato, who suffered the indignity of situation with surprising patience. By the time Kagome deemed the dance break over, I half suspected he might be a secret Beyoncé fan. Would explain why he gently (but firmly) pried the iPod away from her as she sat back down beside me.

"I get why you wouldn't want to give that up," she said as she stared longingly at the iPod. As Minato walked away and inserted the device into a slot in the massive computer terminal for analysis, Kagome heaved a sigh. "Hearing that after so long… it's hard to imagine giving that up once you get it, y'know?"

"That's probably all the more reason why I need to be careful with it," I said. "One song a day or something. Right, Minato?"

He was looking at the screens again. "That would be my prescription, yes."

"One dose of musical medicine a day, eh Doc?"

"If you want to think of it that way, then yes," he said, fingers flying across his keyboard. "Though I thought my nickname was 'Rabbit,' not 'Doc.' Isn't he one of the Disney dwarves?"

Kagome giggled, but she said nothing. Neither did I, and neither did Minato. In silence we sat once more, until the slot on the computer spat the iPod back out into Minato's awaiting hands.

"There is nothing unusual about its construction," he said as he handed it over to me—and when Kagome grabbed for it, he rolled his eyes. "Using it poses no physical harm, at least."

"Good to know." She jammed the earbuds back in her ears and scrolled through the iPod for a minute. "I need my Beyoncé fix."

Only when she selected another track, Kagome didn't appear too happy. She sank deeper and deeper into her seat on the couch, expression morphing into one of faraway sadness as she scrolled through my collection of music. Soon she chose another song (Rhianna, this time) but she looked little more than glum as it played.

"I don't want to talk about the other thing," she said after a time. "But I think we have to, eventually."

I took a deep breath. "Yeah."

Her dark eyes cut my way, their depths sparked blue from the starlight overhead. "Is it a stupid question, to ask what he meant when he said this isn't real?" she muttered, shuddering in her pale red overalls. "Or…?"

"No. I don't think it's stupid," I said.

Minato's hands stilled upon the computer terminal. He rotated his chair toward us bit by bit, stormy blue eyes full of uncertain clouds. He wore his usual dress pants with a button-up and a tie, and while I knew he was anything but a kid, just then he appeared small—like he matched the age of the body he inhabited, just for an instant, shoulders small under the weight of that silk tie and severe crewcut.

"I don't know where to begin when it comes to parsing out his meaning," he said, words chosen with obvious care. "It's… a layered discussion. And true to form, Hiruko remained as vague and mysterious as ever despite this revelation." He shook his head. "An answer that raises more questions than it resolves…"

Kagome tittered an affirmative reply—but while they looked perplexed, I cracked my knuckles and grinned, especially when they each turned my way with comically twinned what-the-heck-are-you-smoking looks on their faces. Oh, sure, look at the philosophy student like she's the crazy one… but that was a normal reaction, I guessed. Not too many people get as excited about that kind of crap like I do.

"All right, y'all," I said, popping my knuckles and cracking my neck. "Stand back. This is where I come in."

"Uh." Kagome looked me up and down like I'd just declared I wanted to paint myself pink and dance the polka. "You feeling OK there, buddy?"

"Fine and dandy, friends," I brightly replied. "Because I'm a former philosopher, and I've been waiting my whole life for something like this. Basically, what we're talking about here is solipsism distilled, and—"

Kagome's hand shot up. "Question!"

"Yes, Tigger?"

"What's solipsism?"

"Very glad you asked," I said. Raising one finger into the air, I proclaimed, "Solipsism is 'I think, therefore I am.'"

One blond eyebrow lifted high across Minato's forehead. "I've heard that before, but…"

"Solipsism is the theory that the self is the only thing we can be reliably sure to exist," I said, excited in spite of myself to discuss one of my favorite philosophical arguments. "Like, I think and I feel, so I know I exist—but for all I know, everything else that I observe might actually be an illusion created by my mind."

Kagome frowned. "Oh, OK. That makes sense." Her frown deepened. "But wait. I think, therefore I am. And so do you, and so does Minato, so—"

"Are you sure that Minato and I can think?" I asked her (hell yeah, let's use the Socratic method, baby). "What if we're part of the illusion your brain created? You aren't aware of our consciousness, after all. You can only reliably know that yours is real."

"… Oh." A beat passed. Recognition sparked as suddenly as striking lightning, and Kagome's face contorted into a mask of horror. "Oh. Oh! That's awful! You're saying nobody exists but me!"

"Well, in my case, only I exist," I said. "From my perspective, you're one of the illusions crafted by my consciousness."

"I. Am. Not. An. Illusion," Kagome said, each word as piercing as a sharpened blade. Her ire cooled a bit as horror (probably of the existential variety, given the subject matter) took hold of her again, eyes wide with unwilling understanding. "That's so… that's so lonely, though," she said, as if pleading with me to contradict her. "Because it's basically saying I'm totally alone in the universe, and that I don't even realize it."

"Right," I said—gently. Because I didn't much like the raw edge in Kagome's voice, nor the way her hands had fisted in the fabric of her overalls. "There are several variations of solipsism, of course, with varying degrees of metaphysical isolation and nuances of proposed existence, but… when Hiruko said that nothing here is real, it was hard not to think of solipsism."

Minato's eyes widened just a tad, but he smoothed his face into a neutral mask almost immediately afterward—so fast, I almost wondered if I'd been imagining it.

Almost.

"The problem of other minds has been a point of discussion in philosophy for centuries," I continued. "If we want to get deep in the philosophy weeds, we could talk about the brain-in-a-vat thought exercise, mind-body dualism, 'What is it Like to be a Bat?', how this entire scenario is basically the definition of Descartes' worst nightmare…" I giggled, unable to help it. "I did apparently call Hiruko a 'motherfucking Cartesian ego-centrist' back when I first heard his plans, after all…"

"I didn't follow a word of that," Minato dryly said, "but I'm glad you seem to be having fun."

"Sorry. I'm quality philosophy nerd-session. Stop me if I try to define 'qualia' for you." When nobody laughed, I muttered, "That joke would've killed at a philosophy conference."

"Wait, what did you say about brains in vats?" Kagome asked, voice pitching high with worry. "Like, in The Matrix?" She glanced at Minato and back at me again. "There were people with brain in vats in those movies, right?"

"That's actually exactly what I'm talking about when I talk about solipsism and brains in vats," I said (and at this revelation, Kagome looked appropriately disturbed). "Much like everything the stuck-in-a-vat-people in The Matrix saw was a fictional world created by robots to keep the people sleeping and complacent, what if this world isn't real, either?"

Now even Minato looked horrified, not bothering to hide the agitated twitch in his jaw or the reluctant recognition in his eyes.

"My point is that when Hiruko said none of this is real," I continued, "I had to wonder how far that statement really, truly extends. I can only assume he thinks that he's real, and that he thinks I'm real, but what else? Who else? What fits into his definition of real, what is objectively real, and what falls under the umbrella of a subjective conscious experience?" No one said anything, so I looked at Kagome and Minato and voiced a plaintive, "Y'know?"

Minato cleared his throat. "To cut through what I can only assume is exhaustive academic over-complication—"

"Guilty."

"—you're asking what's real and what's not, and how we can differentiate and define the concept of 'real' to begin with," he said. "Am I correct?"

"Yes. Very. And good on you, making sure we define our terms before we really get started. That's a key part of having a coherent philosophical discussion, and—"

"Captain." Minato sounded tired. "Captain, please."

"Sorry." I took a deep breath and tried to banish my nerdy enthusiasm—an easy feat once I remembered the gravity of the situation. In much more somber tones, I said, "I'm asking what Real-with-a-capital-R things have in common with Hiruko, and what the nature of Unreal things must be in comparison." My fists clenched, trembling balls of glass-fragile tension at my sides. "Because for all the books I've read, there's only one definition that could fit the Unreal people around us, and… and I hate it."

Minato's chin inclined, eyes narrowing. "Hate?"

But Kagome focused on something else: "Us?" she asked. "What do you mean, us?"

Minato's chin lowered again. "I think I know," he muttered, eyes locked on mine.

I gestured for him to take the floor. "Please."

He gave me a sharp nod in return. "Based on the captain's use of that collective pronoun, I can only assume she believes that you and I are Real, Kagome. And that she is Real, and that Hiruko is Real. Correct?"

"Yup," I said. "And Cleo, if I had to guess. She knows too much and appears to be outside Hiruko's control, so… it's hard to imagine she's not Real, too."

"And if I had to guess who you think is not Real…" said Minato.

We traded a long, silent look.

In his eyes flared recognition.

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah. That's right."

Kagome glanced between us, to Minato and me and then back again. "Is it… everyone else?" she guessed, recognition flaring in her eyes, too.

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah. That's right."

Her jaw dropped, only to snap closed again. "But why?" she demanded, shaking her head at almost the same time. "Wait, don't answer. I think… is it because we're all from another world?" I hadn't even gotten that far yet, but there she went, sharp as ever and absolutely spot on. Kagome continued, saying: "Apparently we're from the same other world, and if we're Real because we're from that world…" She swallowed, a grimace carving lines around her mouth. "The people around us are all from a story, from a fiction. They're not from a world. Not really. So you think…" Kagome searched my face, desperate. "Do you think they are fictional? Maybe? Does that make them Unreal?"

"This is all predicated upon the idea that Hiruko was telling the truth," I cautioned her—because panic had begun to bubble in her gaze like a spring breaking through hard earth, cold and clear and burgeoning. Desperate to stem desperation's flow, I said, "Keep that big, big caveat in mind as we talk, and keep in mind that he could be lying and that this could all be some type of distraction he's counting on to throw us off track. But…"

Here came the hard part. Steeling myself, I faced Kagome and placed a hand over hers, hoping my touch could comfort her in ways that words could not.

"If we take Hiruko's words at face value, he's implied he created this place, and that us three… we're imports, sort of," I said—putting thoughts I'd long entertained into words for the very first time, but with them came no relief. Only disquiet trembled in my chest as I told my friends, "We're imported souls from another world. We're borrowed, and judging from the memories Hiruko showed me…"

"Which might not be real." Minato winced. "Sorry to use that word. But that could've been a trick."

"Very true," I said. "But supposing all of what he's said is correct and not a lie—a possibility Cleo strongly hinted at—I can't help but wonder if we're Real, but the people around us who came from fiction…"

I trailed off.

"Aren't," Minato supplied.

Silence reigned.

Minato stared.

Kagome didn't move.

"Right," I said, eventually. "What if Hiruko somehow used fiction as the… as the parameters for this world? As a guide?"

Kagome's nose wrinkled. "Like a fanfic author writing a fic and using someone else's world and characters?"

"Yes. Great metaphor." Sticking with her (frankly perfect) metaphor, I said, "But then instead of inventing some OCs to do what he wanted, he basically… he basically invited in some other writers and put their self-inserts into his story, his world, where they could run amok with independent thought and sentience apart from his."

"Hold the fucking phone, Eeyore," said Kagome. "Are you telling me this entire situation is a gigantic online role-play story?"

I fidgeted. "I mean…"

"That's insane," Kagome said with deadpan snark. "That's insane and I refuse to accept it."

"Yeah. It's… not great," I said, shrugging. "You could also use Dungeons & Dragons as a metaphor, like he's the dungeon master and we're players and everyone else is an NPC—"

"That's making it worse!" Kagome half-shrieked—but her words died quickly, chased away as a hand lit on her chin and understanding brightened her dark eyes. Grudgingly she admitted, "But that does explain why this world is so weird in some places. Like he's bad at world-building or something."

"What do you mean?" Minato asked.

"There's not a lot of fiction here, right? Like, stories are missing?" she said. "If he made this world, and this place is all his creation, maybe those stories don't exist because he just… didn't know about them?"

"I mean, that fits into the idea of solipsism, in a sense," I said. "The truth of this world is limited by the perceptions and knowledge of the being who created it, sort of."

"Like a writer who didn't do proper research before writing their book," Minato said. "Or their fanfic, to keep with the metaphor."

"It wouldn't surprise me if all that was true." My fingers fiddled with the hem of my shirt, rolling it into a tight skein. "He didn't seem to recognize my Peter Pan references, after all."

"It would also explain why he needed to ask for your permission before placing you in this world," said Minato. "Perhaps diverting the destination of a soul without its permission is in violation of some cosmic law we are unaware of."

"Another great point I hadn't thought of," I murmured.

No one spoke, then, lapsing into silence on contemplation's tide. We had so many theories, but without confirmation or evidence, they would remain exactly that: theories. But I wasn't totally uncomfortable with that uncertainty. The pursuit of philosophy isn't about conclusions, but rather about asking questions that might not ever be answered.

Basically, I was used to this.

Thanks, undergrad.

But while I was used to this, the others weren't. Minato shifted restlessly in his chair, crossing and uncrossing his legs before placing his feet flat on the floor, hands arranged purposefully atop his knees. "Earlier you said there was a definition you hated to apply to the fictional characters in our lives," he said when the silence stretched too thin. "What is it?"

A grimace pulled my mouth.

"Right. That," I said.

My friends waited in silence for me to speak. I took a long, deep breath.

"If," I said, "we are to accept the theory that this world is a giant illusion crafted by Hiruko, and that everyone but us is a product of a borrowed fiction, and are thus not Real… the beings around us, with whom we live and interact, fit the definition of a philosophical zombie."

"Zombie?" Kagome lurched upright in her seat, alarmed. "First fanfic and now zombies? What the hell did you even study in college, Eeyore?"

"It's a little hard to explain without getting into more academic mumbo-jumbo, but… did you ever see The Good Place?" I asked. "The TV show?"

"Uh. Yeah?" Kagome said. "But why?"

"Remember Janet?"

"Yeah. What about her?"

Minato cleared his throat. "I don't understand this reference."

"Janet was basically a… she was like Siri for the afterlife," Kagome supplied. "You could shout 'Janet!' and she'd appear and get you whatever you wanted while you were in the afterlife."

"But she wasn't sentient. She wasn't even a 'she,' really," I added. When Minato's confusion did not abate, I said, "And that was a big deal. She looked like a human woman, but she wasn't, and whenever anyone treated her with regard for her emotions, she helpfully reminded them that she wasn't real. That she didn't feel. That she was basically a computer. 'Not a girl' was basically her catchphrase. But then if someone tried to kill her…"

Minato blanched. "Why would someone want to kill someone so helpful?"

"Plot reasons," said Kagome, helpfully.

"Basically," I concurred. "What you need to understand is that Janet had a kill-switch, and if you tried to press it, she'd cry. She'd scream. Beg for her life. Show you pictures of a family she didn't have and tell you that you'd be leaving her children motherless if you pressed that button. She'd put on a convincing show of terror befitting a sentient being, but it was an act—an act she readily admitted was not a real show of emotion. She didn't feel any fear or dread; the theatrics were just a way of protecting herself."

Here I took another deep breath.

Because once I said this, there was no going back.

"Janet was basically a philosophical zombie," I said, careful and slow and deliberate. "At first, anyway. To put it simply, a philosophical zombie is a being that seems real. It seems sentient. It playacts the part of a feeling, sentient, consciousness-possessing person perfectly, but it's none of those things. It's a simulacrum, a robot, a zombie, completely indistinguishable from a real person in every way that matters… and yet, it isn't real. It isn't conscious at all. It just puts on a convincing illusion."

No one spoke. I tried to ignore the disquiet in my chest.

I'm not convinced I did a good job, though.

"If solipsism is to be taken seriously," I said, voice quavering the slightest but, "it means that while you are Real and sentient, everyone else whom you perceive is actually just a philosophical zombie—a being who seems Real in every way, but simply put, is not."

There followed the longest moment of silence yet.

And then, with a whisper, Kagome broke it.

"My grandpa?" she whispered with wide and wild eyes. "You mean, he's—?"

I closed my eyes. "Yes."

"My brother?"

"Yes."

"My mom?"

"Yes, Kagome," I said. "All of them."

She didn't say anything.

Then, in the most plaintive, lost, and broken voice I had heard in this or in any life, she told me: "I hate this. I hate it."

"Yeah," I said as my heart broke. "Yeah. Me, too."

She wasn't the only one who had to think of her loved ones in possibility's fresh light. My parents, my friends, Yusuke and Kuwabara and Hiei… and Kurama. That's why it had been so hard to look him in the eye when he reached for my hand, lately. Why it had been easier to reach for Jin, who was destined to fly off into the sunset soon enough, taking my feelings with him and out of sight. The thought that the affection in Kurama's gaze, the affection I had taken comfort in so many times, might not actually be Real… it was off-putting. Hard to handle. Hard to look at and even harder to give in returning, knowing I might be aiming it at someone who could never love me back, feel anything Real for me in return.

I hadn't been able to look at Kurama the same way since Hiruko's revelation.

And I wasn't the only one who had trouble adjusting to the idea of a world full of zombies. Kagome shot out of her seat without warning and began to pace, gnawing at her nails as her eyes roved over the star-covered ceiling, the cool white tiles of the floor, the glowing pastel panels of the massive computer terminal. But she looked without seeing, eyes too distant and too removed for me to hope to follow.

Minato seemed content to let her pace, to let her work out her feelings on her own. Turning to me and away from her frenetic energy, he said, "Do you suppose there is a reason why the world we came from is so special?"

"Special how?"

"Fiction here is limited. In our world, it's abundant. Of course, we can blame Hiruko's lack of knowledge on some missing stories in this reality, but… why do stories run freely in our world in comparison?" Trouble brewed in his eyes' blue depths, a kraken rising from the deep. "If someone made this world, did someone else make ours? And how did they, whoever they are, have a better grasp of story than Hiruko?"

"Maybe this Maker thing made us. Maybe it knows all, sees all."

"For an atheist, you've adjusted to the idea of a Maker quite comfortably."

"Hey, I'm still an atheist!" I laughed, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet, underground bunker. "I have no idea if the Maker is real or not, or if it's actually a god-type-being worth worshipping. Until I get evidence, I'm just rolling with the punches. But anyway." Mirth aside, I told him, "If that Maker thing isn't behind our old world, then maybe… maybe the people our world are to blame."

"Meaning?" he said.

It felt silly to say it, but nevertheless, I persisted. "I was a writer," I told him. "I made stories. The creator of Yu Yu Hakusho lived in our world, apparently, and he also made stories, one of which Hiruko brought to life. And your canons were all made by people in our world, as far as we know. So maybe… maybe something about our world makes it more prone to stories, somehow?" It felt even sillier now that I'd birthed the words into the universe, but it was too late to take them back no matter how skeptical Minato looked at the idea. "If everyone in our old world was Real, perhaps it's… it's some kind of source for fiction, almost. Unreal birthed from the Real. And if fiction isn't Real-with-a-capital-R, then Hiruko could manipulate and use it as he saw fit without repercussions."

His skepticism faded a tad. "Hence why he had to ask for your permission to use your soul, but likely did not have to ask permission to use the fiction from which our identities hail," Minato said.

"Exactly," I said. "And that means—"

"I hate this!"

Minato and I looked at Kagome in unison, finding her standing a few feet away with feet spread beneath her tiny form, hands fisted at her hips, shoulders hunched, head bowed. Black hair obscured her face, nothing but the thin line of her trembling mouth visible beneath her midnight fringe—and then she raised her head, revealing tear-stained cheeks and reddened eyes that bored into my own like the point of a sharpened nail. Stars made her eyes burn cold with distant celestial light. She looked like her sister, then, possessed by grief and confusion and anger so intense, not a trace of hope in her gaze remained.

"My mom, my grandpa, my brother? None of them are Real?" Her hands lashed out at nothing, striking at invisible specters. "That's stupid! It's baloney!"

Minato rose to his feet. "Kagome—"

"They aren't zombies, Eeyore. They just aren't. They can't be." An open palm smacked her chest, settling over her heart like a sorrowful, savage sledgehammer. "If I'm real, then so are they. I refuse to accept the idea that the people I love aren't real. That they don't love me back."

I stood, too. Soothingly I said, "No one is saying that—"

"But that's exactly what we're saying!" Kagome snarled—a sound I had never heard from her before, and one that chilled me to my bones. "We're saying that we're Real, but they aren't, and that the things they feel for us aren't Real, either. It's just an illusion, an act meant to fool us. But that's bullshit!" A curtain of night fluttered around her shoulders like a shield when she shook her head, teeth gnashing, hands still clenched. "I don't believe it. I won't believe it. Because if we're so easily fooled, what does that say about everything else we think is Real, huh?"

"What do you mean?" Minato asked.

"If I'm so easily fooled into thinking my family here is a bunch of zombies, what about my memories of my past life?" Kagome said. "What if those aren't Real, either? What if Hiruko implanted them? We know he fucked with your head, Eeyore, so what about that? What if my husband, my sister, aren't even—" She couldn't bear to finish the statement, shaking her head again with a wordless, wild cry of loneliness and pain. "I can't accept that they might not be Real, too! I can't accept that I can't trust what I'm perceiving!"

"Kagome, I'm so sorry—" I tried to tell her, but she cut me off again.

"I lived my old life," she said, insistent and not backing down. Her eyes held invitation to a challenge, but no one obliged her. "I lived it just like I'm living this one. I loved who I loved then, and I love who I love now, and they all loved me back, and I swear—"

The fire in her died, then. A coal smothered by snow. She sniffed once, twice, three times. Tears welled in her dark eyes, crystal bubbling against deep black.

She looked as fragile as crystal, then.

I worried if I touched her, she'd break.

"They loved me back, Eeyore, Minato," she said—but it sounded like a question, devoid of any certainty. "Zombies don't do that. They don't love you back." The tears overflowed, crystal turning to ribbons of weeping woe. And like fractured crystal, her voice broke when she asked, "How am I just supposed to accept that they aren't Real when they loved me back?"

"Kagome." Minato stepped forward, taking action as I fought for words. For clarity. For something. Resolute and firm, he told her, "Now is not the time to lose our heads. We need to focus, set aside our emotions, and—"

"Minato."

He stopped talking. Turned to me. Traded another of our silent looks, long and lean yet laconic, a wordless war that ended when he cast his eyes aside and slowly shook his head. But he'd backed down, and that was what mattered as I turned to Kagome—to Tigger, my best friend, my first companion—with a smile she did not return.

"Sorry, Kagome," I said, as gently as I could and then even gentler still. "I don't have the answers you're looking for—because you already have them." My smile widened. "You have all the answers you need, I think."

She sniffed, crystal tears still flowing. "What does that mean?" she asked in an emotion-thick groan. "Huh?"

"Love doesn't exist in a vacuum, Kagome. If you gave them love, and you felt that love reflected back at you in return… that's proof enough that they're Real." I kept smiling, even as her lips parted in astonishment. "Nothing else matters, in the end. Love withstands the force of all those petty details."

Kagome burst into tears when I was through. I held her as best as I could. Minato watched in silence, uncomfortable—but he didn't say anything, or tell her not to feel what she felt again.

He didn't ask me if I believed what I'd said, either.

Truth be told, I wasn't sure if I did.

I just hoped Kagome believed enough for both of us.

We sat down on the couch, eventually, where I rubbed Kagome's back in small, soothing circles. Minato joined us after a time, sitting on Kagome's other side. He even patted her hand a few times, looking reluctant but determined to not police her emotions as he'd tried to before. He was trying, at least, to comfort her; it was nice to see, and much appreciated.

But Minato, try though he might, couldn't keep up the touchy-feely shtick for very long; it just wasn't in his nature. "I think we're done for tonight," he said when Kagome's sobs had mostly stopped, and he had the good sense to make the declarative sound tender. "At least on this subject."

Kagome sniffled, but she didn't protest. In fact, she nodded, mopping at her streaming eyes with her sleeve. She didn't say anything, though, so I forced a smile and patted her back.

"Then we're in agreement," I said. "And I gotta admit, I have bigger issues to think about than this one, anyway."

Just one of Minato's eyebrows shot up (an impressively elastic feat). "How so?"

Kagome stared at me, nonplussed. "What could possibly be bigger than this?" she groused. "I mean, seriously?"

I groaned and covered my face with my hands. "The possibility of my parents finding out about my tattoos, that's what!"

Kagome gasped, scandalized. "Oh my god!" she said. "Oh my god, no!"

"Right?" I said, equally scandalized. "That would be the end of the world!"

Kagome agreed, of course, and she launched into a spirited tirade about makeup I could wear to cover them, distraction plans in case they were spotted, and the likelihood of faking an injury for the rest of my high school career to get me out of gym class. Girl gave me a run for my money with her storytelling abilities, that's for sure. Every last one of her plans was more lurid and elaborate than the last, and I listened in fascination at each of her new ideas—ones I was certain she invented to distract herself from the previous conversation, but still.

Minato, however, didn't seem as enthralled. He got up and headed for his computer, sitting and spinning his swivel chair around to face the computer console. I ignored him as he typed and pulled up a few screens; he'd clearly had enough social interaction and drama for one night, and I didn't blame him one bit. Time to give the poor guy space from the theatrics, indeed…

"I've been wearing shorts and stuff, but even with them on, I'm super paranoid," I told Kagome when she stopped talking long enough to draw breath. "It sucks balls. I was really looking forward to taking dance classes, too."

"I'll bet," Kagome said. Poking up the hem of my basketball shorts until she could see the bottom of my octopus piece, she said, "They're pretty, by the way. Love the rainbow colors. But I never much figured you for the tattoos type."

"People in my old life said the same thing," I confessed. "Apparently I seem pretty straight-laced until I take my pants off."

"Pervert!" she said with a maniacal giggle. "That's hilarious!"

"Captain." Minato's chair spun just enough for me to see his face around the side of its high, white back. "Over here, please."

I stood with a frown. "What's up? I—oh, wow."

To my surprise, a panel in the floor beside the computer terminal slid backward with a click and a whir. From the dark depths below rose a pod, a weird coffin-like contraption made all of glass—a pod I'd seen before. Minato had placed Botan in one just like it at one point, keeping watch on her vitals until she woke from her post-Jagan coma. The front of it popped up and slid aside with a rush of compressed air, and when Minato gestured for me to step inside, I did so with heart in my mouth—but nothing much happened after the lid slid shut. A pale blue light washed over me in a cool wave, passing and disappearing in a second, and then the door slid open again. I stepped free of the pod as Minato typed a few things into the computer, thoroughly confused and infinitely curious.

"So. Uh. What's this about?" I said as I watched him type.

He pressed a button, but rather than reply, he just watched as a hidden panel beside his keyboard slid open. A small plastic gachapon capsule rolled into the cavern beneath the panel; this he delivered into my waiting hands without a word or flourish, actions as simple, economical and precise (and mysterious, I can't help but mention) as any I'd ever seen from him.

"Uh… thank you?" I said, staring at the capsule in confusion. It was made of gold plastic and perfectly opaque, no clues given as to its contents. "I think?"

Minato grunted as he sat back down at the computer. "You're welcome."

"But, uh… what the heck is it?"

Minato said, "Earrings."

"… thanks. Once again, I think?"

A single blue eye turned in my direction. "Recall," Minato said, "a certain pair of earrings I made for your friend Botan…"

And like the mechanism of a gachapon machine, suddenly it all clicked. "Oh. Oh!" I clutched the capsule with new appreciation and shrieked, "OH MY GOD, MINATO, YOU'RE A GODDAMN GENIUS!"

He turned fully in my direction, both brows raised to full mast this time. "Were you not hinting that you wanted a set?" he said in honest-to-god confusion. "I assumed that's why you brought up your tattoos again, but…"

"I completely spaced, actually, and was not dropping any hints. Which doesn't bode well for my intelligence, but I digress." Possessed by my Japanese upbringing, I sank into the lowest and most grateful bow of my entire goddamn life. "Oh my god. Oh my god, Minato, I am so—"

"Don't thank me yet." He turned back to the computer, but I caught the pleased smile on his lips. "I'm not entirely sure how well they will be able to hide your eyes, given I don't know the mechanism that trigger their metamorphosis. But it should hide the tattoos quite easily."

"Oh my god, still, thank you, I am just—wait." I clutched the capsule to my chest. "Am I allowed to wear earrings at school?"

"Are your ears even pierced?" Kagome asked.

"Oh shit, they aren't!"

"Oh, no worries," she brightly intoned. "I can do it in the bathroom if we can find a needle and some ice."

"Please don't," said Minato (he sounded tired again). "And I accounted for that, anyway. They're clip-ons."

It was just too much to bear. Casting my Japanese manners aside, I embraced my American past and marched over to Minato so I could throw my arms around his neck, embrace awkward but sincere as I grabbed him around the back of his chair. He tensed up the second I touched him, but I just nuzzled my face into his hair and held on tight.

"Minato, I adore you," I said with utmost sincerity. "I would do anything for you. You are my favorite human alive and I will literally lay down my life to protect you if required."

"Hey, what'm I, chopped liver?" Kagome warbled.

Not missing a beat, I replied, "You can't make magical earrings—"

"Not magic," said Minato. "Science!"

"—and he can, so right now, he's my fav.""

"Well that sucks!" Kagome laughed. "Looks like I gotta step up my game, huh? Time to learn to shoot holy arrows or whatever Kagome was so famous for, eh?"

We laughed at that—Minato included. His tolerance of our shenanigans continued even when Kagome began to interrogate him about his ability to make jewelry with quasi-magical properties at a moment's notice. Could he make her some diamond earrings that would make her taller, she wondered, or perhaps at least be salable at a high price? I watched her talk with him in silence, glad for her improved mood and Minato's easy socializing, content to hold my new (and instantly treasured) earrings in silence. It didn't hurt that I wasn't sure what else to say, given the night's events… but the earrings certainly eased my worries.

Well, most of them, anyway. I'd be able to return to school with (at least a little) confidence. No more skipping class or ditching dance… but despite the promise of the earrings' help, I still felt uneasy. Displaced. Like an outsider looking in as I watched Minato and Kagome joke about the current market value of quasi-magical jewelry.

We had so many questions, most of them unanswered—and there was no telling when answers would come.

About that, I felt the most uneasy of all.

As the portal closed behind Kagome, Minato removed the tiny gold moons from around the door's frame with flicks of his practiced thumb. He'd sent her home through a janitor's closet, and he explained that he needed to remove and reapply the moon tokens to send me somewhere else on Earth. I waited in silence while he worked, breathing deeply of the arcade's cool, dry air and the scent of singed carpet, and when he at last finished applying the moons, I stepped forward to go home.

But Minato didn't open the door right away. Instead he turned to me with hands in his pockets and stared, unabashed and appraising, until I found myself shifting from foot to foot in uneasy agitation.

"What?" I said after a time. "Something on my face?"

Minato didn't laugh at the joke. All he said was, "How do you feel?"

I blinked at him a few times. "Eh?"

"How do you feel, Captain?" he repeated.

"Um." A beat. "About what, exactly?"

He said nothing. Just stared, level and unwavering. I could do nothing more than fidget in response, eventually laughing as I tried (in vain, mostly) to shrug off his scrutiny.

"I'm fine, Minato," I told him. "Jesus, who are you, me? Have you picked up on my albatrossing?"

Minato's head rose.

Then it dipped again, sharp eyes cooling.

"Perhaps," was all he said, and he reached for the closet doorknob. "Let's get you home."

"Where's the portal lead?" I asked as he pulled the door open.

"Up the street from the restaurant," he said, stepping aside to let me through, "in an alley where you won't be observed. You'll know it when you see it."

"Thanks." Stepping toward the open door, I said, "See you later, then."

"See you." He closed the door a little, cutting off my escape. Blue eyes cut like sharp sea glass when our gazes clashed; I tried my best not to flinch away, though I didn't do a good job. Minato said, "But Captain—"

I pasted on a smile. A Keiko-smile, fake and phony. "Yes?"

He started to speak.

Thought better of it and stepped aside again.

"You know where to find me if you need anything," was all he said, instead, and he let the door drift open.

I think I thanked him for his concern; all I know is that I was polite, but that I wanted to get out of that arcade and away from those cool blue eyes that missed nothing whatsoever, stat. The cool, dry air turned humid and warm the second I crossed the portal's threshold, closing around my body with the scents of garbage and dust and wood and recent rain. Minato's portal had let me out near a dumpster, an oversight that I resolved to admonish him about as the portal closed behind me. Hitching my backpack higher on my shoulders, I booked it away from the dumpster toward the mouth of the alley, shoes splashing through puddles that had pooled in inky blackness upon the asphalt.

The alley lay off the beaten path of a main rode, one I recognized the instant I stepped out of the alley and onto the sidewalk. True to Minato's promise, I knew exactly where I was. The streets were empty for everything save a few alley cats and the moths fluttering around the streetlights, the late hour indicated as much by the cats as by the lack of pedestrians. A quiet walk home, then, alone with my thoughts at last. I wasn't sure if I liked that prospect of that or if I actually hated it, but nevertheless I turned my feet toward home—but when I passed beneath the nearest streetlight and bathed in its gold illumination, I stopped.

Thousands of miles, in another place and time, someone walked over my grave.

It's tough to describe how that felt. A shiver built in my back before shooting up my spine like a bottle rocket made of cold, the feeling of your foot falling asleep after stuck too long in one spot, or perhaps the buzzing of a hundred thousand gnats. I'm half certain my hair stood on end as I whipped around, looking up and down the street for—something. Someone? It was hard to say what I was looking for. All I knew is that I was looking for something, and that whatever it was, it did not mean well.

It's little wonder, then, that I screamed when I heard a thump against the sidewalk behind me, but it was just Hiei, who had appeared in a flash of black and his usual cherry-colored glare. I staggered against the lamppost and clutched at my racing heart, but he just rolled his eyes, offering no apology of any kind for scaring the living goddamn shit out of me, his personal ramen-provider. Ungrateful little shithead…

He at least had the decency to notice how rattled I was. "Meigo," he said, eyes sweeping over me in reluctant concern. "What's wrong?"

"I thought—I dunno." Breathing deep to settle my racing pulse, I asked him, "It sounds silly, but… do you ever get the feeling that you're being watched?" Feeling vengeful, I added, "Or maybe you always feel like that; I dunno…"

I pointed at my forehead, then at his. He glared at my mocking wink, but to my surprise, he soon shut his eyes (the red ones, specifically). A faint purple light illuminated the fabric of his bandana, but in less than a second it winked out again, and his natural eyes opened once more.

"There's no one here," he said, as if that should be perfectly obvious to any sane person. "We're very much alone."

"I mean, I didn't really think we weren't," I retorted (Hiei needed an attitude adjustment, pronto). "Just…" I shuddered again. "Someone walked over my grave, that's all."

"What does that mean?"

"Just an expression." Not wanting to talk about it, and because the feeling had already passed, I shook myself and said, "Anyway. Wasn't expecting to see you this evening." When he didn't reply, I added, "So what's up?"

He didn't react right away. He just stared—and then, to my immense shock, his head ducked low, and he mumbled something under his breath. An odd sight coming from the normally over-proud and cocksure Hiei, I assure you.

"Sorry, what was that?" I asked as I moved toward him, ears straining. "You kind of—"

Red eyes flashed as he looked up, sending me stumbling back a step. "I said, I need your help!" Hiei snapped. "Have your ears stopped working, or are you just feeling particularly dense tonight?"

"Whoa there, partner!" My hands shot into the air like he'd told me this was a robbery. "I wasn't making fun of you, geez!"

Hiei stared. Then, mollified, his head lowered. Again. Confusing little asshole, but whatever…

"… well, OK then." Shake it off, Keiko. Trying to sound nonjudgmental and open-minded, I asked him, "Anyway. Hiei. What seems to be the trouble?"

Like Hiei would ever communicate with words, though; I was expecting way too much out of him. Rather than talk, he just grunted, said "Follow me," and whirled away with a flutter of black cloak. Without a single backward look, he walked off into the night at a brisk pace—and because it wasn't like I had other options or plans that evening, I dutifully followed the demon into the dark, wondering where the hell Hiei was taking me at this time of night.

I just hoped it wouldn't end in, y'know… death or dismemberment, or something.

I hadn't made it through the Dark Tournament to die just a block or two from home, Hiei and his strange midnight requests be damned.

Notes:

I'm going to go back to biweekly instead of weekly updates. See you July 12!

Thanks for reading, those who checked out 108. This chapter is for you: Sanguinary_Tide, allyallyonthewall, silverpaper_toffeepaper, musiquemer, SarcasticallyDances, Unctuous, Nollyn, Ms_Liz, brawltogethernow, Gerbilfriend, JestWine, Durinsdottir

Chapter 110: Real or Not, I Will

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

About two miles into our walk, I began to suspect that Hiei didn't know where the hell he was going.

We'd been walking for quite a while, after all, though deserted, late-night streets past many darkened windows, moths fluttering around streetlamps on soundless, powdered wings. They ignored us, and Hiei ignored them, intent on taking me to—somewhere. I tried asking a few times, but he ignored me, too. His jaw remained set. His eyes remained forward. His feet hit the pavement step after step, unfaltering and purposeful. Perhaps he knew the way to somewhere, after all.

Hell if I knew. I just trailed behind him, muttering that this had better be good and not totally anticlimactic. I was exhausted, fresh out of aikido and an emotional existential discussion. My backpack felt heavier with every step we took, feet sore from running sprints. The only place I wanted to be after miles of walking was, predictably, bed.

"All I'm saying is that this had better be worth the trip," I said to Hiei's belligerent back. "Because if it's not, so help me—"

Hiei shot a glare over his shoulder.

I shut up, fast.

He took me to a park, in the end, near the outskirts of town but not entirely too far from the restaurant where I lived. A tree-filled pocket of flowering plants and picturesque fountains, elegant lamps on posts lighting the gravel paths winding through glens and clearings, a grass slope beside an outdoor amphitheater, and then a patch of untamed park behind it—a lovely place, but not one I'd ever picture Hiei frequenting. Too pretty; needs more blood and guts. I almost stopped walking when he ventured down the park's winding path, confused and wondering just what we were doing somewhere so quaint and cute.

I didn't have to go far to find out.

We had walked only to the edge of the amphitheater when I spotted a figure on a bench. They huddled within an oversized hoodie, knees drawn up to their chest as a plum tree wept white flowers onto their shoulders. Hiei headed right toward them—out of character for his antisocial self—and it wasn't until I spotted the blue hair tumbling from the hoodie in a silken river that I realized who we were looking at. I stopped short, jaw falling wide open.

"Botan?" I said, incredulous.

"Huh?" She whipped around, gorgeous face pinched tight with worry. "Keiko?"

"Why are you here?" I asked.

"Why are you here?" she countered, equally as flummoxed.

"Better yet…" I turned to Hiei, hands travelling to my hips. "Why am I here and why is she here?"

He replied as simply as a slicing blade. "You're here because she needs to go home, and I've had my fill of arguing with a complete and utter fool."

Botan gasped. "Hiei! Don't say such things!"

Hiei didn't look at her, eyes instead boring straight into me. "Make her go home, Meigo," he repeated through grit teeth. "Make. Her. Go. Home."

"But Hiei—" said Botan.

"I wasn't speaking to you," he snapped, eyes as livid as burning coals. "So be quiet."

Botan shrank in her seat. I put a hand to my head. Hiei glared first at her and then at me, fists clenched tightly at his sides. Clearly he felt very strongly about Botan being in this park. Strongly enough to come find me in the middle of the goddamn night and bring me along on this very anticlimactic ride, to be specific. Which led me to wonder…

"Hiei… did you literally drag me all the way out here to—to—?" Words failed; I didn't have enough information to name his motives, so I just turned to Botan and asked, "Why the hell are you even here, exactly, and why the hell is it pissing off Hiei?"

"Well, I think it's because he lives close by," Botan said. "I followed him here after training ended, you see, and—"

I wheeled on Hiei in an instant. "You mean to tell me you dragged me all the way out here on a school night because Botan crashed your demonic bachelor pad?" I said, voice pitching high on the final syllables. "Really, Hiei? Really!?"

Hiei gave a wordless snarl. "Don't be stupid. She hasn't crashed anything." And then he raised his bandage-wrapped hand and pointed it at the bench. "I don't live on that bench, Meigo."

"But you probably live in this goddamn park, knowing your tree-sleeping ass."

"I don't sleep in trees."

"Experience has taught me otherwise. Or are we forgetting the Great Hiei-Keiko Road Trip of 1990?" I said with fake-ass sweetness. The sweet act dropped into a glower when I added, "Of which I thought we were about to undertake a sequel or something equally amazing, but noooo. You dragged me all the way out here to talk Botan out of crashing on your—"

I had been about to say "couch," but Hiei didn't have one of those (at least as far as I knew). Hiei tossed his hair and shot a glare right back at me, not fazed by my ire in the slightest.

"I don't give a damn if she sleeps on a bench," he sneered. "It just can't be that bench. So make her go home, Meigo. I won't ask you again."

Botan shrank in her seat on the aforementioned bench, cheeks flushing dark pink in the light of the streetlamp overhead. I hardly noticed, though. I was too busy staring at the bench, not to mention the suitcases I had just noticed sitting at Botan's feet. Was what Hiei said true? Was she actually planning on sleeping on that bench? The suitcases suggested she was headed somewhere, that was for sure, but she was supposed to be crashing at Atsuko's apartment with Yusuke. She'd mostly crashed there after she was ousted from Spirit World, with occasional stints spent at my house or Kuwabara's. So what gives?

"OK," I said after taking a very deep breath (one that did little to calm my nerves). "Let's reset and start at the top. Why are you here, Botan?"

Hands fidgeted nervously upon her lap. "Well. You see, Yusuke and I…" Botan gulped. "Well, we had a fight." Her chin ducked, cheeks flushing again. "So I…"

Magenta eyes darted toward Hiei and away again. Hiei's eyes only rolled in response.

"Don't care," he said, words acidic. "Talk to Meigo, not me."

"But Hiei—" Botan said, but it was no use. He had already flitted away in a flash of black, blurring out of sight in the space between passing moments.

"Leaving me to play team therapist, as usual," I muttered as I glared at the spot where he'd once stood. At the sky I shouted, in exasperated English, "Guess I'll just give Botan a pep-talk since it's the only thing I'm good for!"

"Keiko, are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Just dandy. Anyway." She scooched over so I could plop down beside her, weary feet stretched ahead of us upon the pavement. Putting on my very best Keiko Face, I told her, "Let's try this again. What did you and Yusuke fight about and why are you here, of all places?"

Botan turned away from me, eyes downcast. "It all started over breakfast," she said to her lap. "Atsuko has been making it for us ever since we returned from Hanging Neck Island. Says her tournament-winning son deserves to start off his days with a hearty breakfast." Her nose wrinkled. "Though between you and me, her cooking is a little…"

I mimed barfing. Botan giggled.

"Anyway," she said, tone much brighter and more 'Botan' than before. "I got up very early this morning to go train, and by the time I was all set to leave, Yusuke finally rolled out of bed, himself. Caught me just as I was leaving and asked where I was going so early, so I told him, and he just grunted and stalked off. I thought he was only tired and grumpy, as usual, but when I came home from training with Hiei this evening, he was already boiling over!"

"But what about?"

"The fact that I'd gone to train with Hiei, of course!" she said, voice rising in indignation. "He asked why I'd been gone for so long, and I said I was eager to train and get much stronger, and he—well, Keiko, he demanded to know why I wanted to get stronger, and then he said I should stop!"

"What? Stop?" That was a decidedly not-Yusuke thing to say. "Did he say why?"

"Well, I told him that we all know something big and bad and horrible is coming," said Botan. "You won't say what, but you look like you're having a stomachache every time we ask, so we know it's bound to be quite nasty—yes, Keiko, just like that! That's the face you make!"

"… oh." Seems my Keiko-mask had slipped. I forced my features back into a sympathetic smile. "And then what happened?"

Words exploded from her mouth, as if she had been chomping at the bit to carry on. "I just told him that whenever our next big emergency comes knocking, I want to be ready to meet him or her head-on!" The urgency in her eyes abated. "Although I suspect it will be a 'him.' Yusuke also thinks that the man who kidnapped you during New Year's Eve is probably going to be our next great enemy, so at least we agree on one thing."

"Oh." My features did not betray my emotions this time; I wouldn't allow them to. "Him."

Botan giggled, apparently not noticing my rigid posture. "Our little adventure to rescue Atsuko has given me quite a taste for derring-do, I confess." And then her urgency returned, understated and low. "I refuse to be a liability come the next time of trouble. I will have my Eye under control, and that's why I need to train, but Yusuke said he doesn't want me involved in what's coming. He said I should stay out of it, and that I shouldn't be so eager to help. He said he'd take care of it, and I should butt out." Her hands flew skyward like startled birds. "Can you believe him? What nerve! Of course he admits that we all need to be prepared and ready to meet any challenge without flinching, but me? He doesn't want me around!" Crossing her arms, she gave an assertive nod, rapid and sharp. "So I left. I left, and I tracked down Hiei, because unlike Yusuke, at least he understands me." Her shoulders sagged at last. "Or at least I thought he did."

"Wait." Normally I'd comfort someone looking so forlorn, but I had too many questions. "You went to Hiei… to feel understood?"

Botan nodded. "Yes."

"Understood as in supported?"

"Yes."

"Hiei."

"Yes."

"You went to Hiei," I said, "to feel supported?"

She swatted my arm. "Don't sound so shocked!"

"Hey, can you blame me?" I leaned away and out of reach. "The dude isn't exactly the portrait of a warm and comforting presence."

"You'd be surprised!" Botan chirped. "In winter, he's quite handy to have around."

I stared at her without blinking. "I'm going to try very hard and refrain from suspecting that you two cuddled on some cold winter's night."

"Cuddle?" She scoffed. "Who, Hiei?"

"That's the part you have trouble… ugh, never mind." I shook my head, resisting the urge to knead my temples. "The shippers are gonna have a field day."

"The what's are what?"

"Oh, nothing." I leaned back against the bench. "Nothing at all."

Botan let me think in silence; petals from the plum tree had tangled with her ponytail, white dotting pale blue like snow on the sea. It wasn't lost on me that this fight with Yusuke—a fight about danger and duty, impending perils and burgeoning battles—had occurred only a day after he and I talked about the future on my rooftop. He'd asked me when our next big emergency would come knocking… and come to think of it, Botan had used those exact same words, herself. Which meant Yusuke had likely said them to her. And that meant…

"Suspicious timing," I muttered.

"Beg pardon, Keiko?"

"Nothing. But like with everything else, I think I might've caused this problem. Even if it was just indirectly."

Botan's head listed to the side. "What do you mean?"

"Just that Yusuke is on edge, waiting for whatever comes next. He doesn't want you to get hurt, so he's pushing you away." I shrugged and heaved a sigh. "This is how he shows he cares, even if it's stupid as hell."

"Well if that's how he shows he cares, then I don't want it," she said, nose thrusting high into the air. "Telling me to butt out just isn't nice! And much though you doubt him, Keiko, I do think Hiei gets me. He at least understands my desire to get stronger. He certainly didn't turn me away when I asked to train both yesterday and today!"

Hiei's acerbic voice cut the air like fire cuts through foliage. "Wrong, ferrygirl," he said. "I don't get you."

He stood behind us just outside the puddle of light cast by the streetlamp above, barely visible amidst the nighttime shadows. His eyes glared plain as day, however, reflecting that light like the eyes of some watching beast.

"I agree with the detective, you see," he said, all sibilant derision and whispered mockery. "You'd do well to stay out of our way when the next thug like Toguro appears. We don't need your help in taking down demons—make no mistake about that."

Botan shot to her feet, rounding on him with a cry of, "Then why did you help me train today, Hiei!?"

"Because at this point you've thoroughly entrenched yourself as my student, and any shortcomings in your technique reflect poorly on me," he shot back—and then he snarled, teeth gleaming in the night. "And your triumphs, meanwhile, are also mine."

For some reason, Botan appeared quite smug about this, eyes narrowing as she smiled. "Still smarting over that, I see."

I looked between her and Hiei, confused. "Am I missing something?"

She turned to me with a ripple of silken hair. "These aren't our training grounds, Keiko," Botan said, all sweetness and light again. "After our training ended, I asked if I could crash wherever it is that Hiei spends his time, and he flashed away like he always does—but then I followed him here."

"You followed Hiei?" I repeated, unable to keep the skepticism at bay. "The flying shadow?"

She winked. "It's easy when you have the Eye for it."

It clicked like the hammer of a revolver. "You mean you used…?" I pointed at her forehead, blank between the earrings glittering on her earlobes. "To track…?"

"I'm actually quite good at finding someone, provided I know what their aura feels like," she said, preening like a pretty, powder-blue parrot.

And this, of course, rubbed Hiei in precisely the wrong way. "Don't celebrate your achievements so soon, ferrygirl," he growled. "If I had known you had mastered that little trick, I would've hid my presence, and you would never have found me."

"But you didn't hide your presence, and I did find you, Hiei!"

"An act you won't be repeating, I assure you." He turned to me at last, aiming an imperious finger at Botan. "Now can you get her out of here or can't you, Meigo?"

"What do you want me to do, carry her back to Yusuke's house?"

"If that's what it takes!"

"What, not enough tree branches for you to share or something?" I asked, sarcasm resplendent. "Or is whatever hideaway you're holed up in too full of stolen bowls to allow for a guest?"

"Just get her out of here, Meigo, now!" commanded Hiei, and once again he vanished into the darkness.

A moment of silence followed.

Botan ventured, "So is that how Hiei shows he cares, or…?"

"Never can tell with that guy." This was absolutely true. "Though if he's training you, I'm willing to bet he's mostly bark and not so much bite on this issue. But he's the type who needs his space, so…" I tried to look contrite. "Sorry, Botan. I don't think you should stay with him here. And not just because he might bite your head off. Sleeping in trees probably sucks for your back, anyway."

My poor attempt at a joke failed to make her lap. Head hanging, she said, "That's true. I just thought…"

'Glum' wasn't a good color on Botan. It dulled the sparkle in her beautiful eyes and pulled the smile out of her full lips. Hair hung limp against her cheeks, flower petals flecking strands the same color as her melancholy. She was a fish out of water in this situation. A woman set adrift on a sea of uncertainty, not sure what to do next—just like someone else I knew.

We were quite a pair, Botan and me.

So that's why I asked, "Did you want to stay with me, maybe?"

But Botan just winced. "No offense, Keiko, but… your parents aren't up to speed, and lying to them about who I am and why I'm sleeping over isn't my favorite pastime."

"Yeah." An understandable hesitation; I didn't like lying to them, either. "Well… what about Kuwabara?"

Botan appeared thoughtful for a moment. "He does have a spare bedroom," she mused, "but I've never been as close with him as I am with Yusuke." Her face fell even further. "Asking him for a place to stay feels…"

"Kuwabara wouldn't see it like that," I assured her. "Neither would Shizuru, for that matter." When Botan didn't look convinced, I added, "Shizuru think you're great; she'd much rather you stay with her than slum it on a park bench, and Kuwabara himself would never let you stay anywhere without a nice bed. He'd never, ever turn you away."

"But… the imposition…"

"Kuwabara would rather eat a toenail than let you sleep out in the open like this." I spoke firmly, but then I winked, because scolding Botan wouldn't make her feel any better. "And besides. He'd love to show Eikichi to someone who'd appreciate her."

The joke made her chuckle, cheer finally breaking through the storm clouds of her worry. "That's true," she said, smiling behind her hand. "Well. I suppose I don't have much of a choice, then. To Kuwabara's house I shall go." But clouds gathered once more in her eyes, pink darkening nearly to violet. "A shame, really. I was hoping…"

"What?"

Botan hesitated, but soon enough she whispered, "Hiei doesn't talk much about himself, but ever since Yukina went back to Demon World, I've been worried about him."

"Me too," I confessed. "But he isn't the type to talk about his feelings."

"No. He isn't. And I know better than to press." A sigh, wistful and resigned. "But I just…"

"Just what?"

She heaved another sigh. "What if he's lonely?"

It took a minute for me to process this—the sheer concept she'd proposed as well as the fact that she'd proposed it at all. "You really care about him, don't you," I said, and it wasn't really a question. I knew the answer because it was written all over her face.

Botan answered me anyway. "It might be silly, but… yes. I do." She nodded, sharp and matter-of-fact. "He's my sensei. I owe him so much."

"Oh, Botan," I said, half in awe, half in horror. Thanking the demon who had ruined her life and cursed her with that eye was beyond the realm of comprehension. It could mean only one thing: "You are the single most gracious…"

"Now don't go giving me too much credit!" she protested with a laugh. "Hiei wasn't himself when he cut me with the Shadow Sword. And from what he's told me, I mean that quite literally."

She sobered when she stopped speaking, once again lapsing into reflective silence as she stared at the petal-strewn pavement. The scent of plum blossom was almost as sweet as the sight of her agonized eyes, eyes that stared into the middle distance—and beyond. She had clearly already forgiven Hiei for his sins, but as for the "why" behind that… When she said Hiei hadn't been himself, was she alluding to the idea that his mind had been manipulated by Spirit World? Hiei had all but confirmed that this was the case many months prior; had he talked with Botan about that, too? But even so, to forgive him after he hurt her so badly…

Botan was a really good person.

I'd known that since even before I met her, but now, there could be no doubt.

She wasn't the type to take gushing compliments, though, bouncing to her feet too fast for me to press the issue of her inherent goodness. I was relieved to see a grin on her face as she grabbed her suitcase and pinned me with a bright smile. A Botan smile, to be specific. Looked like she was feeling better already, then.

"So will you walk me to Kuwabara's, Keiko?" she asked, rocking back and forth on her heels. "I'd appreciate the company."

"Sure."

She beamed, skipping off as I rose to my feet, too. I stopped because they were sore, however, taking a second to brace my hands on my hips and lean slowly backward. Eventually my back gave a satisfying crack, and I made to follow the reaper out of the park.

I didn't get far, however. There soon came a thump, and then Hiei appeared behind me in a rustle of black cloak. I turned to find his eyes shooting red sparks into the dark, frowning but not glaring as he'd been the last time I saw his face. Good. He recognized I'd done what he'd asked, then. He'd just better be grateful…

Jerking a thumb over my shoulder the way Botan had gone, I told him, "You'd better escort us to Kuwabara's. And then take me home, too."

His lip curled, revealing gleaming teeth. "As if any human in this town could hope to menace either one of you."

"Damn right," I said—but when his gaze intensified, the urge to preen faded. "Are you OK, Hiei?"

"Meigo," was all he said.

"Yes?" I replied.

"What Hiruko said to you as the stadium collapsed…"

I bristled, turning away out of sheer defensiveness. "Working on it."

"Then you've made no progress?"

"Like I said. I'm working on it."

"You're a poor liar."

"So they keep telling me," I muttered, and I followed after Botan.

Hiei fell into step beside me a moment later, and to my relief, he didn't press the issue of whether or not he was Real. Perhaps it was Botan's proximity that held him back from demanding answers. Perhaps he just saw the defeat in my face. Either way, he said not a word as he trailed after Botan, splitting the distance between me and her until I at last caught up with them both. Botan chattered about her upcoming training regimen and plans for her abilities as we trekked to Kuwabara's house, and when we arrived before it, she trotted up to the front porch while whistling a tune through her perfect teeth.

Neither Hiei nor I followed her, however. We stood on the sidewalk in silence until she reached the porch and knocked on the door. No one answered for a second, but lights shined in the front windows and in the upstairs bedroom, so I knew someone would soon let her in—and eventually they did just that. Kuwabara Sr. opened the door and let Botan inside after conversing with her for just a moment, welcoming her in with the widest of grins.

He spotted Hiei and I just before the door closed, however. Brushing his ponytail over his broad shoulder, he lifted a hand in greeting, staring in our direction through his round, tinted spectacles. I raised a hand in return as Hiei pivoted on his heel to walk away, feet silent on the damp spring sidewalk. I waited for Kuwabara Sr. to shut the door before turning away, myself—but just as I moved, movement in an upper window caught my eyes.

No one was there, however. The curtains lay still and serene against the window pane, undisturbed.

Hiei walked me the rest of the way home in silence, down empty streets and to the alley behind my parents' restaurant. He didn't bother waiting on me to get inside before leaving, though. As I fiddled with my keys, he once again spun and headed away, toward the mouth of the alley and the street beyond. I watched his retreating back without speaking, but around the keys, my hands soon stilled.

"Hiei?" I said, just as he reached the alley's end.

A single red eye appeared over his shoulder. "What?"

"Would you—" I stopped. Regrouped. Tried again: "If you were me, would you tell anyone about—"

"No," he cut in. "No, I wouldn't."

"But—"

"Something like that can only cause pain." He turned his head, scarlet eye disappearing into gloom. "Even I know not to inflict suffering so casually."

Hiei left, after that, leaving no space for argument.

I stood there in the dark, wondering if he was right, for far longer than I'd like to admit.

But soon, too tired to continue, I went inside and fell asleep.

The next time I saw Yusuke, I gave him a lecture about respecting the wishes of his friends and also about girls kicking ass, and it didn't take long for Botan to call me and offer her thanks. She reported that after getting an earful from me, he'd offered to help her train, himself, because at least (and I quote): "I'm less likely to kill you than shortstack, probably."

Botan (who was far less concerned than I was about the frankly suspicion "probably" tacked onto the end of Yusuke's explanation) just giggled and said, "Thank you, Keiko. You've always been able to talk sense into him."

"I may be small with weird hair, but I'm very effective," I told her over the phone. "And also, I'm pretty sure he'd do anything to patch things up with you."

"Hmm? What do you mean?"

"Oh," I said. "It's nothing…"

She truly sounded like she didn't have a clue. Conversely, I couldn't forget the way Yusuke had blushed when I mentioned Botan to him during the Dark Tournament, not to mention the fact that she'd taken Keiko's place in the famous let-sleeping-Yusuke-lean-on-her scene during the semifinals. He pretended not to be bothered by Botan's constant interactions with Hiei, but I got the sense it nagged at him more than he liked to let on.

Not that he'd ever admit it, of course.

Yusuke was many things, but willing to admit to mushy feelings wasn't one of them.

The altercation with Botan didn't make things awkward for very long, thankfully. Botan and Yusuke weren't the type to let fights linger, and soon Botan was cycling between Yusuke and Kuwabara's homes in turns when she needed a place to sleep. A job well done, I told myself when I heard this good news. I might've accidentally caused their fight, but I sure as hell had fixed it, too.

My good mood regarding Botan and Yusuke carried over to the rest of my school week—though perhaps Minato's earrings had more to do with my willingness to go back to class than did bringing Botan and Yusuke back together. Whatever the case, I was happy to find that Minato's earrings worked quite well to hide my tattoos, keeping the skin of my thighs blank and smooth as long as I kept the earrings firmly in place. I wore them religiously both at home and at school, only taking them off to bathe and sleep.

But although they afforded me a feeling of security, it still felt awkward to be back at school in the first place.

It's difficult to describe the feeling of just not belonging—of feeling jumpy and stressed for no reason, and of looking over your shoulder for threats that aren't there, of feeling like people are staring when you know that no one is doing so. And it's made all the worse when you know you're being irrational, and that your gritted teeth and on-edge demeanor appear utterly awkward to everyone who isn't you (provided they even notice at all). The closest I'd ever come to that feeling was after my accident in my previous life. When I returned to school, I was greeted with whispers and stares, my shattered arm a constant source of unwanted attention. Only now there was nothing physical for anyone to stare at. Just my restlessness and tension, observable only and exclusively to me—an isolation that only made the experience more detestable.

I hated it, if I'm not being clear.

And about a week after soothing the rift between Yusuke and Botan, when a teacher pulled me aside and into the teacher's lounge, I couldn't keep from wondering if someone else had finally, finally noticed something off about me, too.

The teachers' workroom was mostly deserted, the day my homeroom instructor requested my presence there. Ibara-sensei (the replacement for the previous teacher who'd hated my guts and had been fired after trying to kill me during the Saint Beast debacle) had pulled me aside during study hour with little by way of an explanation. I'd followed him to his desk in the teachers' room without a word, standing at attention while he shuffled the papers on his desk. Sweat beaded on my neck with every passing second. Had he noticed my earrings weren't school-approved? Was he able to tell me I was acting funny? The clock on the wall ticking louder and louder as time wore on, and as the seconds flew by, I had to wonder if the jig was up—though what the jig was, specifically, I couldn't say.

Eventually Ibara-sensei decided to be merciful. He sat back in his office chair, narrow eyes dark and glittering behind his half-moon glasses. "So, Yukimura," he said, looking at me over his spectacles. "Do—"

"Whatever it is, I didn't do it."

He lifted a brow. "Don't be cute, Yukimura."

"Wouldn't dream of it, sir."

"… uh-huh." Tapping a fingertip against a manila folder on his desk, he said, "As you know, our school isn't exactly traditional. We don't adhere to the norms of the rest of the Japanese school system. Your German classes and dance lessons aren't typical. Neither is the skipping of grades and other classes, as you've managed to do."

"Yes, sir." It was easy enough to slip into Keiko-Face, like donning the most comfortable, Princess Bride-approved mask in the world. "I'm lucky to have been granted the opportunity to attend a school like this."

"As you should be," he said, apparently missing my completely lack of sincerity. "We compete not only with other Japanese high schools, but international academies as well. Many of our students attend college abroad, in fact. And you're even luckier to be gifted when it comes to languages. You're picking up German without undue effort, isn't that right?"

"Right," I said. "Once you learn a second language, learning another isn't as hard." I scrambled for a metaphor but came up rather short, settling on: "It's like you… unlock something. The part of your brain that learns languages isn't foreign to you anymore."

"Well put," he said, likewise missing that I hadn't said anything particularly eloquent. "And it's instincts like that that make you an ideal candidate for our study abroad program."

"Wait." I blinked. "We have one of those?"

He looked surprised. "You didn't know?"

Mom hadn't mentioned it when she had first tried to sell me on attending Meiou, but maybe she'd just forgotten. Still, it was neat to think I had a chance like this. Studying abroad had been an option in my past life, but I'd never taken advantage of it; even now, I still regretted the missed opportunity. Being able to rectify that in this life, out of nowhere…

"Uh… no. I didn't know about this. Must've missed it. But it sounds great." Shyness struck; I looked at the floor. "You really think that I…?"

"I do," he said. "You're bright. You work hard. You're a model student, even if you don't have the most robust extracurricular interests." Little did he know he was dead wrong about that, but I held my tongue as he picked up the folder on his desk. "I've taken the liberty of drawing up the paperwork and printing out the literature for you." He extended the folder toward me. "Here. Take it."

I did on reflex, stammering, "I don't know what to say."

"Then it's a good thing you don't have to say anything yet." He spoke with brusque simplicity, which I appreciated. "There's no need to make a decision today, or even tomorrow. This wouldn't come into effect until the fall, anyway—to align with the start of other countries' school years, of course." He shrugged. "And if you don't want to take advantage of this program so soon, you can always wait a year. But I think you should consider it, if nothing else."

"Thank you, sir." I tucked the folder under my arm and bowed, low and deferential. "I'll give it due consideration."

"Good. You're dismissed." But then he eyed me over with a frown and tutted. "Oh, but you need a haircut, young lady. Even that odd, asymmetrical… thing you normally wear is better than this." He gestured vaguely at my head. "Another oddity we let you get away with…"

Resisting the urge to duck my head and run, I muttered an apology over my need for a haircut and skedaddled, taking refuge in the half empty hallway with a sigh of unfiltered relief. My hair was indeed in need of a cut. He hadn't lied about that. Even Shizuru had said something about needing to fix my style during the tournament, and that had been weeks prior. The back, normally cleanly trimmed with a razor, brushed my collar in a shaggy mess, and my bangs were way too long. Hadn't had the heart to ask Shizuru for a haircut recently, though. But so long as he wasn't picking on my earrings, I would gladly accept criticism of my hair. Talk about a relief.

It wasn't until the door to the teachers' workroom fell shut behind me that the tension drained from my shoulders, however—and when it finally did, I realized just how tense I'd truly been. My neck felt like the muscles had been stretched taut on a taffy puller. I massaged my shoulder as I leaned against the wall, head lowered as a group of students passed me on their way down the hall. They ignored me, though, but that was good. I wasn't exactly in the mood to be noticed.

Which is why I just about jumped out of my skin when a voice asked, "Keiko? What are you doing?"

It was only Amagi who'd spoken, though. She stood a few feet away, watching me through narrow black eyes that glittered above her full-lipped frown. Her hair had grown out in recent weeks, brushing her collar in a much prettier style than I currently sported. She'd finally ditched the frumpy bowl cut, thank my lucky stars, and as my racing heart began to calm, I forced myself to smile at her.

"Oh, Amagi. Hi," I said, trying very hard to play it cool. "What's up?"

She eyed the folder under my arm. "Everything all right with our teacher?"

"Yeah. He's not trying to stab me with scissors, if that's what you're worried about." But my attempt at a joke fell flat, since she didn't smile or anything. Pushing away from the wall, I took a step in her direction. "Are you OK?"

"Yes, of course." Now she finally smiled, though it only lasted for a moment; she rubbed her forearm with a hand, like maybe it itched beneath her uniform's long sleeve. "But I have a request."

"Sure. Anything."

"Would you and Minamino please meet me after school? At the greenhouse, if that's OK with him." She lowered her voice a touch, still rubbing at her forearm. "I'd like to speak with you both privately."

"… Oh. Sure. Yeah, I'm sure that's fine." Although I couldn't think of why she'd want to do such a thing, I also couldn't think of a reason why it wouldn't be all right with Kurama, either. "Want me to talk to him for you?"

At last she smiled in full, relief like sun chasing off a storm, and her hand finally dropped from her arm. "If you would," she said, but she didn't stick around to chat. She just lurched into a quick walk, heading away from me toward the stairs with a wave over her shoulder. "Sorry to run, but I have to get something. See you after school!"

"Uh. All right." I waved back, awkward as a duck in ballet shoes. "Bye!"

I was able to deliver Amagi's message at lunch later that day, whispering it to Kurama as Kaito walked ahead of us down the hall. Kurama didn't have much to say on the matter, simply raising an eyebrow as he gave me a subtle nod of confirmation before we parted ways—and then after class, I found him waiting for me in our prearranged meeting spot behind the school. True to her word, Amagi waited for the two of us in front of the school greenhouse, and when she spotted us coming, she raised a hand in greeting. She held something under her other arm, cradling the bandana-wrapped object against her side as if protecting precious cargo. A lunch, maybe? No, it was more cylindrical in shape, like a thermos or something. Was she back to making Kurama lunches, or…?

"Good. You're both here," she said as we approached. A sakura tree not far away cast its scent over the scene, sweet and clean and the complete opposite of Amagi's pinched expression. "Thanks for meeting me."

"How can we help you, Amagi-san?" Kurama smiled, amusement glimmering in his gaze. "I admit, it was a surprise to hear you ask for us this way."

"Well, there's something…" She clutched her bundle a little tighter. "There's something odd I'd like to show you."

Kurama and I exchanged a long look, but Amagi didn't notice. She'd already marched inside the greenhouse, delving into its wild confines and the warm air within, atmosphere richly scented with earth and the aroma of growing things. Like stepping underwater, the light filtered through the green-tinted windows and dyed our faces the color of new mint, sickly and serene, corpses left to decay beneath still waters. Normally I liked the greenhouse (I'd spent too much time here with Kurama not to at least appreciate his handiwork) but the hot air felt oppressive that day, cloying and rich and heavy. If Amagi noticed my unease, however, she gave no sign. She just set her cloth-wrapped bundle on a worktable beside a flower pot and a trowel before addressing us.

"Have you told Minamino about our trip to see my grandmother in Mushiyori, Keiko?" she asked, but she wasn't looking at me. Her eyes locked onto Kurama, watching as he strolled around the perimeter of the greenhouse, inspecting plants with his eyes and fingertips alike.

"No," I said, "I don't think I have."

Kurama looked away from his plants for a moment, offering Amagi a smile. "I'm listening."

Satisfaction lessened her frown a little. "A long time ago," she said to Kurama, "I confided in Keiko that I… well, it's hard to explain, but I see things. They're real, but—"

"You're psychic," Kurama smoothly interjected.

But Amagi didn't look shocked that he'd guessed as much. "Yes, I am," was all she said.

"I see," said Kurama, looking at her with renewed interest. "Carry on."

"I suspect you recall the time the school was attacked by our teachers, along with other random adults," Amagi said.

"Yes. But why…?"

"During that altercation, Keiko let slip that someone named 'Yusuke,' along with 'the boys,' would save the day," she said. "I met Yusuke at her New Year's Eve party, and it's no great leap to think 'the boys' constituted other… special friends of hers, considering Yusuke apparently rose from the grave." Apology warmed her expression. "I've known for some time that you're not quite human, but I didn't have a name for it until Keiko introduced me to the concept of demons. I can only assume you're one of them."

"Sharp eyes, indeed," Kurama observed.

"Thank you," said Amagi. "I also gathered your friend Kuwabara might've numbered among 'the boys,' given his abilities." Her lips pressed thin, light dancing in her eyes. "Kaito is very normal and clearly wasn't part of it, but you, Minamino… I suspected you might be among 'the boys' who helped circumvent disaster during the attack on the school."

"I knew you were perceptive, but damn," I said, letting out a low, appreciative whistle.

Amagi smiled. "Thank you."

"Forgive me if I'm missing the obvious," said Kurama, "but why are we reflecting on that attack?"

Amagi said nothing for a moment. She drew in a deep breath and let it out, long and slow and steady, before crossing her arms over her chest. One hand traced down her opposite forearm, palm rasping smooth circles as if chafing away chill.

"Because I'm worried," said Amagi, "that something like it might happen again."

Kurama and I exchanged another of our Looks: secretive and fleeting, but loaded with significance. We kept quiet as Amagi reached for the bundle she'd placed on the workbench, hand resting atop it like she drew comfort from whatever lay inside.

"Before the teachers were infected by the strange, supernatural insects that turned them rabid," Amagi said in low, smooth tones, "Keiko warned me to be on the lookout for insects no one else could see; their presence heralded the attack, warning her ahead of time that it was about to take place. I've been looking out for insects like them ever since. But the next instance of insect invasion didn't happen here, and I wasn't the first to spot it."

"Your grandmother," Kurama quickly surmised. "You mentioned her before. I assume your powers are hereditary?"

"Yes." Amagi shut her eyes, but only for a moment. "She spotted insects no one else could see in our hometown, Mushiyori City. Only I believed her, but even I didn't see them for the longest while. Until…"

She unwrapped the bundle, then, removing from the bandana a single mason jar with a screw-on lid. It wasn't what I'd been expecting, that's for sure—especially because the jar was empty, at least at first glance. I walked over and bent down to peer at it, Keiko's pretty face reflecting like an ectoplasmic apparition in the glass. Kurama, meanwhile, didn't come near. He eyed the container from afar, eyes narrowed with critical intent from across the greenhouse.

"So, uh." I knew Kurama well enough to realize what the look on his face must mean. "I get the feeling I'm the only one who think this is an empty jar."

"Yes, Kei. You're correct," Kurama said, eyes locked on the jar. "A Makai insect. How did you catch it?"

While I processed the fact that Amagi had managed to catch a demonic bug in a literal mason jar, of all things, Amagi shrugged out of her uniform jacket and unbuttoned the sleeve of her crisp white shirt. In slow increments she rolled it up and out of the way—and I didn't need psychic powers or special demon eyes to see what she was trying to show us. Halfway down her forearm glared an enormous purple bruise, colors livid and atrocious against her comparatively paler skin. I let out a cry and grabbed her wrist before I could help it, staring at the wound in horror I probably should've muted for her sake. But she didn't get upset or anything. She just stood there while I looked at the tiny red scab in the center of the bruise, observing the bruise's upraised, welt-like edges through wide eyes.

"Amagi, what happened?" I demanded.

In a small voice she admitted, "I let it bite me."

"Amagi!?"

"Don't start." Her no-nonsense glare brooked no argument. "You, of all people, can't lecture me about taking risks."

Kurama laughed—a small laugh, very nearly a giggle, but a laugh nonetheless. He pretended not to notice when I glared at him, scanning the greenhouse's many plants with a deceptively innocent expression.

"Anyway." She extricated her arm from my grip, rolling down her shirtsleeve and hiding the bruise from sight. "My grandmother says they congregate at night, and that they leave by morning. 'Scouts,' I think Keiko called them when I took her to hear my grandmother's observations. She said it under her breath, but I'm sure that's what I heard."

Kurama hummed. "Sharp ears, too."

Pride sparked a blush, the flush in her cheeks an odd shade of jade in the dim greenhouse. Looking at the jar again, Amagi said, "At the time, Keiko just told me to keep an eye out. Keep her in the loop. That sort of thing. But my grandmother is growing more and more distressed every day, so I knew it was time to do more than wait and watch." She hesitated, but not for long. "I wasn't sure who else to bring this to but the two of you. Judging from that video Keiko showed me about the ice demon, Yukina, I know you have the ear of Spirit World, so…"

Here Kurama gave me another Look. "You showed her that video?"

I felt oddly defensive about that, but I didn't let myself flinch. "Well, I couldn't watch it, and she was already in the know about weird shit, so… I borrowed her eyes, I guess?"

"I didn't mind," Amagi piped up. "In fact, I asked to be let in on whatever she was hiding."

"And Kei complied." He sounded tired, and his lips thinned into a grim line. "In any case, we appreciate the warning. Kei is in touch with one of the emissaries of Spirit World; she'll deliver your findings to the appropriate parties. But in the meantime, thank you for your diligence." Kurama's expression smoothed, an amused and courteous smile gracing his lips. "I only ask that you not let another insect bite you, on purpose or otherwise. Their venom can be quite deadly."

Amagi shivered; she touched her arm, fingers tracing it through her sleeve. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you both for your help." She sighed a little, the tension in her eyes easing. "Even knowing that you know about it is… well, thank you again. I feel a little better now."

"Of course," I said. "We're happy to help, Amagi."

Dark eyes searched my face. "I hope you mean that. My grandmother has been talking about a darkness—a growing darkness, swirling and deep. She says it's cold, and malevolent, and growing deeper every day." Amagi spoke in a hushed whisper, like waves lapping at some distant shore in the underwater crypt of the suffocating greenhouse. "I don't know what it means, but even I can feel a chill in the air when I visit her. I'm worried she'll…"

She stopped talking. A flush rose in her neck, obvious against her pale skin. I stepped toward her without thinking and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey," I said, soothing and soft. "We won't let anything bad happen. Promise."

Amagi smiled, even though her expression shook. "Thanks, Keiko," she murmured—and in her words lay nothing less than complete and total sincerity.

Amagi didn't linger in the greenhouse. She and I talked a little more about following up with Spirit World and news about her grandmother's health, but nothing important was said. Amagi looked calmer for the conversation, though, and that was importance enough in my book. Kurama examined the mason jar in silence as we chatted, and soon Amagi thanked us again, bowed low, and left. I watched her through the glass-paneled door as she walked toward the school. I watched the way she wrapped her arms around herself despite the warm spring day, gripping her injured arm as she vanished back inside the school. Letting herself get bitten by a supernatural insect? The girl had moxie, that was for sure… even if I hated the thought of her getting hurt. Thinking about the collateral damage of the Yu Yu Hakusho plot hadn't occurred to me too often before coming to this world, but now that I was in it, it was impossible to ignore. Especially when it concerned people I'd come to care about.

"Am I correct in thinking this has something to do with the next threat we'll face on behalf of Spirit World?"

Kurama watched my reflection in the greenhouse's wall, eyes cool and assessing as mine met his in the jade glass. In increments I turned to face him, careful to keep my face as neutral as room temperature milk.

"Interesting theory," was all I said. "Elaborate?"

He obliged. "You did not appear surprised by the thought of the return of the Makai insects. I'm inclined to believe you saw this coming."

"You know me." I mimed zipping my mouth. "My lips are sealed."

"As always." A dry statement, one I wasn't sure I understood. "Can I further deduce that your New Year's kidnapper has something do to with their return?"

In response to his query, I gave him more Neutral Keiko-Face™—a difficult feat considering both Yusuke and Botan had also come to this conclusion, which meant a good portion of the main canon cast already suspected exactly what our next plot arc would entail. But it wouldn't do to confirm their suspicions so soon. Not yet, anyway.

"Another interesting theory," was all I allowed myself to say. "What makes you think that?"

"When you vanished that night, your aura disappeared so completely, not even Hiei could detect it," Kurama said. "When it next surfaced, he claimed he sensed you in the vicinity of Mushiyori City. Since these insects have been spotted in that city, and you kidnapper also favors that terrain, Occam's razor would suggest the two occurrences are connected." He smiled, showing a frankly alarming amount of teeth. Kurama usually wore a pleasant smile, but this one… there was menace to it, and as I suppressed a shiver, he took one deliberate step toward me. "Am I wrong?"

I looked away, annoyed. "I find your intelligence… inconvenient."

"So I'm right." His mouth quirked, menace cracking like ice underfoot. "I thought as much."

"Don't look so smug." While he pretended to be something besides a smug bastard, I rolled my eyes. "Anyway. What do we do with that thing?" I walked over to the worktable and stood beside Kurama, giving the jar's lid a tap. "Can't leave the jar around; it looks empty to most people. A canning accident waiting to happen."

"Try not to worry." Kurama reached for the jar, fingers brushing my wrist. "I will dispose of the creature myself."

"That's a relief." Backing away (because when had he gotten so close?) I covered my awkwardness with a frilly bow—which probably made things worse, but I tried not to think about it. "Well. I'll leave you to it, I guess. Something tells me I won't want to see this."

"Most likely, no." His hands disappeared into his pockets. "But before you go, Kei, there's something I'd like to discuss."

I—having already made it to the door in my hasty retreat—froze with my hand on the knob. "Oh?" I said, shooting a nervous glance over my shoulder. "What about?"

His chin lifted. "My mother."

I swallowed, hand falling to my side. "This again," I muttered. "Of course."

"She's asked if I'd come to dinner with her and a friend of hers." He spoke as if he hadn't heard me, though I suspected from the determined glint in his eyes that he had heard me quite clearly indeed. "She hasn't named the aforementioned friend yet, but I can only assume it's Kuwabara senior." Kurama stood at his most charming, then, all smiles and warm eyes and inviting, open posture. "She told me to bring a friend, too, to even out our numbers. She further hinted she expects that friend to be you."

"Wait." I rounded on him, hands on hips and skeptical. "Your mom is inviting me to dinner?"

"Yes," Kurama said.

I squinted at him.

Kurama smiled.

I squinted some more.

Kurama kept smiling.

"… why do I feel like I'm missing something?" I said. "Or like this might be a trap?"

"Why, Kei," he said, pretending to be hurt. "Don't be silly. My mother is the one extending the invitation, not me."

"And yet, I'm still suspicious."

He only laughed. "I predict she'll be introducing Kuwabara to me as her romantic partner, and she wants a friend there to provide moral support should I react badly." His humor faded a little. "Despite my best efforts, I believe she senses that I'm not keen on his recent visits to our home."

I snorted. "You're not the only cunning fox in the family."

"Indeed." Kurama couldn't keep a proud spark out of his green eyes, flame smoldering at the heart of a forest. "Will you accept her invitation, Kei?"

I started to say yes—to indulge in that easy affability that Keiko specialized in, to smooth hurt feelings and people-please and not make waves—but I stopped. I stared at him in silence, teeth worrying my lips, hands balled at my sides like a fighter's eager fists. There was something in his pleasant demeanor I didn't quite understand. An edge, one I thought at first had to be dogged determination… but it felt sharper, almost. More pointed, but at the same time, restrained.

Like he wasn't pushing yet. And if I pushed back…

And Kurama sensed that he hadn't sold me on his plans yet, because he knew me too well not to. "You suspect I have a plan to sour the evening, I presume," he said, not sounding at all accusatory. More knowing than anything. Like he'd expected this, and it didn't bother him at all. And for every reason, and no reason at all, I wanted to call him out on that.

"Can you blame me?" was all I said, though.

"No," he replied—just a hair too quickly to feel natural. "But recall, again, that it is my mother who has requested this double date, not me." He was particularly gorgeous when he smirked, the sly expression fitting him like an impeccably tailored suit. "And while I respect your no-dating rule, who are we to deny granting my mother this small favor?"

"Don't let the fangirls hear you say that," I muttered.

He frowned. "Say what?"

"You know what."

"What?" He paused—and then it clicked, or at least he pretended it did. Feigning confusion, he looked me dead in the eye and asked in a strong, clear voice, "A double date?"

"Shhh!" I made a show of putting a finger to my lips and looking around in a panic—humor to hide just how goddamn awkward I felt, like a spotlight had flicked on and I'd been caught at center stage. "Shhh, Kurama! They might be lurking!"

"And if they are?" he countered with spirited sincerity. "What then, Kei?"

"Then you'll give them the wrong idea!"

"And would that truly be so terrible?" he asked—silky, playful, a little wistful, a touch sad and a dozen other emotions I couldn't quite put my finger on. "You wound me."

Neither of us spoke. Kurama regarded me frankly, but still with that odd little smile playing across his lips (his really, really gorgeous lips, goddammit). My heart picked up the pace in response, a tattoo of frantic confusion—and other emotions I didn't want to name—beating like dragonfly wings against my ribs. What the hell did he even want me to say? And what would happen if I actually came out and said it?

Part of me wanted to know.

But I settled on rolling my eyes and asking: "Are your eyes green today, or gold?"

"Are your eyes brown or blue?" he countered.

"Grey, not blue."

"No." Kurama shook his head. "They're very blue."

Again, silence fell. I understood this silence even less than the last. And I wanted to break it even sooner—but I hesitated. I leaned against the greenhouse's door, shoulder blades pressing against warm glass, kicking at the leaf-strewn concrete floor with one wary heel.

"Kurama, you—you've been different lately." The words came forth like a confession, though when recognition lit his eyes, I knew I was merely stating what he already knew. "Ever since we got back from the tournament, you've been…"

His teeth showed again when he smiled. "More charming?"

"I was going to say more forward." I couldn't look at him. "More like your old self, if we want to get technical."

"Perhaps I am feeling more in touch with my roots after recent events," Kurama said. Feet whispered over pavement as he stepped toward me. "Is it such a bad thing?"

I huffed. "Your curiosity certainly makes my life more complicated."

"What would be complicated about it?" Kurama countered.

A beat.

"About us?" he said.

My head jerked up. Kurama regarded me coolly, just an arm's-length away. Just out of reach, like a ghost that walked a different plain, visible but intangible and impossible to touch. His face bore no signs of hostility. Only open interest, a little clinical, a little detached. A scientist taking measurements, hoping to slot facts neatly into place.

Or that's what it looked like at first glance, at least.

That fire had returned to his eyes, an ember in the dark of a pressing forest, green lit from within like a jewel.

"I'm not being rhetorical, Kei," Kurama asked when the silence stretched too thin. He sounded gentler this time, cajoling and sweet, my name like honey on his tongue. "Kei, I'd like to know."

He wanted to know, huh. So did I. But it wasn't that easy, putting words to what lay between us—because if he'd asked me this question only two weeks earlier, my answer would've been far different. But he wasn't asking me two weeks earlier. He was asking me here, now, after everything I'd learned and everything Hiruko had told me as the stadium collapsed.

You didn't think any of this was Real, did you? That's what he'd whispered in my ear as rocks and ruin rained onto our heads.

You didn't think any of this—that Kurama, and what he felt for me—was Real—?

Those words played through my head over and over again as Kurama and I stared at one another. When he took the barest step toward me, determination rising like a wall across his face, I held up a hand and spoke.

"You know we have a—a thing." Not eloquent. Not at all. And my voice shook, cracked on the final syllable. I gestured between Kurama and myself and said, "We have a thing. Whatever this is."

"Our truly adorable will-they, won't-they back-and-forth?" His smile warmed his face, wall coming down brick by brick. "Your words, Kei. I remember them well."

I had to fight back a smile at the memory—because the smile made my throat ache, my eyes prick. I held the feeling back, walling it off, stealing the bricks from Kurama's psyche and installing them in my own, a dam against the emotion rising like a riptide in my chest… but they threatened to crumble almost at once, propping up my willpower only for a moment.

"Don't remind me," I breathed, shaking my head. "It's just…"

"It's just what?"

And the bricks tumbled. "I can't talk about it," I said, looking at the concrete floor. "I'm sorry."

"But—"

"I can't, Kurama."

He knew me too well, though. He knew me too well not to see the desperate resignation on my face, try though I might to hide it. Kurama reached for my arm, stepping closer, a wash of his scent falling across my face. Normally I'd enjoy that proximity, but now—

How much of that scent was Real? How much of his warmth, his words, the emotions flashing behind his eyes?

I wanted to believe that it all was.

But I couldn't.

As well as Kurama could read me, however, he couldn't read my mind. "What aren't you telling me?" he asked as his hand closed over my arm. "Kei, what's wrong?"

"I can't tell you." I didn't look at him; I couldn't. "I want to, and I wish I could, but…" My voice cracked and crumbled, losing the valiant fight against the oceanic pressure of my tears. "Kurama, I'm—I'm sorry."

And then the dam broke, and I was crying.

I cried a lot in front of Kurama. He had every right to turn away from me in disgust, tell me to suck it up and muscle through. Surely crying disgusted him. Surely my ugly, hiccupping tears were a sign of weakness, of inferiority, of a feeble and unimpressive mind. I was a crybaby, an emotional wreck, an annoying font of deeply felt and inconvenient sentiment—but Kurama didn't turn away from me, nor did he rebuke my sniveling lament. He just murmured my name and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me to his chest in a tight embrace, one hand cupping the back of my head, the other rubbing soothing circles across my back. And I held him in return, gripping the fabric of his jacket as I clung to him, a drowning woman on a life raft that would buoy me to shore. He murmured assurances (vague but intentioned) into my hair until my crying eased, but when I tried to draw away, he held on tight. His hands traveled to my cheeks, fingers tracing away the tracks of my tears until my skin felt clean again.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Don't be." Kurama searched my face, cupping it with both hands, breath misting across my skin. "But Kei… are you truly that afraid of what you know is coming?"

I couldn't reply. He'd misunderstood the reason for my tears—and I let him do it. I stood there in desperate silence until Kurama breathed a sigh, mistaking my quiet for confession. He leaned forward until his lips pressed against my forehead, a warm and gentle kiss that left me shuddering and breathless, air ripped from my lungs by the electric force of Kurama's affection, freely given and undeserved.

"Kei… you are the bravest person I've ever known." He pulled away, but only to lean his forehead against mine and gaze unflinchingly into my eyes, as if pouring his own willpower through them and into me. "But if this proves too much to bear alone, I'll shoulder that burden with you."

I closed my eyes. Let him hold me a little longer. Let him believe what he wanted to believe, rather than tell him the truth.

It was ironic, what Kurama had assumed about my fears.

It wasn't the things I knew were coming that rendered me so speechless.

It was what I didn't know was coming that truly scare me—that and the depth of my feelings for this person, who might or might not have held any true feelings for me in return.

I sat on an outcropping of rock over an ocean of flowers, a Technicolor world of saturated hues and sparkling lights that glittered like laughter made visible. The flower ocean—full of roses and bright bluebonnets—ripped and rose and undulated under the star-scattered sky, waves of petals like the sea after a storm. When the waves crashed upon the rocks below, flower petal scattered skyward, drifting through the air like snowfall. Their perfume rose and fell on the endless tide, wafting across my face like the hands of a gentle lover. In the distance and below the stars, the sun set, streaking the sky with pink and orange, gold and lilac, faint green and brilliant blue.

As the stars wheeled and the flowers churned, I raised a hand and snapped.

The stars swam closer at my call, details falling sharply into view against the sunset-streaked sky. Planets and suns whirled in their endless cosmic dance, the rings of Saturn spinning, the craters of the moon close enough to touch. Nebulas and galaxies danced behind them, rainbow colors melding and collapsing as stars and planets were birthed and then died, the endless cycle of matter returning to matter only to be repurposed elsewhere—the Law of Conservation of Mass, perfectly illustrated.

Nowhere in the universe could you behold such a sight.

But this was not reality. This was my dream, and it fell under my control.

Well. Almost all of it.

"You really are stubborn, Not-Quite-Keiko."

Hiruko stood behind me on the cliff overlooking the ocean of flowers. He had kept his form from the Dark Tournament, tall and handsome with a braid of sakura hair falling over his shoulder and down his chest. But while his blue eyes sparkled and his smile stayed constant on his lips, he didn't look exactly as I remembered. His sleeves were tattered at the edges, threadbare and worn. His braid had come loose at the end, strands escaping from their tight confines. Bags as blue as bruises stained the skin below his bloodshot eyes, and his shoulders slumped beneath the fabric of his crimson robe.

Tired. He looked tired. Exhausted, even.

That didn't mean I'd go easy on him.

"Hiruko." I looked at the sea of blossoms, not deigning to meet his gaze. "Didn't expect to see you again so soon."

"Heh." Sandals clacked against the earth as he came to stand beside me. "Couldn't resist."

"Clearly. So have we forgotten the fact that I can kick you out of my head whenever I want, or…?"

"I don't intend to stay within your lucid dreams for long, lucky child," he scolded. "I know better than that."

But I just scoffed. "What, you wanna call me stubborn and then split? Do a little drive-by derision?"

"That's not why…" Hiruko shook his head, exasperated. "Why must you make things difficult?"

"It's just who I am, I think."

He didn't argue, that asshole. He just stared at the scenery before us, admiring the planets and stars and flowers with an appreciative hum. When he did not speak, I turned away, admiring my handiwork, too.

But the roses and the bluebonnets, all mingled together and beautiful, only made me sad.

"And you're thinking about him, aren't you," said Hiruko.

It wasn't a question, and I knew exactly to whom he referred. No doubt he'd seen the scene in the greenhouse somehow. I'd come home from school and gone straight to bed after school let out that day, claiming I wasn't feeling well—and when I began to dream, the roses appeared in full bloom.

At the time, I hadn't questioned their presence.

Now, though, as Hiruko shot me a knowing smile, I had to wonder just how in control of this dream I truly was.

"So?" I pulled my knees to my chest. "So what if I am?"

He tutted. "Stubborn. Wouldn't it be easier to just give in to what you feel? What he feels?"

Despite his ever-present smile, Hiruko looked frustrated. Like he was taking this personally, somehow, which didn't make sense… unless he was pulling Kurama's strings. Unless he could take credit for what had transpired between Kurama and me. Unless my resistance was a personal slight that flew in the face of his efforts and achievements.

It was a possibility too horrible to ignore.

So I said, "I can't."

"But why?" asked Hiruko.

"Because—because a part of me believes you." I hated admitting it—but at the same time, a weight lifted off my chest the second the words left my mouth. I told him, "A small part of me believes that this place isn't, that Kurama isn't..."

I faltered.

"Real?" Hiruko supplied, tone as gentle as the flowers rippling beneath our clifftop perch. "I'm honestly surprised that even part of you believes me. What happened to that stubborn streak of yours? I thought for sure that you'd deny what I'd said. So what makes you believe that—?"

"Why in the world would someone like him ever be interested in someone like me?"

Flower-filled waves beat upon the rocks. A scarlet petal drifted onto Hiruko's shoulder, a drop of blood shed by an unseen giant. I tore my face away from his shocked expression, mouth burning from the force of the words I'd shouted so desperately into the landscape of my dreams. But I could still feel his eyes on me, twin pools of bright blue as arresting at the sight of planets spinning overhead.

"We make no sense," I rasped at the world I had created. "I'm so—so ordinary. And he's so not." A wry laugh, one devoid of humor. "If you're the one making him act like that towards me, Hiruko... If you're the one puppeteering him… you made a mistake, choosing Kurama." Another laugh, even drier than the first. "He's too…"

Words failed me, because I didn't have words good enough to suit Kurama.

Instead, I simply stated, "When he looks at me like that, all I feel is unworthy."

Hiruko processed that for a time. We watched the waves and the stars in silence. The perpetually setting sun cast golden light across our faces. Eventually Hiruko sat down beside me, sandaled feet dangling beside my own above the steep drop to the sea.

"Whether or not he's Real…" Hiruko said. "Why should that matter?" Blue eyes scoured my face, searching for… I didn't know what. "Take comfort where it's offered, and worry about the details later."

I shook my head. "Big talk, coming from you."

"Oh?"

"You made this place," I said. "Why isn't it good enough for you?"

Hiruko was the one to look away, this time.

"You say you want somewhere to belong," I pushed. Throwing his own words back into his face brought a smile to my lips, vengeful and untamed. "Wouldn't it be easier to just find somewhere to belong here? Take acceptance where it's offered, and worry about the details later."

"You don't know what you're talking about," he whispered.

"It's a theory I've been toying with," I continued. "You say you made this place. You say this place isn't Real—that it's only as Real as these dreams of mine." I waved at the whirling stars, struck out at the rippling sea. "You say you have to impress the Makers, somehow, to get whatever it is you want. And if what you want is a Real world where you belong… maybe only the Makers can give that to you."

Hiruko did not speak. He did not move. He was a statue frozen in space and time, eyes wide and unblinking, reflecting the light of the stars and the movements of my dream's Unreal planets.

"A Real world, Real belonging," I continued. "This hollow facsimile of a world isn't Real enough to make you feel whole, so you need a different one—one only the Makers can give you."

I thought he'd deny my theory. I thought he'd tell me I was wrong, as he always did. That maybe he'd prevaricate and avoid addressing what I'd said entirely.

Instead, Hiruko surprised me.

The only thing he said was, "Am I that transparent?"

It was an admission that should have filled me with triumph, but it did not. Instead, I felt nothing. I felt hollow, a shell of myself, form ringing with the muted peal of… emptiness.

Slowly, I turned back to the sea and stars.

"No," I said. "I just know how you feel. That's all."

We sat in silence for a long time, watching the flowers sway. Then, without a word, Hiruko stood and walked away, wooden sandals clacking against my dream's stony ground.

I did not turn to look at him when I said, "Hiruko?"

"Yes?" he replied.

"Your plans with the Makers. If they endanger the people I love, I'll have to intervene. You know that, don't you?"

"I know," he said.

"Real or not, I will protect the ones I love with everything I have."

"I know that, too, lucky child."

I stood. I turned. Hiruko looked at me with pity and with sorrow, but he stood tall and did not yield beneath my stare. I'm sure I looked about the same—determined to do what I knew was right, yet reluctant to do it and harm this other person whom I understood so well. Because we were a pair, Hiruko and I. Real people in Unreal worlds, desperate for connection, but not the kind that had been offered to us.

At least that's what I hoped he felt, anyway.

We stood there, looking at each other, for a long time. I can't say for sure how much time passed in the landscape of my dreams, but soon Hiruko shut his tired eyes. He sighed and ran a hand over his hair, cheeks hollow and skin wan. It struck me again, how tired he looked. How long did such a tired person have to enact their plans before they collapsed from sheer exhaustion? I couldn't say, but I knew in my heart that it had to be soon.

Soon, our reckoning would come.

"So where does that leave us?" I asked.

"Right where we started, I should think." Hiruko turned away in a flutter of crimson robe. "Trapped in a dream, a design of our own making, with no way to go but forward."

I didn't say anything. I watched in silence until he disappear into my dreamscape, and then I returned to my spot on the cliff, where I watched the setting sun go dark.

Notes:

Really sorry this is a few days late. Got sick over the weekend and just couldn't work. I don't think I have COVID, but I'm getting tested this coming Monday to be sure. Fingers crossed…

According to FFnet, this story is 1,000,000 words long, though on here the count is a little shorter. How did this even happen? Thanks for riding this ride, long as it is.

In an indirect way, Keirama shippers have gotten confirmation of something they've been vying for for a while now. But then Keiko admitted to what's holding her back (Kurama might not even be Real, and she also feels like she doesn't deserve him), and that's a hurdle not easily surmounted.

In another, no less indirect way, Hiruko admitted a fundamental truth regarding his motivations. Perhaps he's as tired of hiding them as NQK is at guessing what they may be.

Had a rough weekend, but these people made it magical with their support. Thank you endlessly for it and sorry I'm not gushier, I'm still not feeling great but again, YOU ARE MAGIC and I love you and thank you forever: silverpaper_toffeepaper, Capriciousfan, Paddygirl, Silverfox8080, Sanguinary_Tide, Gerbilfriend, Unctuous, Nollyn, RainbowWordStrings, Delightful_ghast, ShiaraM, SarcasticallyDances, Ms_Liz, zoostitcher89, NotQuiteAnonymous, Durinsdottir, TokiMirage, Cptkitten, DragonsTower, Sdelacruz2, musiquemer, rosethornli, JestWine, Maruli

Chapter 111: Nice to Meet You / We Meet Again

Summary:

In which Keiko recites poetry and then hears bad poetry recited at an open-mic. Yes, really.

Notes:

Warnings: None, aside from this being largely raw and unedited. I'll give it a read tomorrow but I don't feel good and want to sleep UGGGHHH thank you for understanding

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"Hey, kid," Shizuru said when I answered her early-morning call. "You need a haircut."

For a minute afterward, I just stared at the phone in disbelief. My parents rattled around in the kitchen as they did their pre-lunch prep; neither of them noticed me rub the back of my neck, fingers carding self-consciously into the long strands tickling my collar. They'd been nagging me about getting a trim for a few weeks now. Between their criticism, the comments of my teachers, and now Shizuru, it was hard to argue with the idea of getting it cut—but how had Shizuru known? Was she really that psychic?

"This Sunday at 10 AM," she continued when I said nothing. "My house. No excuses."

"Sorry, but what makes you think I need—?"

"We're long past your next scheduled trim and you were already looking shaggy back on Hanging Neck Island," she said, tone as curt and cutting as her trimming scissors. "And besides. I'm a good enough stylist to know how fast your hair grows." A beat. "Though if I'm being honest, I saw you looking more than a little bedraggled that night you dropped off Botan."

"Oh," I said. That explained a few things. "So that was you in the window, huh?"

"'Course it was," she said. "So this Sunday at 10? I can squeeze you in."

A tempting offer, but… "Sorry, Shizuru." I twirled my overgrown bangs around a fingertip, eyes locked on the floor. "I don't think going to your place is a good idea right now."

"My brother won't be there, if that's what you're worried about."

I blinked like an owl in surprise. "He won't?"

"No. Said he has plans this weekend. Which means you have no excuses."

"Maybe not, but…"

"This Sunday at 10, kid." A low laugh, wry and dry. "Trust me. You need the cut."

She hung up before I could ask her if this was really such a good idea—but in my heart, I already suspected it was, hard though it may be to admit it. There was something I needed to do at her house, after all. Something I needed to drop off, and if Kuwabara wasn't there, it was probably for the best.

Placing the phone back in its cradle, I padded upstairs on socked feet. I didn't carry a purse to school, but the purse I tended to use on the weekends hung off a peg beside my bedroom door. Into it I placed a white envelope that I retrieved from my desk drawer.

It wasn't big, that envelope. It wasn't packed full, either.

And yet, despite its thin dimensions, it somehow felt as weighty as a heavy, leaden crown

The sign on the front door of the Kuwabara residence said to come inside if you had an appointment. I had an appointment, so I obeyed. True to her word, I saw neither hide nor hair of Kuwabara Kazuma as I crept through their quiet home. All I found was Shizuru cutting a woman's hair in the kitchen, tall black chair positioned in front of the mirror hanging on the wall. Shizuru didn't look up when I came in, and the woman getting her bangs trimmed didn't bother glancing away from her glossy magazine.

"You're early," said Shizuru.

"Sorry about that."

"Not a problem, kid. Just wait in the living room, would ya? Or out back; Dad's out there if you want company." Snip, snip, went her scissors. "Should just be a few minutes."

"Sure."

My stomach dropped when she mentioned her father, but the living room was blessedly empty—but then movement through the windows lining the back wall caught my eye. A tall man with a long black ponytail, a goatee and round, tinted glasses watered plants with a small metal watering can, his back facing me. Too bad psychic powers ran in the Kuwabara family. No sooner had I spotted him than did he turn around, waving at me as a grin curled the corners of his mouth.

My shoulders sank. I sighed. He'd spotted me, and since it would be rude to just ignore him, I steeled myself for the worst and stepped out of the door beside the windows and into the back yard beyond.

Well. To call it a "yard" was generous. The back of the Kuwabara house homed nothing more elaborate then a small courtyard ringed by high privacy fence. Flowers and small fruit trees and a few bushes of hot peppers decorated the space, surrounding the round table and quartet of chairs sitting in the middle of the bricked patio. A cigarette rested on an ashtray upon the table, cherry trailing smoke into the warm spring air.

"Good to see you again, Keiko," Kuwabara Sr. said as I shut the door. "Shizuru said you'd be stopping by." He waved at the pitcher and glasses on the table. "There's lemonade if you're thirsty."

"Thanks." I wasn't thirsty, but I made a show of pouring myself some, anyway. Rolling the cool glass between my palms, I forced myself to smile and tried my best not to look like a beached fish. "So… how have you been, lately? Haven't talked to you in a while."

"Just livin' the dream, as always." He aimed his watering can at a bush of bright red peppers, eyes gleaming above his dark glasses. "Happy my kids came back from that tournament you all went galloping off to in one piece."

"Me, too."

"Shizuru said you went with."

"I did. It was…" I searched for the words. Settled upon understatement: "It was quite the experience."

"So she's told me," said Kuwabara Sr. "And it comes as no surprise, given there were demons in the mix."

He didn't say it like an accusation or a "gotcha!" moment. He spoke casually, with no trace of irony or hidden meaning. He didn't even pause in his watering. I watched him tend to the plants in silence, holding the cold lemonade against my neck. I couldn't keep from wondering about how much he knew of the supernatural. Kurama was wary of this man and his lazy smile, but Kuwabara Sr. didn't seem too concerned by the notion of demons existing—and not even by the notion of his children consorting with them. How much had Kuwabara Kazuma and Shizuru told their father about their adventures and their friends, anyway?

I wasn't sure. All I knew is that my train of thought had raised a very important question.

Mustering my courage, I took a sip of lemonade, wetting my lips to say, "Can I ask you something?"

His head bobbed, ponytail shimming in the spring sunshine. "Shoot."

"Were you… covering for me, that night at Minamino Shiori's house?"

He turned one coal-dark eye over his shoulder, brow raised above his glasses. "How do ya figure?"

"She asked why Kuwabara and I were fighting. And you sort changed the subject for me, so I didn't have to answer her." My chin dropped, eyes lingering on the smoking cigarette. "I appreciated that, by the way."

"I figured you would." Kuwabara hummed. "Sounds like a nasty fight."

"How much has Kuwabara told you about it?" I said, not sure if the answer would make me sick or not.

The answer wasn't as painful as expected. "Not much," was all Kuwabara Sr. said with a shrug. "Just that you had a secret, and he thinks you should've told it to him sooner. But Kazuma knows it's not his place to spread your business around to old fogeys like me, so I don't know what that of yours secret is." He chuckled, shaking his head. "From what I hear, though, it's a doozey."

Relieved breath hissed out of my lungs. "You could say that."

He smiled, but he said nothing. He just watered the plants some more. When every plant on the patio glittered with drops of crystalline water, he pulled out the chair across from me with a rattle of metal over brick and sat, picking up his cigarette and taking a long draught. In silence we sat there, surveying the glimmering garden as birds chirped in the branches of the oak tree swaying overhead. The tree must've been in a neighbor's backyard, I thought, but I didn't ask about it. I just drank my lemonade in silence, until Kuwabara Sr. tapped ash into the tray and looked at me over the tops of his tinted spectacles.

"He tells me a lot, y'know," he said.

There was no question about who "he" was, so I said nothing.

"He got his powers from my side of the family," Kuwabara Sr. continued. "Not a lot of people are cool with kids who can see ghosts, so me n' Shizu are the only ones he confides in. Or at least we were, until you and that Urameshi kid came along. And then he made even more friends." Here he smiled, broad and genuine. "Botan, Amagi, even that short guy with the sword who came by the other night."

I nodded. "And has he mentioned anyone named Kurama?"

His glasses slid further down his nose. "You got something more specific you want to ask me, Yukimura?"

He wasn't being rude. His words were not a demand. On the contrary, they were spoken with the air of open invitation and sincere curiosity, all emotions tempered by a slightly knowing smile—like he could guess what I was thinking, almost. But although I suspected he knew far more than Kurama realized, I couldn't do Kurama dirty and truly press this issue. Kurama needed to be the one to confront the eldest Kuwabara, not me.

"Kuwabara isn't the only one who knows he shouldn't go spilling other people's secrets," I eventually settled on saying. "I'll take your reaction as a 'no.'"

He regarded me in silence for a moment. Then he smiled again, just as genuine as before. "You're a good egg, Yukimura. But you misjudged me." He leaned across the table to whisper, "To answer the question I see burning behind your eyes, I know that his friend Kurama and that boy named Shuichi are one and the same."

My heart stuttered, and so did my mouth. "H-how did you…?"

"Now, don't go giving me too much credit. Wasn't big, as far as leaps of logic go," he said, almost—but not quite—laughing all the while. "Kuwabara kept telling me about this new friend of his, Kurama—the pretty, not-quite-a-demon-boy with red hair who kept getting a little closer to you than he liked?" He chuckled when my face burned. "And then that New Year's Party rolled around, and there was a boy with red hair, a pretty face, energy not quite a human's or a demon's, who clearly had a thing for you… whose mother kept calling him Shuichi." He tapped the side of his nose, conspiracy in expression. "I've been around the block enough to spot an alias when I see one."

"Shit," I murmured.

"I've kept my mouth shut, of course," he continued as if he hadn't heard me. "That thing about Kazuma not spilling other people's secrets? He gets that from me, too. Whatever's up with Shuichi, Kurama, whatever he calls himself… that's not a silence I can break." Kuwabara Sr.'s smile faded as he stubbed out his cigarette. "Especially when it comes to Shiori."

It wasn't lost on me, the whispered way he'd spoken her name. His gruff voice had softened, sharp rocks smoothing into river-rounded pebbles, volume dipping into the register of intimacy. He hadn't used an honorific for her, either. He'd called her by her first name, and her first name only. It wasn't lost on me, what these things indicated.

"So you are dating her," I said.

He grinned and tapped the side of his nose again. "Lemme guess. Kurama knows."

"Yeah," I admitted.

"And Kurama isn't happy about it."

"Also yeah."

Kuwabara Sr. sighed. Rising from his chair, he slipped a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket before sitting down again. A lighter appeared from his shirt pocket, and when he raised it to his face and flicked the catch, flame turned his eyes nearly gold.

"Honestly?" said Kuwabara Sr. as he lit his cigarette. "I don't blame him."

For a second, I thought I'd hallucinated. But when Kuwabara said nothing else, I shook myself and said, "Wait. You don't?"

"No. Any new man in a mother's life invites suspicion. That's natural." He winked, so quick I almost missed it. "And when he knows that my eyes are sharp enough to spot his inhuman traits… well, that just makes it worse for him. He tries to hide it, and he's a good actor, but he can't help but give me the cold shoulder whenever I drop by." Taking a long drag, Kuwabara Sr. said, "I feel bad for him, if we're being completely honest."

"I do, too." Setting aside my glass of lemonade, I couldn't keep from leaning across the table, hands gripping the purse resting on my knees. "What are you going to do about it?"

His broad brow knit. "What do you mean?"

"What are you going to do about him? About Kurama?" I pressed. "About how he feels? And about you and Shiori?"

Kuwabara Sr. didn't react as I expected. He just burst into laughter, leaning his elbow on the table so he could place his face into his hand. His laughter didn't last long, and it didn't seem like he'd been laughing at my expense. Rather, he looked at me with real amusement and affection when he straightened up again, lifting his cigarette to his mouth with a smile.

"What am I gonna do, huh?" he mused. "That's easy, kid." Another of his winks. "I'm not gonna do a damn thing."

"Wait, what?"

"Shuichi doesn't like me," he said, seemingly unbothered in the slightest. "I can't change that. I can only show him, over time, that I value Shiori. I can only prove to him that I want her to be happy, and that I think I'm the man for that job." He shrugged. "He'll see that or he won't. All I can do is do right by her, and eventually he'll come around."

It was the single most 'zen' response he could've given me, and it struck me completely dumb. I stared with my mouth open as he poured a glass of lemonade and took a sip, giving a satisfied smack of the lips at the sharp, tart taste. True, he had no idea at the extent of Kurama's dislike for him, but… was he really so chill about all of this? Really?

"And if he doesn't come around?" I eventually managed to say. "What then?"

"Then I'll keep trying," Kuwabara Sr. said with another shrug.

"And if Shuichi tries his best to break you and Shiori up?"

Kuwabara Sr. laughed. "He might be a demon, but he's still a teenager."

"You really shouldn't underestimate him like that."

Yet again, he winked. "And you shouldn't underestimate me. Or my feelings for Shiori, for that matter."

Maybe it was the easy way he said it, or maybe it was his overall chill personality, but the part of me screaming 'danger' fell quiet at the sound of his calm declaration. "You really like her, huh?" I said, leaning back in my seat at last. "You really, really, like her."

Kuwabara Sr. gave a solemn nod. "My wife died when the kids were still pretty young. Did you know that?"

"I did. Kuwabara told me."

"Did he tell you I haven't dated since her death?" He shook his head. "Not seriously, anyway. Never felt inclined. But there's something about Shiori." A smile erased years from his face, even as it deepened the lines around his eyes. "A kindness, and a hidden strength. I can't take my eyes off her."

I meant it when I said, "That's lovely, Kuwabara-san."

He grinned. "Then put in a good word for me with Shuichi, eh?"

"I'll try. But I'm afraid I can't make any promises."

He didn't seem saddened by that lack of certainty. He just hummed and took a puff on his cigarette, tapping ash into the tray as an absent smile played around his mouth. I watched him without speaking, sipping lemonade until my glass ran dry. More out of habit than anything, I refilled my cup and drank some more, wondering if I should warn him about Kurama's plans to derail Kuwabara and Shiori's relationship. Granted, I had no details about those plans, so warning him wouldn't be easy, but—

"Yukimura," Kuwabara said, cutting off my train of thought. "That bracelet of yours…"

For a second, I didn't know what he was talking about—but then it hit me. I raised my hand, the Beautiful Suzuka's gift of red cord and white stone falling an inch or two down my arm. "This?" I asked, running my fingers over it. "What about it?"

"Can I see it?" he asked. "You don't need to take it off."

I held out my arm, bracelet shifting against my wrist. I forgot I was wearing it most of the time. It wasn't the lightest bracelet I'd ever worn, but the stone always felt warm—the exact temperature as my skin, really. It faded out of focus most of the time, but I felt very aware of its presence as Kuwabara Sr. reached out to brush his fingertips across the ring of stone entwined in the red cord. He didn't touch it for long, hand withdrawing after a few scant moments.

"Interesting," he said, still staring at it. "Where'd you say you got this?"

"It was gift from a friend." I put my arm under the table. "A demon friend, specifically."

He hummed. "Thought so. It's got a… a tang to it." He lifted his glass of lemonade. "Like lemon juice in the back of your throat, but deeper. Slower. Darker. Like tectonic plates moving underground."

My breathing hitched. "Is that bad?"

"No. But it's not good, either. It just is." He trailed off, eyes staring into a distance I couldn't quite comprehend. "An ancient energy, almost. Like it comes from the silent bones of a sleeping earth. No motives. Just depth."

A shiver cascaded down my back despite the warm spring sunshine. Kuwabara Sr. didn't say anything else. He just kept staring into that intangible elsewhere, reading the lines of a book only he could see. I started to ask what it was about my bracelet that had drawn his eye, but before I could ask, the door to the house creaked open. Shizuru stuck her head out, pretty face characteristically dour.

"Ready for ya in here, kid." She looked at her dad and smiled, a tiny curl of lip. "Thanks for keeping her company, Pops."

"That's what I'm here for." He gave me a small, two-fingered salute as I stood. "Nice to see you again, Yukimura. Remember to put that good word in for me, eh?"

"You, too," I said, bowing (because it was polite). "And yes, of course."

He waved as the door shut behind us and Shizuru and I disappeared into the cooler interior of the house. The styling chair in the kitchen had been cleaned of snipped hair, but before she bade me sit in that seat, she led me to a different chair in the home's utility room. This one leaned back over a sink, where she washed my hair with the nimble fingers that made her the only stylist I'd ever want to see (her head massages are killer). Once we'd washed my unkempt locks, she sat me in the styling seat, commenting along the way that it was a good thing I'd come to see her because my head was a mess. She set about shaving my neck and shaping up my hairline without further commentary, deftly trimming my bangs and evening out the way my hair fell over my ears. I closed my eyes while she worked, enjoying the feel of her cool hands as they brushed against my neck.

"You doing OK, kid?" she asked eventually.

"Yeah, sure." I cracked an eye so I could look at her in the mirror on the wall in front of us. "You?"

"I'm fine. But I didn't just have my whole life laid out like a picnic blanket for the world to see and poke at, either."

"Right. That." So that's what she'd meant. Great. Pasting on a smile I didn't quite feel inside, I said, "It hasn't all been bad. Most of the group has come to terms with it."

She huffed, a laugh devoid of amusement. "Everyone but my brother, you mean."

"Right. Him." A deep breath filled my lungs with balloon fullness. "Has he said anything to you, or…?"

"Sorry, kid, but no. He hasn't talked me about you at all." Her jaw clenched, scissors flying beside my face with dangerous speed, but I did not flinch. "Not that I haven't tried, I should add. I've yelled at him enough that you'd think he'd crack and spill his guts, but nothin' doin'. He just stares at me like a rock, or he walks away."

I frowned. "What have you yelled at him about?"

Shizuru didn't answer right away. She thought about it in silence, snip-snip-snip of her scissors loud in the still kitchen.

"Once I figured out that you weren't secretly a serial killer or something," Shizuru said at last, "I took a look back at everything. At everything you went through with him, and at everything he's said about you over the years. At what I've noticed, and at what my dad's noticed since you waltzed into his life. And what it all comes down to is that I think you're a good influence on him."

My eyes widened. "You do?"

"You're the only reason his grades aren't in the toilet. That book from Volcano Girl changed his life. Meeting you as Keiko changed it again," she explained, not pausing the haircut even for a second. "It brought him feelings of acceptance, of belonging for the first time outside the family."

Her fingers stilled for just a second.

"You might've noticed that I'm not the warmest person," she said, voice low and hushed in my ear. "After Mom died, Dad had to work twice as much to keep us afloat, so I was the only one around." She breathed deeply, gently, purposefully. "Acceptance meant more to him that you know."

Her fingers moved again, scissors snipping once again.

"I don't think learning about your past changes the good you've done for him," Shizuru said, matter-of-fact and simple. "I've tried to tell him that. To talk sense into that thick skull, but he doesn't want to hear it. The wound is too raw, the blood not yet dry. He's moody, withdrawn, sullen. And that's all a shame, because given everything happening with his powers, I think talking to you would be good for him. But he won't admit it."

My pulse quickened. "His powers?"

"Don't front me." She glowered at the mirror. "I can tell that you already know."

I looked appropriately sheepish. "They're not working, right?"

"Yup. Can't so much as summon a Spirit Butterknife, let alone a Spirit Sword."

"Right on schedule," I muttered.

"Interesting." Shizuru's lips curled, but she wasn't smiling. "Any idea what his little problem is all about?"

"It's… recalibration." I chose my words with care, unwillingly to say too much. "If everything I know about your brother holds true, his powers will return soon enough—and they'll be an evolution of what they were before. These growing pains are a good thing, basically." I looked down, straightening back up when Shizuru tutted about messing up her workspace. "But maybe we shouldn't tell him that."

"My lips are sealed." She tapped her scissors against my shoulder. "But in the meantime, what do you think—"

To our left, a door in the utility room opened with a groan, only to slam shut again. "Hey sis, are you still cutting—oh."

It was Kuwabara, because of course it was Kuwabara—and he did not look happy to see me. He wore a white baseball jersey and jeans, hair styled in its usual carroty pompadour, and he stared in my direction with the expression of a deer facing down a semi-truck in the path of its glaring headlights. I empathized with that expression. The mirror on the wall informed me that I wore the exact same one as I stared at Kuwabara with my mouth open in horror. Panicked blood beat against my wrists and neck as I contemplated the logistics of hurling myself out the nearest fucking window, but before I could successfully defenestrate myself, Kuwabara's face flushed. He dropped his backpack to the floor and stalked past without a word or another look in my direction, gait as swift as it was stiff, robotic and awkward and uncomfortable.

Although he didn't look at me again, I caught a glimpse of his face as he stalked by. He walked with head down, a grimace on his thin lips, chiseled jaw set as hard as concrete—and with a bright red face that could put a tomato to shame. I reached for my purse on reflex when he neared, but he flew by and vanished into the rest of the house before I could do anything or even say a word.

Slowly, I let me purse drop to the floor again, staring after him the way he'd gone. Although my panicked pulse began to slow after he left, the uneasiness in my chest didn't abate at all.

He hadn't looked angry when he saw. Not really, anyway. More like shocked, and then… embarrassed, maybe? The flush on his glass-sharp cheekbones had looked like an outright blush, but surely I was mistaken.

But the reason behind Kuwabara's flushed cheeks was the least of my worries. Shizuru stared at me in silence in the mirror, and when I found her looking at me, I swallowed.

"Did you plan this?" I asked in my calmest, coldest voice. "Him coming home and me being here?"

"Kid, if I'd known he'd be home early, I never would've invited you over," she retorted—but when she saw the resulting look of pain on my face, she swore. "Sorry, kid. Really, I am. Didn't mean for this to happen, I swear."

I believed her, even though it didn't make me feel all that much better. It was all I could do to stare at the floor in silence as Shizuru hesitantly resumed my haircut, flicking at the ends of my bangs with scissors only half as sharp as the sting invading the column of my throat.

"Don't give up on him just yet, huh?" Shizuru muttered after a few minutes. "Give it time. He'll come around."

I swallowed. Said: "I hope you're right." Reached for my purse to distract myself from the disquiet rising hot and heady in my chest. "Hey, Shizuru?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"Can you give this to Kuwabara when you see him next?"

I pulled out and handed her the envelope. Frowning, she tucked her scissors into the apron tied around her waist, thumbing the envelope open so she could peer inside. She looked at its content for only a second before letting the envelope fall shut again.

"Sorry, Keiko, but I can't play messenger on this one." She returned the envelope. "That's something you need to do in person."

I wanted to protest. I wanted to shove the envelope into her hands and run.

Instead, I only said, "I was afraid you'd say that," and I let her finish cutting my hair without resistance.

Later that afternoon, I found myself sitting at a teashop in Mushiyori City—the same teashop, in fact, where I'd spotted Amanuma the last time we'd seen each other. And not at all coincidentally, I was waiting at that teashop for that same game-loving boy.

Not that I was waiting there so he could join me for tea, of course. It was just a nice spot to wait for him, Yusuke and Kaito to show up for an afternoon at the arcade. We'd made plans earlier that week over the phone, but because Shizuru's haircut hadn't taken very long, I'd decided to head over to Mushiyori and spend some time getting to know that city a little better. I couldn't forget that it would be the site of our next big battle, and even if I just sat at a teashop for a few hours, the act still counted as reconnaissance… or at least that's what I told myself as I ordered a cinnamon roll and some good black tea.

Just going to a café to sit and relax, after all, wasn't acceptable. There was too much at stake in the next Yu Yu Hakusho story arc, even if the stakes in our version of it hadn't been defined just yet.

Too bad the café wasn't exactly helpful in crafting a vigilant mindset. I hadn't had the head to appreciate it during my first visit, but on this visit I couldn't keep from noticing the deliciously complex smell of the baked goods, the aroma of coffee and tea, and the picturesque décor on the walls. For dine-in, the café used only antique china teacups, each one with a different pattern just as beautiful as the next. Mine bore freesia blossoms that day, and as I sat on the patio to enjoy the balmy spring weather, I privately decided that this was my preferred Mushiyori café. Plus, the cherry tree on the patio wasn't blooming anymore, sakura-viewing season having finally come to an end. That meant fewer tourists gawking and snapping photos, so even though the café was packed and I managed to grab the last empty table, it was still quite peaceful.

Peaceful—but I couldn't quite bring myself to enjoy it.

It wasn't because of the tea, or the ambiance, or the cinnamon roll. It wasn't even because of my book, lent to me by Kaito earlier that week. All of these things were good, and on any other day I'd likely have sunk into a post-cinnamon-roll state of bliss as I read to myself… but that day, my leg kept jiggling, knee bouncing up and down and down and up over and over again. My other foot tapped the pavement in a rushed tattoo. Every time the ladies at the next table laughed, I flinched, restlessly thumbing the pages of my book with each of their loud giggles. I wasn't sure why they bothered me so much, and I had begun to debate the merits of abandoning my hard-won table when a loud voice rang out, startling me into a gasp.

"Well, well, well," the voice declared—in highly accented English, of all things. "We meet again!"

Not but a few feet away stood a gaijin—a familiar gaijin. Tall and lithe, with sandy hair streaked through with grey, smartly dressed in a bowler hat and a tweed coat with patches sewn onto the elbows, the gaijin's mustache wiggled when he smiled, eyes a brilliant tawny color above his thin cheeks. He smiled gamely as he carried a tray of tea and pastries in his hands, shiny shoes clicking against the cobblestone patio as he neared my half-empty table.

"Fancy meeting you here," the Englishman declared. "I dare say you must make a habit of patronizing this establishment, hmm?"

I laughed, unable to help it. "This is actually just my second time. How about you?"

"My third!" he said, with relish. "Best black tea I've been able to find in this neighborhood. I simply cannot subsist on matcha alone, delicious though it most assuredly is. The English are famed for their love of tea—but perhaps you know that already." His face fell into an expression of remorse. "Apologies for the intrusion, madam, but would you mind if I joined you on this fine afternoon? Places for repose are in short supply, I am afraid."

Ah, right; the patio was packed. Because it felt impolite to refuse, I stood and gave him a quick bow, gesturing for him to take the chair across from me. He set down his tray with a grateful smile before removing his hat with a flourish and stripping out of his jacket with similar grace. Unfolding his cloth napkin with a snap, he primly arranged it across his legs before reaching for his teapot, pouring rich black tea into his teacup alongside a long and wistful sigh.

"We aren't the only ones who enjoy this café's selection of tea, judging by the size of the crowd," he said, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the entire patio was staring at the bombastic and boisterous foreigner. "Infinite thanks for abiding my unexpected presence at your table. Since we are to become acquainted through the whim of necessity," (he gave me a seated, western-style bow, with a frilly wave of one hand) "I shall inform you that my name is Byron."

"Byron?" I repeated.

"Byron Knight, to be precise. And if I may be so bold as to presume an introduction of your name, miss…?"

"Yukimura." I bowed back like any Japanese person. "Keiko Yukimura."

"Ah, Keiko." He repeated the name with a huge smile. "I confess I have no idea what your lovely name means, but I am assured that most Japanese names have a meaning of some sort."

"Most do, but it depends on the kanji," I explained. "You can write my name a half dozen ways, and they may all sound the same when spoken, but their meanings differ."

"How remarkable," he said without a trace of irony. "I confess the intricacies of the Japanese language elude me, long though I've tarried here on dull business it would bore you to hear about. I'm chuffed, simply chuffed to hear English spoken once again, and at great length!" He broke his scone in half and dipped it briefly into his tea. "Do tell me about yourself, that I might hear a little more?"

I couldn't help but giggle. "I'm afraid I'd have no idea what to say."

Byron scoffed, though he undercut the action with a wink. "You Japanese. Always so humble and gracious. It's maddening at times, but I confess it reminds me of home in some ways."

He prattled on at length, scarcely needing any help from me to keep the conversation afloat—not that I found his endless stream of chatter off-putting. Quite the contrary: I rather enjoyed hearing him talk, because while my English-speaking reminded him of home, so too did his entire persona remind me of a life that had been lost. This nostalgia came to a head when he pulled a wooden pipe from his jacket and politely asked if he could smoke. The rich scent of pipe tobacco reminded me so thoroughly of my uncle Harris, I wasn't sure if it was the smoke or tears that soon stung the back of my throat.

"So you said business brought you to Japan?" I asked when Byron paused to puff at his pipe.

"Indeed," he said, tobacco-darkened teeth clenched around the pipe's long stem. "Frightful stuff, the world of business. Avoid growing up for as long as you can in order to avoid it." He lowered the pipe to take a sip of tea, pinky held far out; his cup, I noticed, bore a pattern of scarlet rhododendrons. Smacking his lips, he passed his napkin over his mustache as he professed, "Ah, youth. So wasted on the young. You have no way of knowing, dear, but it will be over in a flash and you must take advantage whilst you still can!"

Almost unbidden, a spot of poetry rolled off my tongue: "'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone which fades so fast / but the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past."

And Byron was delighted, as I suspected he might be. "Lord Byron for this Byron, eh?" he said with a bright and merry laugh. "Clever girl!"

"Sorry, but I'm not a velociraptor."

"And now, my dear, I am afraid you've lost me." But he didn't appear at all perturbed by my two-years-too-early reference to Jurassic Park. In fact, he just smiled even more broadly and said, "Though quite the fascinating creature, the velociraptor. Preliminary research suggests it might have possessed feathers. Feathers! Can you imagine, an overgrown chicken as an apex predator? The nerve of whatever deity hath wrought the world, to craft a creature thus…"

We chattered on for a while about everything and nothing, long past the point when our pots of tea ran dry. It was endlessly nice to hear him speak in an accent so nostalgic for me, familiarity a balm on my nervous heart. But like all good things, our conversation came to an end soon enough. Byron folded his napkin stowed his pipe away, shrugging back into his jacket before reaching for his hat.

"Leaving so soon?" I asked.

"I am afraid so, dear girl. Duty calls." He donned his hat with the same panache he'd used to remove it, tipping its brim in my direction. "But I dare say I shall bump into you again before my time in this country ends."

"I'll be sure to stop by again sometime," I told him. "Probably on a Sunday."

"I will count the minutes until then, dear Keiko." Another of Byron's very frilly bows, a dandy from a black-and-white movie come to life. "Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good bye till it be morrow!"

A laugh bubbled from my chest at the unexpected Shakespeare, but the fancy-footed Englishman was already halfway across the patio, walking away with a jaunty spring in his shiny-shoed step. He paid exactly zero heed to the people staring at him as he sauntered indoors, and as I watched him leave, I realized how much I'd enjoyed our conversation. It was nice to make a new friend outside the world of the supernatural (however unorthodox this fancy gaijin might've been).

In fact, I'd enjoyed his company far more than I'd realized—because only once my leg started doing its nervous bouncing again did I realize my leg had ceased to move while Byron and I spoke.

Staring at my agitated knee, I hoped that I'd see him again someday. Talking to him had been an unexpected reprieve. Though I had to wonder what my other friends would say if they saw me talking to a fancy gaijin in a bowler hat, and—

A flash of gold—

—a bright blue gleam—

—a familiar face—

—and the next thing I knew I had snatched up my purse and leapt over the railing keeping the café patio separated from the sidewalk so I could pelt after him, the owner of the familiar face I'd spotted walking down the sidewalk across the road.

What was it about that patio and me spotting my friends from afar, huh?

Notice to wonder; I had a friend to catch. People on the café patio gasped at my exit, but I ignored them as I darted and weaved through the crowd upon the sidewalk, keeping abreast of my friend across the road until we hit the corner. There I had to wait on the crosswalk to change, but once it did I ran across the road in hot pursuit. Part of me wondered if I had imagined seeing that friend of mine in this part of town, but blue-eyed blonds weren't exactly common in this part of the world.

Plus, he was carrying something on his back that made him pretty easy to track even in the tight Sunday crowd. I wasn't quite sure what it was, but a large black thing jutted up from his shoulders, bobbing above the crowd like the fin of a shark. I kept my eyes on it as I pursued him, keeping pace about 20 feet behind him until he made a sharp turn into a store and disappeared. Cursing, I put on a burst of speed and ran ahead—but when I came abreast of what turned out to be a small boutique, I didn't see him. The small store lay completely empty, the only occupant a shop girl reading a magazine behind the counter. But where the hell had he gone? There were no exits I could see, and—

"Why are you following me, Captain?"

Minato stood right behind me, close enough to reach out and touch if I wanted. Probably pulled some sort of military tactic, spotting me and dodging me the way he had; l wouldn't put it past him to pull a move like that, especially considering the scowl plastered across his handsome face. Clearly he wasn't happy to see me… but what the heck was he even doing out here? He couldn't blame me for getting curious and following him. He lived in Tokyo, after all.

But I didn't say any of that. I just pointed at the black object jutting up above his right shoulder—an object I was now close enough to recognize as a hard-body guitar case.

Yes. That's right. A guitar case. And that only raised another billion and one more questions.

We'd start with the easiest. I raised a finger and pointed at the guitar case, one eyebrow hitched high. "What's that?" I asked, as if I hadn't already figured it out.

His hand tightened around the case's bright orange strap. "None of your business."

"Oh-kay?" Let's try something else. "Well, then what are you even doing all the way out in Mushiyo—"

"Minato-kun?"

Minato shut his eyes at the sound of his name. He shut them with an air of resignation, as if submitting to the whim of some being far greater than he was—and when he stepped aside, allowing me to glimpse the young woman behind him, I understood why. She had depthless blue eyes, their color slightly magnified by her eyeglasses, and a head of short, blue-black hair that fell against her pale forehead in a soft wave. She was about Minato's height, and her pretty round face gave her a certain inherent sweetness intensified by the way she hung back, looking shyly at Minato through the fringe of her dark lashes.

I recognized her at once, of course. I recognized her the way I recognized all canon characters, whether they hail from my world or from others. But while I was accustomed to encountering fictional characters from time to time, I still found myself rendered mute by the sight of her face.

Blue hair. Blue eyes. Pretty. Knew Minato by name.

There was only one person this could be—and when at last Minato opened his eyes to look at her, I saw inevitability written in the lines of his tense shoulders.

"Hello, Mizuno-san," he said—using the civilian surname of one illustrious Sailor Mercury. "You're early."

"I'm always early," she said, smile shy but friendly. "And please, call me Ami." She seemed to see me for the first time, because she flinched and pushed her glasses further up her pert nose when our eyes met. "Ah. Ahem." Blue eyes, nearly navy and jewel-like, slid back to Minato. "Minato-kun, is this a friend of yours?"

"Yes." He shot me a ferocious glare. "But she was just leav—"

"Just getting caught up with my good buddy Minato!" I cut in, stomping all over what he'd been about to say. I bowed at her at least a dozen times, nearly babbling in excitement. "Hi, I'm Yukimura Keiko, old friend of Minato's from his martial arts lessons. It's nice to meet you, Mizuno-san."

"It's nice to meet you, too." She had a soft voice, like bubbles floating on a summer breeze… but a certain guardedness in her eyes reminded me more of ice, thick and cold and impossible to breach. "Did Minato invite you to the open-mic, as well?"

"The open-mic?" I repeated, completely agog. Guitars, then Sailor Mercury herself, and now an open-mic? What the hell was going on here? I made deliberate eye contact with Minato as I intoned, "He forgot to mention it, actually."

He glared right back, saying through gritted teeth: "Must have slipped my mind, Yukimura. Sorry about that."

Ami looked even more awkward after that exchange. She shuffled from foot to foot, hands clenched tightly in the sleeves of her sweater, blue eyes darting from me to Minato and back again. "Well… should she come with us, or—" She paused, cheeks pinking slightly. "It's not my place to invite others to watch you perform. I'm sorry, Minato-san."

I turned to Minato, agog once again. "Watch you perform?!" I repeated, unable to keep my voice from rising. "At an open-mic?!"

Minato ignored me. "It's all right, Ami-san," he told her. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"It's just… you're so good, it would be a shame if…" Her blush deepened as she hung her head. "I apologize."

"There's no need for that." He spoke gently—almost more gently than I'd ever heard him speak, if we're being specific. But when he looked at me, his eyes were only hard. I could hardly believe it when he said, "It's… fine if she wants to come with us."

Not that he sounded like it was fine. It was obvious that Minato was sort of trapped, because if he didn't invite me along to join them, he'd look pretty rude in front of Ami… and judging by how hard he was trying not to snap, he apparently didn't want to look badly in front of her very much at all. (A fact I filed away for future consideration.) But holy fucking shit, no time to think about that, because what the hell was going on? An open-mic where Minato would be performing in front of Sailor Mercury? No way was I going to miss out on hanging out with two Sailor Moon characters at once. I'd make it up to Amanuma and the others later, if I ended up being late to our arcade handout session. They'd get by just fine without me. I'd worry about feeling badly about it later, because obviously recent events took priority.

"I'd love to come watch you perform, Minato," I said, meaning it.

"Don't mention it," he retorted, clearly not meaning it at all.

Ami fidgeted with her sweater sleeves some more. "Well. Ahem." She coughed delicately into a fist. "I suppose we should be going, shouldn't we?"

"By all means," Minato said. "Lead the way."

And thus, Ami led the way down the sidewalk—and as soon as her back was turned, I gently smacked Minato's arm with my fingers, staring in fascination at the back of Ami's head. Minato just rolled his eyes, though, and dodged when I reflexively tried to whap him again. As I watched him follow after Ami, I realized this afternoon was shaping up to be something out of a fangirl's wildest dreams.

I only wished I had a necklace I could use to summon Kagome, who was going to be pissed as hell that she wasn't around to witness this.

Fiddling with her napkin and not daring to make eye contact, Ami said, "So… you said that you and Minato-kun take martial arts lessons together?"

We sat at a table at the back of a nearby café, one with few windows and a bevy of tables scattered around its dim interior. It wasn't too unique as far as cafes went, aside from the stage over near the kitchens. It rose maybe two feet higher than the rest of the café and was lit by a single spotlight, in which sat a stool and a microphone. Currently a man in a beret sat upon this stool. He read what was honestly the most painfully terrible poetry I had ever heard in either of my lives (though judging by his enraptured expression, he thought it was pretty dang great). Gag me with a spoon. This world had never been great for literature, but that day we bore witness to its absolutely lowest point. Patrons seemed to agree with me, because the café housed very few at all, most tables sitting empty.

Once again, I wondered why Minato was here, of all places, instead of in the more cosmopolitan Tokyo.

Not that this was the time to ask him such a thing. The mood that afternoon was… well, to call it "awkward" would be generous. We'd been sitting in silence ever since we came in and Minato put his name on the sign-up sheet, watching bad poets and poor singers regale us with their "best" work. Ami's question about how Minato and I met was honestly the least painful thing I'd heard since stepping foot in the café—but Minato wasn't about to let the conversation take off without his approval.

"Yes," he said before I could comment. "That's right. That is exactly how Keiko and I met."

(He shot me a glare; play along, his withering look said.)

Ami didn't appeared to notice. "I see. And how long have you two known each other?"

I opened my mouth to speak.

"A few months," Minato cut in.

"Right," I grudgingly agreed. "A few months."

Ami nodded. "I see."

It took every last ounce of my willpower not to openly ogle Ami or look between her and Minato in puppy-esque excitement. Call me a fangirl if you want, but I could hardly contain myself, leg jiggling not out of nerves but out of sheer enthusiasm (for once).

Not that Minato felt similarly. He tuned his shiny acoustic guitar in silence, tension evident in the lines etched onto his brow and the jerky movements of his fingers. Watching him tune a guitar was likewise fascinating; I couldn't believe he played one! And that he hadn't told me about being able to play. Not to mention that he had already befriended Sailor Mercury somehow. Which begged the question of how many Sailor Scouts he'd met, which ones had discovered their powers, how long it would take for them all to assemble… ugh, just how much had he refrained from telling me and Kagome? I needed to know yesterday, dammit!

Luckily the awkward mood encouraged Ami to get up and be anywhere else; she excused herself and headed for the ordering counter to pick up some food, leaving Minato and I alone at last. The second she was out of earshot, I leaned across our tiny table and flicked his arm until he finally looked my way.

"Hey!" I whisper-screamed. "Why didn't you tell me you played the guitar? Why didn't you tell me you had already met Ami? How many Scouts have you met? Does Kagome know? Why didn't you—"

"Calm down." Cold blue eyes skimmed my face before returning to his guitar, fingers plucking notes into the air. "I'm allowed to have a private life."

"Well, duh! Of course you are!" I hissed. "But this is huge!"

"Captain." His fingers stilled on the strings, notes fading into nothing. "Please."

I shut up and backed off . From the tense set of his shoulders to the tightness around his eyes, he projected the opposite of positivity. Reluctance, uneasiness, perhaps embarrassment—all of these things and more occupied the lines between his eyebrows and the furrows around his mouth. And was it my imagination, or did his hand shake the slightest but when he passed it over his short blond hair?

Instantly, my excitement evaporated.

Shit. Some friend I was.

"Do you want anything to eat?" I asked, scrambling for something to say.

He shook his head.

"… are you only saying that so you won't have to get up and leave me alone with Ami?"

Minato glared. "Shut up."

"Because I was gonna offer to buy you something to make for crashing this… this outing of yours."

His glare cooled, but even as he turned back to tuning, Minato eyed me askance. Skepticism marred his lips and eyes, darkening one and thinning the other.

"I'm serious," I protested. "And I'm sorry." I hung my head, contrition weighing down each limb. "I got so caught up in seeing her, I forgot to respect your privacy."

Minato didn't speak.

"So, I'm sorry. Forgive me?" I jerked a thumb over my shoulder at the café's front door. "I can get up and leave right now if that's what you want."

I meant that, too. It wasn't a guilt-trip. I'd crashed, and that had been shitty of me, and now it was time to make it right… so when Minato didn't say a word, just eyeing me over like a snake he didn't quite trust not to bite, I stood up. Hitched my purse higher up my shoulder. Smiled at him, wide and genuine and sincere.

"OK." I bowed. "Call me later, all right?"

I had only gotten a few steps away when a cool hand closed around my wrist.

"Captain," Minato said in a low voice. "Wait."

Pivoting slowly until I caught his eye, I found myself caught in an unexpected staring contest—a war waged with eyes alone, Minato tracing the lines of my face as if searching for insincerity. I didn't dare flinch away. I didn't dare put on a mask. I just let him look at me until at last his eyes fell away, content with whatever it was they'd found in my expression.

"You can stay," Minato said. "But…" He gripped the guitar a little tighter. "Do not ask me to explain."

I had no idea what he meant. But that didn't matter.

The promise of "I won't" was all that mattered, so that is what I said.

Ami came back just in time to sit through a few bad poems and even worse songs. A fgew more people trickled in over the course of the next half hour, filling maybe half the tables—but only half of them paid any attention to the stage's many guests, talking and chatting over the sounds of terrible creative instinct. We earned a reprieve only when the café owner mounted the stage to announce the next act, and that act happened to be Minato. I heard him take a deep breath as scattered applause smattered the air, but not many people (other than Ami and me, of course) watched Minato as he took a seat in the spotlight. He didn't much seem to care, however. He tuned his guitar with gentle hands, head bowed, not looking up even when a woman laughed too loudly in the quiet room.

"Yukimura-san."

I jumped, having almost forgotten (somehow) that Ami was even there. "Oh, yes Mizuno-san?" I said, turning to her with a smile.

But Ami did not smile back. In fact, she looked at me rather coolly, her shy demeanor hardening like water in extreme cold. She was younger than me by about a year, but the look still sent an intimidated chill down the length of my spine.

Ami was a misunderstood character, I recalled. People thought of her as stuck up and snobby, when really she was just shy. When really she was just awkward. When really she was just a sweet girl with a genius IQ who didn't quite know how to thaw the wall between herself and other kids. That's all she was. Nothing I hadn't tangled with before.

And yet, meeting her gaze just then, I couldn't see anything in her eyes but the ice she'd one day wield as Sailor Mercury.

She pinned me in place with her stare, hard and unyielding behind her glasses. "I hope you understand that being here is a gift," she said, each word clipped and purposeful.

I swallowed. "I do."

She looked at me for a little while longer.

Then she said: "Good."

And she turned to watch Minato onstage.

She had wonderful timing. Just then, Minato struck a chord, the vibration of the strings reverberating through the room in a silken wave. He sat with back ramrod straight, as always—but there was a certain stiffness to him, a certain lack of ease, at odds with his usual grace and poise. However, as his fingers moved across the strings again, a change came over Minato. Tension drained from his face like running water. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. Released it on a sigh, fingers ghosting over strings and sending notes forward into the room as if he'd breathed them into being.

I wasn't the only one watching him closely. The woman who had laughed so loudly earlier fell silent. Wandering eyes wandered to Minato and stayed there. Soon other conversations faded into silence, a feeling like the entire café was holding its breath washing through the room. As long as I'd known him, Minato had had charisma, but now… now everything saw it. They all saw that strangely arresting aura of his, the one that capture their attentions and held it as raptly as though within some cosmic, phantasmal fist—and Minato hadn't even said a word.

That changed soon enough, however. Blond hair glittering with ethereal beauty in the spotlight, his eyes slowly opened, and he leaned toward the microphone.

"Liebling," Minato said.

And then he sang.

Minato didn't have the strongest voice, nor did he have the most beautiful tone… but that hardly mattered once he got past the first few notes. He sang in a low alto that flirted with an upper tenor register, husky and warm and striking, voice full of an unnamable other quality I couldn't put my finger on, but one that demanded every last ounce of my attention. And although he sang in German, that hardly mattered in terms of his performance, either. Every note he sang conveyed longing, searching, displacement, nostalgia, hope, rising suns and quiet evenings, hopes tossed on towering waves and on a sea uncaring—it didn't matter the language. The meaning was clear, as if he sang a song I'd known the words to a hundred lifetimes prior. As if he sang the words to a song I knew in the depths of my soul, and if I leaned into them hard enough, I'd remember how this ballad went.

His song conveyed sitting beside a lover with your fingers in their hair.

A kiss on a cheek, perfume ghosting across your face.

The taste of a favorite meal, shared in secret with someone you cared about.

A thousand other things, sublime yet simple, each in their turn savored but lost, remembered both fondly and with remorse.

I knew this song. I knew this song by heart—and as I watched Minato on that stage, my heart swelled near to bursting. It swelled until I thought it would come crawling out of my mouth, a raw and bleeding wreck of feeling to writhe helpless on the floor.

A hand covered mine.

Ami had leaned forward to squeeze my fingers, concern etched across her face.

But why?

The tears pouring unbidden down my cheeks likely had something to do with it, I thought.

I smiled, and she withdrew, eyes on Minato once again. As he continued to sing, I tried to fight back my tears. It was hard, but eventually I pushed them away. I beat them back in time to rise to my feet when Minato's song ended, clapping as hard as I could, a standing ovation I felt with every fiber of my soul. And as he left the stage to rapturous applause, a smile ghosted across Minato's face, identical to the one upon my own—a smile I wore because I'd realized that I had kept my promise.

Although my German wasn't great yet, I wouldn't have to ask Minato to explain even a syllable of his song.

I wouldn't have to ask, because I had understood every single word.

Afterwards, we walked Ami to the train station. None of us talked much. We only walked and then stood in silence until Ami's train arrived, watching as she boarded the car without a word. She waved as the train pulled away from the platform—and then Minato and I were alone.

We didn't start talking at once. We walked in sync to a bench near the train tracks, sitting on opposite ends of the seat, looking everywhere but at each other. Pedestrians milled about, studying train maps and waiting for their respective rides home. I watched them stroll past in silence, wondering where they were going and what lay ahead for each of them.

Soon, Minato cleared his throat.

"What were you doing in Mushiyori today?" he asked.

I didn't look at him. I couldn't. I just said: "Meeting Amanuma and the others for a trip to the arcade."

"Can you still make it?"

"Probably not."

"So you skipped…?"

"Yes," I admitted.

I felt eyes on me, intense and studious. "You don't seem particularly remorseful about that, Captain."

"I'm not." Another admission, this one softer than the previous. "And not just because I got to hear that." Finally I looked at him, because I had to. Because I needed to. "It was beautiful, Minato. It really, really was."

"Thank you." He didn't let me gush. He just asked, "And your other reasons?"

"I…" I swallowed. "I don't know how to explain."

"Try," he said, a demand no harsher than cloud.

It took me a while to find the words. Watching the people in the train station helped. They smiled and laughed with their friends and families, oblivious to the machinations of the broader universe—and of the pink-haired man pulling its strings. None of them knew a damned thing about the truth… but I did. I knew, and I suffered for it every day, and not a single person in this train station had any goddamn idea.

And here I was, sitting on a bench wearing Keiko Yukimura's pretty face, pretending to be one of them.

Unwilling and unwanted, my leg began to bounce, knee jouncing up and down in a nervous, erratic rhythm.

"Hanging out at the arcade is just… just so normal, y'know?" I said eventually. "And I don't really feel normal these days. Going to school, hanging out with friends… it's like shoving a fist into a shoe or a foot into a glove and expecting all the fingers and toes to fit." My hands clenched around the strap of my purse, leather cutting into palms. "It just feels wrong."

Minato hummed, low and deep in his throat. "You're keyed-up all the time," he said in a voice like warmed honey. "You can't calm down. It's like you don't fit your own skin anymore, a toothache you just can't soothe."

"That's exactly it." I searched his face and found his blue eyes distant. "But how…?"

"I noticed the other night, after we had that talk about solipsism. I started to ask about it, but…" He shook his head, a sardonic smile twisting his lips. "I knew you would come to me eventually. Pushing on that subject never works. But even so, I understood what you felt."

"I believe you." Especially after hearing that song, I believed he understood me perfectly. Still… there were things I didn't understand. Unable to look at him, I murmured, "If you get it, then can you tell me what this is? What this vice grip around my chest is called?" My hands tightened further around my purse, because if they didn't, they'd grip my heart, instead. "I'm tired of my enemy not having a name."

"It's a trauma response, Captain," Minato said—and this voice, I knew in my bones, was indeed the gentlest I'd ever heard him use. He used that same voice again to say, "You're a solider who's returned home from the theater of war, and although your mind knows that you are no longer there, your body hasn't caught up just yet."

And there it was. Everything I'd feared and suspected about my emotions in recent days, laid out as pretty as you please. Leave it to Minato to cut straight to the heart of the matter. It made sense that he would know what I was going through firsthand, and that made hearing his opinion… it was both damning and redeeming at the same time.

So I said nothing, for a bit. Minato let me regroup in silence, not pushing, not prying. He just waited for me to turn to him, an encouraging not-quite-smile crossing the face of my fellow Not-Quite.

"How do you move past it?" I asked, unable to keep the desperation from my voice.

His chin dropped. "It isn't easy."

Agitation made me fidget. "Good thing I'm not looking for a magic bullet, then."

My answer seemed to satisfy him on some level. His chin rose again as he met my eyes, stating the following without emotions: "Find your purpose and use that energy to pursue it, Captain. Don't let that energy use you. Turn it into a tool, or even a weapon, if that's what it takes. Let it fuel you on your terms, not its, and keep facing straight ahead."

He spoke with clipped dispassion. As if he'd told someone the same thing before, and knew a cold delivery would make this medicine go down smoother… but a part of me had to wonder how good his advice actually was. A part of me had to wonder if using, and not dispelling, these emotions was actually healthy. A part of me wondered if confronting the emotions was a better strategy—through therapy or similar, of course.

But that course of action wasn't an option for Keiko just yet.

All that left me was Minato's way, uncertain of it though I felt.

Shifting on the hard train station bench, I muttered, "Too bad I'm not sure what I should be doing in the first place."

"What do you mean?" Minato asked.

"Everything I've wondered for the past 15 years on steroids, more or less." I rolled my eyes, but there was no humor in it. "How hands-on should I be? How tightly should I cling to canon? Should I be rushing headlong into what's to come? Stand back and let it wash over me as it will? Try to affect things now, before they get here, and alter the course of fate? Or wait until things come to a head and deal with them as they arise?" Leaning forward, I buried my face into my hands, fingers carding through my freshly cut hair. "Reactive or proactive, Minato? Which one should I be?"

A hand, heavy and warm, rested upon my shoulder. "I wish I could tell you, Captain."

"I wish you could, too," I confessed to my palms. "I really wish you could."

A loudspeaker dinged; a voice informed us that a train would soon arrive, one bound for Minato's home in Tokyo. Minato patted my shoulder twice, offering a hand to help me to my feet. We stood on the edge of the tracks together, peering down the tunnel to our left, watching as headlamps in the distance grew brighter and brighter still. A wind picked up, swirling and smelling of dust, tossing my hair like a life raft set adrift upon a stormy sea.

"You bear a heavy burden, as our Captain," Minato said as the train grew closer, and then closer still. "The mantle of leadership rests upon no one's shoulders lightly—and make no mistake, Captain."

Here he turned to me. We faced each other beside the tracks like reflections in a mirror. But while his eyes stayed bright and focused, mine remained hooded and lowered, unable to compete with the ferocity blazing in Minato's blue-heart gaze—a warped mirror, a poor imitation of his courage and his poise.

But Minato didn't see it that way. "You are our leader," he said in the commanding tones of kings. "You wear the crown of the Not-Quites. It is you who must strike out ahead of our contingent, treading unerringly upon untrodden ground, showing Kagome and I the way in preparation for when our stories truly begin. Whether you become a shining example or a cautionary tale, I cannot say—but Captain?"

I breathed deeply.

"Yes, Minato?" I said.

For a time, he remained silent.

Then, as the train pulled to a stop before us, Minato said to me: "I only ask that you tread carefully, for your sake as much as ours."

The train pulled to a stop. Minato boarded without a word. As the train moved away from the station, our eyes remained locked, until Minato's car pulled into the tunnel and out of sight, blue vanishing into yawning dark. I stared after the train for a long time—lamenting that what I'd said was true. When it came to the future, I had no idea what to do next.

Luckily for me, the universe—as it was wont to do where I was concerned—wouldn't wait very long to give me a clue.

Notes:

SAILOR MERCURY FTW. Small cameo, but I like showing that stuff is happening outside of NQK's immediate sphere, y'know? Trying to make the world feel… Real, ironically and for lack of a better term.

I've known Minato is musical ever since he entered the picture, but he's not the type to mention it to anyone (although his past comments about music in general probably make more sense now). Finally bringing that around full circle. Also, there are plot reasons for introducing his hobby, so that scene isn't just a fun character moment (though some of you love Minato enough to probably be content with it just serving as a fun character moment, so IDK).

Also, I love Byron. He's great. And I don't introduce original characters for no reason, so keep a close eye on his appearances.

My COVID test came back negative, thank my lucky stars. Still feeling a bit gross, but at least it ain't that.

Aaaaand IDK what else to say so let me just thank these folks for being amazing. You really keep me going with this beast of a story, and as we get into the final arc, I can't thank you enough for following along: Nathan_The_Ram, PaddyGirl, snapsdragon, RainbowWordStrings, zoostitcher89, silverpaper_toffeepaper, jamester56, Sdelacruz2, Capriciousfan, sassycatpants, LostDeviant, Gerbilfriend, NotQuiteAnonymous, willowfire, rosethornli, forestofbabel, Sanguinary_Tide, allyallyonthewall, Ms_Liz, DragonsTower, musiquemer, Bzzzz, Unctuous, Cptkitten, Durinsdottir, Nazzy, JestWine, TokiMirage, ShiaraM!

Chapter 112: In the Cards

Summary:

In which NQK attends a brunch meeting.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

With the intensity of a summer storm, Kagome shrieked, "I can't freakin' believe this!"

I winced and held the phone about a foot away from my head. I was pretty sure my parents had heard her from down in the kitchen, but when they didn't come thundering up the stairs to see who's made such an awful racket, I gingerly held the phone to my ear again.

"But why didn't he tell us?" Kagome continued in plaintive tones. "He sings? He plays at open-mic nights? He sings—" A beat. "What did he sing, out of curiosity? I can't really get a handle on his music tastes. Or any tastes. Tough nut to crack, that guy..."

"I think he wrote it himself. I'd never heard it before."

"He writes songs?" Disbelief radiated over the phone almost as loudly as her voice. "I never would've guessed."

"Me neither."

We lapsed into silence. Only a few hours after I'd returned home after my talk with Minato, I'd called Kagome as I did my homework, wanting to fill her in on the afternoon's events… not to mention because I couldn't get Minato's song out of my head. Its melancholy notes and lyrics full of longing kept replaying in my ears, infectious and unrelenting; only talking things out with someone who'd understand could hope to quiet the noise. Or so I hoped.

"It's clear he has a lot going on internally," I said, still thinking about the song he'd sung. "Whatever it is, he keeps more to himself that we realized."

"I'll say." Kagome heaved a sigh. "Sailor Mercury already, huh?"

"You haven't seen anything in the papers about other Scouts, have you?"

"Not yet, but then again, I haven't been looking very closely. They've got—what? Another year before Usagi is supposed to awaken to her powers?"

"As far as I know," I said, recalculating what I knew about the Sailor Moon and Yu Yu Hakusho canons in my head for good measure. "No clue how deep into canon they are yet, now that Minato knows Ami." A wry smile twisted my mouth. "Definitely could've sped things up, if I know fate the way I do."

Kagome cursed under her breath. "Think he's met anyone else? Like, besides Mercury?"

"Knowing him, I'm sure he has."

"That little faker!" Kagome laughed. "Giving you the third degree about being careful, and here he is, already rubbing elbows with people he shouldn't be."

"I somehow doubt he's doing anything other than meeting them," I said, rising to Minato's defense in spite of myself. "Like a scout—not a Sailor Scout, but a militaryscout, scoping out the battlefield before a skirmish. He's probably taking notes about temperaments and intelligence and stuff so he can better command them in battle or something."

"Oh god, he totally would, wouldn't he?"

"Yeah. He would."

There was something in my tone, I suspect, because Kagome did not answer right away. I flipped through my chemistry homework for a minute before Kagome sighed. I could picture her shaking her head, black bangs flopping silken against her small forehead.

"OK. I'll bite," said Kagome at last. "What's wrong?"

I shrugged, even though she couldn't see me. "I just hope he's OK. That's all."

"Do you have a reason to think he's not OK?"

"That song of his was…" I trailed off, at a loss for words. "I think he misses his old life more than he lets on."

"Well, he did tell us that his intention is to go back to his old life someday, somehow," Kagome reasoned. "So…"

Right. That. I'd almost forgotten. Pillowing my cheek on my hand, I stared out the window above my desk, watching as dark clouds flitted across the twilit sky. Some final fingers of pink still streaked through the wooly cloud cover, optimism spearing pessimism in a ray of magenta light.

"I guess I just thought we'd gotten pretty close," I said after a time, "but it turns out he's keeping a lot close to his chest. Just makes me kind of sad."

"Hey." Her tone rang gentle, soft. "He knows we're here to talk if he wants to spill his guts. But doing that just isn't who he is; it's not in the cards for him, y'know? And there's nothing wrong with that."

"No, but you know that Sailor Moon is all about friendship and whatnot. I'm afraid that if he can't open up, it'll bite him in the ass later."

A sliver of mischief crept into her voice. "He seems to have opened up to Ami, though."

"True."

"After all, she got the invite to the open-mic when we didn't. Maybe they've gotten cozy." A faux-scandalized gasp, dramatic and artificial. "You don't think you were crashing a date, do you?"

"God, I hope not." Now it was my entire face pressed against my palm, cheeks burning red and hot. "I'm so embarrassed. Whatever that outing was, I totally butted my way in. I apologized and he said it was fine, but…" Forehead met desk with a defeated thunk. "Ugh, I'm the worst!"

Kagome laughed, bright and cheerful. "I would've done the exact same thing, if it makes you feel any better."

"It does, if I'm being honest."

She giggled again… and then she said in the voice of a cat that had just finished eating a canary, "Speaking of dates…"

"Oh, god..."

"What? I haven't even said what I'm going to say yet!"

"Yeah, but you had a tone."

"Oh, shut up," she grumbled. "What do you think Ezakiya wanted after practice the other day?"

"Oh. Uh." This change of subject I had not seen coming. "Not sure. Why?"

"He didn't show up last week or the week before," she said. "Thought for sure he'd follow up after I dragged you out and when he tried to talk to you and stuff, right after you got back from the Dark Tournament, but then he just skipped class."

All of these things were true, but they didn't quite add up to her initial segue. "What does this have to do with dates, though?" I asked, tapping my pencil against my homework.

"I mean," she said, as if it were obvious, "isn't that what he was going to ask you on? A date?"

I froze. "Uh…?"

"What else would he be asking you about?" Kagome pressed. "Because he's not involved with anything else in our lives, so I totally assumed—"

Getting hit on by a dude in my aikido class hadn't once occurred to me as a possibility, and given the other weird factors that characterized my love life, I didn't much like the thought of Kagome being right. "I don't even know the guy that well!" I wailed.

"We've known him for like a year!" Kagome shot back. "Of course you know him!"

"Yeah, but not well," I said. "And isn't he, like, 20 or something? A bit too old for me, don't you think?"

"Maybe, maybe not." She thought about it for a minute. "But you do have a point. Ezakiya's been with us since we started lessons with Hideki-sensei, but he's not exactly…"

"Memorable?" I supplied.

She giggled. "If beige were a person, its name would be Ezakiya."

"Tigger!" I said, shocked—but laughing just the same. "That's mean!"

"You know what I mean, though!"

I relented with a sigh. "He's a minor character, for sure."

"For somebody so tall, he just fades right into the background."

"Mister Cellophane should've been my name," I sang, "'cause they can see right through me, walk right by me…"

"Really, Eeyore?" Kagome said with the tonal equivalent of a single raised eyebrow. "Show tunes?"

"Hey, it fits!"

"Maybe. You're still a nerd, though." Her voice dropped into a whisper. "But if he wasn't after a date, then what do you suppose he—?"

A sharp rap of knuckles against glass had me looking up, staring through the window pane and right into a pair of burning scarlet eyes. I startled, but when the eyes didn't so much as blink, I heaved a sigh.

"Hey, can I call you back?" I said, cutting Kagome off midsentence. "There's a stray cat on my windowsill."

"Ah. Well, tell Hiei hello from me, then," Kagome said with her usual bright enthusiasm. "Talk tomorrow?"

"Sure. Bye."

Hiei still hadn't blinked by the time I returned the phone to its cradle and pulled up the window pane, a waft of humid air lapping at my face like sodden wool. He just hopped onto my desk, scattering papers, and then hopped onto my floor as I scrambled to get out of his way. Hiei didn't say anything to me at first, watching in silence as I grumbled and cleaned up the mess he'd made. Thunder rumbled in the near-dark outside, distant but ominous and smelling of ozone. Once I had my papers back in order, I shut the window against the foreboding weather, watching the orange-tinted clouds billow against the dark night sky.

"Nice to see you too, Hiei," I said, catching his gaze in the window glass.

He looked away, eyes rolling. "Tch."

"Hungry?"

A pause.

Then: "Yes."

"I'll be back in a minute."

My parents were prepping soup stock for the next business day when I came downstairs to fix Hiei a bowl of ramen and shape a few onigiri for him. Dad gave me a bit of grief for the food, given I'd already eaten dinner, but I just said I had a late night of studying ahead and he backed off (and forced a slice of cake onto my tray, too). Hiei eyed the food with his usual skepticism when I set it upon my desk, but he didn't snub it or pretend to hate it. We'd come a long way since the days when we first met, I guess. He tucked in as I relocated my homework to my bed, spreading papers across the comforter in a black and white rainbow of worksheets and textbooks.

We didn't talk much, if at all, while he ate and I studied, but I was more than content with this. I had a chemistry exam that week, and I needed the silence to concentrate. Luckily the reticent-to-be-social fire demon at my desk was more than happy to oblige. The only sounds that cut the silence were his ramen-slurping and the turning of my pages.

Oh, and then the ringing of a phone, loud and shrill in the quiet. So much for studying…

I grabbed the phone off the hook as Hiei set aside his ramen and tucked into his onigiri, cradling it between my cheek and my shoulder as I continued to look over my chemistry worksheets. I muttered only the curtest of hellos, hoping this person was a telemarketer and I could hang up in short order.

No such luck. Instead of was Yusuke's voice that came dancing through the line with a drawl of, "Hey, Tex. How's it hanging?"

"As well as can be expected," I muttered. "You?"

"Would've been better if you'd actually shown up today like you were supposed to."

I dropped my worksheets with a rustle of paper on bedspread. "Aw, fuck."

He cackled, deviousness made audible. "So what happened, Little Miss Perfect?" he teased. "It's not like you to miss a playdate. One that you organized, by the way. The kid was nearly inconsolable!"

"Somehow I doubt that, but thanks for the guilt trip." I paused, then cursed. "Was he OK, though?"

"I knew you cared," Yusuke said, triumphant. "And I mean, he wasn't happy, but I was there and so were Kurama and Kaito, so… he had fun anyway, I think." Yusuke made a sound like gagging and scoffing combined. "Also, never leave me alone with that Kaito dude again. He kept shooting Kurama dirty looks and challenging him to trivia games and it was awkward as hell. Didn't have anything to talk to him about and I was too freaked out over calling Kurama the wrong name to have any fun. Just stuck with Amanuma, and you know how he gets." Yusuke made that gross noise again, then grumbled, "Kept rubbing it in my face when I lost at Tekken."

"I'm the glue holding that social group together, yeah," I said. "I promise not to ditch next time, I swear."

"So why did you ditch, anyway?"

I hesitated—but even though my instinct was to lie, I tamped it down in favor of telling the truth. Or at least a version of it. That's what I'd promised Yusuke I'd tell him from now on, after all: the truth, and nothing but.

"Ran into a friend and got caught up in their drama," I said, choosing my words with care. "Nothing major."

He paused. Then: "Is this a Tex thing?"

"Eh?"

"Is this a Tex thing?" Yusuke repeated. "Like, something you can't really talk about much, because it's a Tex thing and not a Keiko thing?"

"Uh… Yeah. Actually, yeah, it is," I said. "That's a good way of putting it."

"OK. Good," Yusuke said. "So anyway—"

"You mean you're not gonna make me explain?" I interjected.

Yusuke huffed. "I mean, so long as you're not lying to me, I really don't care. I know there's stuff you can't tell me, but telling me that you can't tell me isn't the same thing as pretending nothing's wrong." He chuckled. "But we gotta get a code-word for these kinds of situations so I'm not left wondering next time."

"A code word," I repeated.

"Yeah," said Yusuke. "I'm thinking 'swordfish.'"

"Of course you are." I laughed. "Fine. 'Swordfish' it is."

"Hell yeah," said Yusuke. "Oh, and we're all getting together again next weekend, by the way. Same crew as this weekend." He injected his voice with menace I did not for a moment believe. "Only you can't ditch us this time, got it?"

"I promise to do my very best to show up on time. Scout's honor," I said—and then the irony of that phrase struck me, and I tried my best to keep from laughing.

And I did a good job, apparently, because Yusuke didn't notice. "You'd better, or I'll shave your head while you sleep," was all he said. "Anyway. I stole a six-pack from my mom. Want me to come over? We can play Dragon Quest."

Tempting though the offer was, the responsible Keiko-half of me won out over the Tex half. "Sorry, Yusuke. Can't," I said, regretting every word. "I have a test to study for, so I really need to be alone with no people or distractions."

"Lame. Boring. Nerd." He yawned, as if I bored him half to tears. "Maybe tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow's our parolee meeting, so that works."

"Cool. See ya then."

"Bye."

I hung up and turned back to my work, but before I could read a single word, the rattle of my chair sliding back over the carpet dragged me out of the world of studying. The sight of Hiei climbing onto my desk and levering open the window had me setting my books aside, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed as if I intended to follow him into the stormy night beyond. Humid wind blew in through the open portal, smelling of wind and wet and sharper, more intense ozone than before.

"Where are you going?" I said instead, forcing myself to stay seated.

Scarlet eyes flickered my way; he already had a foot out the window, and he didn't bother pulling it back inside when he curtly said, "Away."

"Why?" I said. Two uneaten onigiri on his abandoned plate appeared almost plaintive in my eyes. "You haven't finished your food. Was it gross?"

He scoffed. "The food isn't the issue."

"Then why—?"

"You need to be alone, no people or distractions," he said—and it took me a second to realize he'd just parroted part of my conversation with Yusuke back at me.

But rather than feel offended, I just rolled my eyes. "You're not people, Hiei. You're 20 knives duct-taped together that somehow gained sentience and a thirst for violence."

Hiei stared for a moment.

Then he leaned toward me and said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." A long pause as he hauled himself forward, preparing to swing out of the window entirely. "I don't mean to say you're not a person, by the way. Just want to be clear."

He glowered. "But I'm not one. I'm a demon, not a human."

"I didn't say human. I said person. There's a difference."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Whales are people," I insisted. "So are elephants and some species of bird."

"So I'm an animal now?" he said, baring his teeth like one.

"No," I told him, threading my hands through my hair in distress. "Fuck, Hiei. Look, you don't—" I shook my head. "Aside from yowling about food like an alley cat, you so very rarely make demands of me that having you hear isn't disruptive to my alone-time, is what I'm trying to say."

"Funny." He pulled one foot back into the room, standing unabashedly atop my desk. Every acerbic word dripped acid onto my desk when he said, "And here I thought making dinner might constitute some form of effort on your part. I'll be sure to ask for more next time."

"Don't be glib. I meant emotional demands." Cracking a smile when he didn't reply, I added, "If anything, I'm the one pushing emotion onto you. Sometimes I don't understand why you keep coming back." A shrug, helpless. "I'm sure I get annoying."

He pulled himself back into the room with a jerk, standing at his full height atop the desk so he could glare down the length of his nose. "Stop that," he hissed, scarlet eyes livid. "Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"If anyone is going to insult you, it's going to be me."

It was tough to read his expression, just then. Anger, annoyance, a barely leashed frustration I couldn't put my finger on, and so many other things I couldn't quite name all warred with one another, turning Hiei's face into a thunderhead glutted with a summer monsoon. But while his words weren't exactly sweet, they were… nice. In their own weird way, of course. Such is Hiei, after all. I ducked my head and smiled, hiding the expression behind a hand.

"Fine. I'll knock it off," I muttered. "Just get off my damn desk and shut the window, why dontcha?"

For a second, he didn't move. Then he took a single step forward and dropped to the carpet like a stone, turning so he could yank down the windowpane and sit stiffly in my office chair once more. He picked up one of his remaining onigiri without a word, biting into it and making a face when he encountered the sour pickled plum hidden within the rice. I smiled, squashing the look when he shot me a glare, and pulled my textbook back across my lap. But the words wouldn't focus when I looked at them, so I raised my head and watched as Hiei picked the plum out of the onigiri and set it on the plate with a look of supreme distaste.

"Before I get sucked back into these equations," I said as he took another bite, "there's something I've been meaning to ask you."

Hiei swallowed, heedless of the grains of rice on his chin. "I thought you said I wasn't a distraction," he said with a taunting sneer. "My, how the tables have turned."

"Oh, shut up," I grumbled. "Botan got me thinking. You do have a place to stay, right? You're not sleeping in trees or on park benches?"

Another of his cutting stares. "I don't sleep in trees."

I raised my hands. "Fine, fine. Mea culpa." Dropped my hands back into my lap with a smile. "Just wanted to be sure you had a place to keep the rain off your head. Rainy season isn't far off, after all."

As if summoned, thunder rumbled in the distance, and a smattering of raindrops struck the window. But Hiei didn't acknowledge me. He just stared at his onigiri without speaking, soon raising it to his lips for another vicious bite. So he was going to pull his usual stray cat routine and only be talkative on his terms, huh? Typical Hiei; the thought made me smile. Settling back against my bed's many pillows, I curled my knees closer to my body and set my book atop them, scanning the page and highlighting a section I suspected would be relevant to my next chemistry test.

"A skyscraper in midtown."

My head jerked up as I uttered an eloquent, "Huh?"

"I stay in a skyscraper in midtown," Hiei repeated. He still didn't look at me, eyes now affixed on the window—and the oncoming storm beyond. "It's under construction. Humans are afraid of heights, and none climb high enough to disturb me."

"Oh. Well." I struggled for words. "That's nice, I guess."

"It won't be for much longer. They'll soon complete the lower floors and move on to mine." His scowl deepened, carving deep lines around his mouth. "I keep having to relocate higher to avoid their racket."

"You could always sabotage their power tools," I offered, trying to be helpful. "Or just fuck up their progress while they're away, slow construction down. Brainwash them into wasting a shift staring at a wall, or…"

"Hmmph." The scowl turned into a smirk. "You're not entirely useless, after all."

"Aw, Hiei. I'm touched." Placing a hand atop my heart, I simpered, "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever—"

Red eyes gleamed like a wolf's at midnight. "Shut up, you insufferable twit," Hiei snarled, but when I loosed a laugh, his ire cooled. "What are you smiling about?"

"Just happy to know you have a place that'll keep the rain on your head, that's all." I shrugged, glancing at the raindrops leaving diamond trails down the shimmering window. "Though I have to wonder—do you decorate your demonic bachelor pad with all my stolen bowls, or…?"

"Not this again," Hiei snapped. "And no, I don't decorate with them."

I cocked an eyebrow. "But you still have them?"

"I put them under leaks to catch the water when it rains."

"Of course you do."

He laughed, a harsh back of discordant mirth, and went right back to eating as if our conversation had never taken place. I watched him until he tucked into his slice of chocolate chip cake; when he seemed satisfied by my latest baking endeavor, I mentally congratulated myself on finding another food he liked and then went back to studying. At least if I failed chemistry, I had a future as Hiei's personal chef…

We didn't talk for the rest of the night; in fact, if pressed, I might say we didn't speak at all for hours on end. He was still there when my eyelids grew heavy in the wee hours of the morning. I carried his food tray downstairs without talking, and then I got ready for bed in that same warm silence. The silence continued when I dragged a futon from the hall closet and spread it out beside my closet door. I think the only words I spoke were a simple "Sweet dreams, Hiei" as I climbed into bed and turned off my lamp, bathing the room in darkness and the quiet sound of falling rain.

I didn't hear the window open before I fell asleep. But in the morning, Hiei was gone, the futon neatly folded beside my bed.

Flipping through the pages of my manuscript, I let out a low whistle and muttered, "That's a lot of red ink."

It was the weekend, a week to the day after I skipped out on Amanuma to follow Minato to an open-mic night—and once again I found myself socializing with someone other than Amanuma. Only this time, I wasn't skipping one outing to make it to another. It had been random chance to hear from Sato Shogo on the morning of my next trip to Mushiyori, where he coincidentally said he'd be making an appearance to promote his latest novel. He had time for a breakfast meeting, he told me, if I wanted to hear his thoughts about the manuscript I'd given him to review so many months before. The timing was perfect; I could easily see him and still have plenty of time to meet up with Amanuma afterwards. Thus, I had accepted his invitation and booked it to Mushiyori like a bat out of hell, and now we sat at the same diner where we'd first met, drinking coffee and eating an American-style brunch of eggs, pancakes and bacon.

Well. Only Shogo ate bacon. I still wasn't one for pork. Some habits you just can't break.

Shogo smiled over the rim of his coffee cup, black eyes glittering behind his glasses. "Don't get discouraged," he said, gesturing at the aforementioned red ink staining my manuscript like the spilled blood of the muses. "It's not as much as it appears. You tend to write 'puffy,' with excess verbiage that needs trimming. Study my edits and your writing will improve in no time."

I flipped through the manuscript again, pages zipping under my thumb. "Thank you for going through this in such detail," I said, half in awe of the crimson ink. "I kind of thought you'd just read it and give me your general thoughts, so this level of detail is amazing."

"I can give you an overview, too, if you'd like." He jumped right in, not waiting for an answer; I suspected he knew precisely what I'd say. "Your writing is solid, especially when it comes to dialogue, imagery and emotional impact. But you need to simplify your writing both in mechanical terms and in the construction of your plot. The latter is intricate, but to the point of inscrutability, which can make it difficult to follow." He cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up his nose, eyes briefly disappearing behind a flare on their lenses. "I apologize if you find any of that discouraging."

"That's… actually, no. I don't find it discouraging. It's all good." Happiness had flooded my chest at his words, in point of fact. "I knew all of that already—or at least I suspected it." I closed the draft of my novel and patted the cover, smiling. "In all honesty, it's a relief. Makes me feel like I'm not totally oblivious to my own shortcomings."

"And since you can't place a price of self-awareness, I consider that a victory in its own right." He raised his cup in a subtle 'cheers' gesture. "So tell me, Keiko. How have you been? I understand the school year just started. You're… three weeks past spring break? Two and a half?"

"That's right."

He watched me take a large gulp of coffee, one eyebrow creeping high. "And yet, you look rather tired for someone who's been in school for less than a month."

The coffee all of a sudden tasted much too bitter. "I've had a very taxing first month," I said, delicately setting my cup aside.

Sato Shogo said, "I see."

He said nothing else. He just waited in expectant silence, and all of a sudden I remembered this man's annoying ability to use weaponized silence to draw forth speech. And yet, although I knew what tricks he had up his sleeve, I soon found words tumbling out of my mouth like rain from a storm cloud in a miniature downpour. Weird, how easily he could do that to me. But he was a dad, a writer, and the husband of a former Spirit Detective, so maybe it wasn't so surprising, after all.

"Honestly, it's just really hard being at school," I blurted. "It just feels so weirdly normal, especially after everything else."

Shogo nodded sagely. "Kuroko told me about your foray to the Dark Tournament. She tells me that it's not for the faint of heart." He searched my face, eyes intent behind his glasses. "But you make it seem as if the return was more exhausting than the trip itself."

I didn't speak. Shogo continued to stare. I knew it was in my best interest to hold back and not spill my guts to him, but it was honestly tough not to blab about my past life now that I'd told my secret to so many others. What would be the harm of cluing him in, anyway? Maybe it would put him in danger unnecessarily? And what would the point of telling him even be? It wasn't like we were all that close. He was basically just my writing mentor, that's all—very nearly a stranger in the other ways that mattered. Burdening him with my secrets, not to mention my trauma response, seemed unnecessary indeed… which is why I needed up mimicking a clam and closing my metaphorical shell, tracing lines in the syrup on my plate with a fork as I tried my best not to blather on like a patient to her new, unwitting therapist.

If my reticence perturbed Shogo, though, he didn't let on. He just smiled and reached into briefcase at his side, rummaging around within until he pulled out a small cardboard box about the size of my hand.

"Are you familiar with tarot?" Shogo said.

"Passingly." I watched with wary interest as he opened the box and slid a small deck of cards into his hand. "Never held much of an interest in it, to be honest."

"A pity. It can be quite illuminating." He shuffled the cards with nimble fingers before sliding aside his plate and giving the table a wipe with a napkin. "Would you mind if I read your fortune?"

"Oh. Uh. Sure." He held the cards out toward me, but I just eyed them in confusion. "What do I do?"

"First, cut the cards. With your left hand, please."

I obeyed. The cards were light and smooth, cardstock matte instead of glossy. The backs were black, embossed with a moon, sun and stars rendered in gold foil. The gold caught the light when the cards moved, arresting and mysterious against the midnight background.

"Good." Setting the deck on the table between us, he explained, "We will be using my own interpretation and twist on the traditional Past Life Spread, orienting the cards horizontally instead of—are you all right?"

At the mention of past lives, I'd basically started to choke, shock seizing my windpipe in a vice. I snatched up my coffee cup and drained it, catching my breath so I could wheeze, "Just inhaled some air, that's all." At his expression of concern, I waved a hand. "Anyway. You were saying?"

"… I was saying that the spread we will use is one of my own design." He indicated the deck. "To begin, please select four cards. Place them all face down on the table to your left, in a vertical line."

I did so, laying them out as instructed. "Is there a reason I'm the one doing the handling, and not you, the fortune teller?"

"Perhaps," was his cryptic reply. "Now select three cards. Place them in the center before you in a vertical line." When I finished doing as he'd bidden, he said, "Then take a final card and set it to the right of the other cards."

I did so. The results made a sort of equilateral triangle shape, with a long edge of my left and the point jutting toward my right. Shogo reached for the "point" card first, tapping the back of that single card with a fingertip.

"This card represents your past," he explained. He touched the middle line of three cards. "These cards represent your present." Then he indicated the line of four cards. "And these represent your future." He moved back to the single card at the triangle's tip. "We will analyze your past, first."

He didn't wait for me to comment. He just flipped the card, revealing a set of scales rendered in the same gold foil and minimalist style as the moon and stars on the back of the card. Delicate lines added minute detail to the scales, almost in an Art Deco style, and the scales themselves were crowned with an upside-down crescent moon.

I had no clue what the heck it meant.

Luckily Sato Shogo knew his way around a tarot deck. He regarded the card silence before muttering, "Justice. Upright. Interesting."

"Do tell?" I said, watching as he stroked his small goatee. "I'm a bit lost, I'm afraid."

He nodded once, sharply. "Before I elaborate, I must make something clear. These cards aren't finite. Their meanings are mutable, and their interpretation depends on the interpreter. Each card is, in a sense, a seed of meaning that the reader must then grow into a proper interpretation. Please keep this in mind as we move forward in your reading."

"Will do." I pointed at Justice. "And your interpretation of this card is…?"

Shogo pushed his glasses up his nose again, eyes once more lost behind a bright white glare. "Justice, as you might imagine, indicates concepts such as consequences, accountability, truth, honesty and integrity, as well as cause and effect. If I had to guess, my intuition tells me that in your past, you experienced a major upheaval—and overturning of your entire worldview, which culminated in the revelation of some hidden truth, or perhaps a monumental change."

My heart skipped like a clumsy foot on an uneven sidewalk. "Interesting," I said, to borrow Shogo's phrasing.

Although I tried very hard not to let my poker face slip, a polite Keiko Mask in full effect, Shogo's eyes were keen. "I take it the card isn't exactly wrong?" he asked.

"… not entirely, no." And in more ways than one, but I didn't tell him that.

Shogo nodded again. "I see." He gestured at Justice. "You've no doubt noticed we only chosen one card to represent your past. This is a habit of mine, personally. No sense dwelling on the past, because lingering in it will only cause regret." His dark eyes strayed to the middle line of three cards. "But the present… now that is worth analyzing in depth."

He flipped the first card, closest to me at the bottom of the line of three. I wasn't at all certain what this one depicted, the minimalist doing my tarot-stupid self no favors. Something like an abstract hooded figure over a cup, hood decorated with a star and an eye and radiating lines of gold like a setting sun? I had no clue.

Again, Shogo had my back. "The Magician, inverted," he said.

"So it's upside down?" I asked.

"Yes."

He didn't explain why that was important, instead reaching for the middle card. This one bore a bunch of moons in a spiraling design—again, too abstract to read properly. Part of it might have looked like a crown, but I had no way of knowing if that was important.

Shogo studied it in silence before declaring, "The High Priestess. Inverted."

Another upside-down card. What did that mean?

He didn't explain. He just flipped over the last card. This one depicted a large crescent moon ringed by tiny stars and hung with crystals suspended on gossamer threads… only they appeared to be hanging up instead of down. Which made me think that this card was also…

"The Moon, inverted," said Shogo (confirming my suspicion about this card's position in the process). He stared at them and frowned, hands lying flat upon the tabletop. "All three inverted. And all cards thus far hail from the Major Arcana."

"What does that mean?"

"Their inverted position leads me to believe that all three cards are somehow related," Shogo said. "And, in theory, the Major Arcana is the purview of fate and destiny. If I had to guess…"

He lapsed into silence, eyes distant, mouth thinning into a line. The diner's other patrons ate and chattered with abandon, not noticing the hush that had fallen over our table. The syrup from my pancakes suddenly tasted too sweet, almost cloying—nauseatingly so. I pushed my plate aside and reached for the coffee pot, but not because I wanted more. I just wanted to busy my hands so they wouldn't shake.

Eventually, Shogo spoke. "The widespread presence of the Major Arcana," he said at last, "indicates that your present and your past have both been ordained by fate, in a sense."

My hands spasmed, almost dropping the coffee pot. Some splashed over my thumb, scalding; I cursed and popped the digit in my mouth, mumbling around it, "So what do these cards mean, specifically?"

He tapped the top card, furthest from me. "An inverted Moon lends itself to feelings of confusion and fear. The dark of the night, as it were, shadows clouding the intuition and inhibiting progress. It stands for uncertainty and doubt, largely of the self." His hand moved to the lowest card, closer to me. "Meanwhile, an inverted Magician is a master of illusion, deception and trickery."

"I think I know who that is," I muttered.

Shogo's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps the card stands for a specific person in your life, but more likely is that the card stands for the state of the world around you, or your state of mind." He touched the middle card. "I say this because of the inverted High Priestess."

"What does she bode, I wonder?" I said, voice low and creaky like an old crone's.

Shogo smiled at my attempt at humor, though I got the sense he was just being polite, because he spoke his next words sans humor. "An upright High Priestess speaks to intuition, the power of the unconscious and a person's inner voice. Inverted, however, it indicates that all of these things are clouded and uncertain." He tapped each party in the center line of cards one after the other, click of his nail on paper somehow loud despite the diner's din. "When taken all together, these cards tell me that you exist in a state of flux—that you aren't sure what to do, or think, or even feel. You have no idea how to move forward, and you exist in a state of flux." His head listed to the side, curious. "Do you feel you've fallen out of touch with yourself, Keiko?"

It was actually uncanny, how right he was about that—but I reminded myself that he'd so far been speaking in very general terms. That was the habit of fortune tellers, after all. Speak generally, and your predictions can suit anyone. I refused to be impressed until he said something specific to my situation. Tucking my trembling hands in my lap (and telling them to stop being stupid as I did so), I kept my very best Polite Keiko Face firmly in place.

"In a manner of speaking," was all I told him. I refused to say more and give him fodder for his predictions.

Shogo didn't push for more, thankfully. "Hopefully the cards of your future shed a little light on the subject," he said instead, smiling a kindly smile. "They're wont to do so, thankfully. Are you ready to see them?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," I said, forcing a smile. "Lay it on me. Can't get any worse, right?"

His hand stopped halfway to the first card. "I wouldn't tempt fate so readily, if I were you," he murmured—and then he flipped the card.

Even in its abstract art style, I knew Death when I saw it.

"Wow," I breathed, taking in the sight of a skull wearing a diadem, form flanked by a pair of crossed scythes. "You really weren't kidding."

"Let me comfort you now and say that this card is only very rarely literal," Shogo was quick to tell me. "Rather than a physical death, this card speaks to the end or beginning of a cycle. It references change, metamorphosis and evolution. And when taken in conjunction with your second card…"

He flipped it. I recognized a banner, like the kind that hangs from a castle parapet, plus a crown and the kind of old-fashioned trumpet I associated with knights and kings. But it the banner hung skyward, which meant…

"The Emperor," said Shogo, words clipped and careful. "Inverted."

"What's that mean?" I asked, uneasy.

He paused.

Then, quietly: "Tyranny."

"No. Nope! I don't like that," I informed him—because I didn't, and I needed whatever higher power might be listening to know exactly where I stood. "And these are both in that Major Arcana thing, right?" My stomach lurched. "So does that mean this tyrant is inevitable? Destined?"

"… perhaps."

I didn't like the look on his face one bit, either. He swiped off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, staring at the cards without blinking. Once again, the sounds of forks against plates and the reek of syrup assailed my senses, too-loud and distracting to pair with the tension that engulfed our table. My hands clenched on my lap, tangling in the hem of my shirt hard enough to warp the fabric. I hardly cared, though. I was too busy breathing through my mouth to avoid the scent of syrup to pay attention to anything but Shogo's face and the act of not throwing up.

"To be honest," he said after quite some time, "I'm not entirely sure what this indicates. If I had to guess, I would say that after you face an upheaval or change, you will face a source of tyranny." He reached for the final card. "As for the outcome…"

His fingers skimmed over the last card. Hesitated. Then flipped it with a decisive flick of wrist and fingertip.

The card showed, with gold ink on black paper, the abstract image of a man dangling from a rope that had been tied around his neck.

My skin crawled, even if I didn't know what the name of this card might be. "I think I like this even less than Death," I said, staring at it. It took effort monumental to tear my eyes away. "So what does it—Shogo?"

He didn't move. He continued to look at the card through wide eyes, cheeks drained of color, hands limp atop the table. Of all the looks he'd worn thus far, I liked this one the very least.

"Are you OK?" I asked, leaning toward him. When he didn't respond, I said, "You're kind of freaking me out, not gonna lie." When he still didn't speak, I waved a hand in front of his face, desperate for him to stop wearing that horrible expression. "Shogo. Shogo. Earth to Shogo. What does that mean?"

He started as if waking from sleep. "Sacrifice," he said—or blurted, really, word falling from his mouth like a heavy stone. "Or, more specifically—the Hanged Man means martyrdom."

I said nothing.

I processed this.

I said: "Show me the last card."

He flipped it almost too quickly, as if desperate for something else to look at. This last card seemed less fancy than those that had come before it, depicting the simple image of a sword with a crown rotating around its blade, pommel inscribed with an eye, all rendered in the abstract. Nothing about it defied gravity, so I guessed that it lay right-side up… but even so, Shogo stared at it for a while in silence.

"The Ace of Swords," he muttered after a time. "Finally, we leave the Major Arcana."

"What does that mean?"

"I wish I knew," he said, "but I can't shake the feeling that this is significant. That if the previous cards were ordained by fate, then this card… this card is all about you." He raised his eyes to meet mine, gaze level and at long last composed. "The Ace of Swords indicates a breakthrough. Clarity. A sharp mind slicing through confusion, leaving the quiet of certainty in its wake." His gaze drifted low again, distance appearing in his pupils as he stared into some forgotten chapter of time and space, out of reach from me. "Someday, Keiko, a choice will be presented to you—a dire choice. One that will impact every fiber of your world."

His phrasing made the hair rise along my arms, gooseflesh like bullet holes across my skin. No matter how I chafed it, though, my skin remained cold, a chill settling deep in the hollows of my bones.

"You will be tempted to overthink this choice," Sato Shogo continued. "You will be tempted from the correct response with prevarications and hypotheticals—but you mustn't listen to them, Keiko." Here he rocked forward, a man possessed, hand descending to the table with a smack, eyes wild and now almost too present, a glint lighting his eyes with fires I didn't understand. "You must trust your intuition. You must cleave to your instincts, and yours alone, if you are to succeed."

"Succeed in what?" was all I could think to ask.

Shogo opened his mouth to reply.

The wild in his eyes abated.

He leaned back in his seat and murmured, "I wish I knew."

Shogo looked a little grey. He drank water in silence as my hands slowly ceased to tremble. He flagged down a server when one passed and paid for the check, not replying when I offered to get it instead. Clearly this meeting was over, and he did not want to prolong it with petty niceties. Indeed, he stood and bowed before they returned his change to him, prompting me to rise and do the same. He barely looked at me when I asked him to say hi to Kuroko and the kids, smiling politely—but not warmly—as he promised to do so.

Uncertain of myself, still reeling from his abrupt shifts in mood, I turned away to leave.

"Keiko?" Shogo said.

I froze, then turned back to him with glacial speed. He stood with feet shoulder-width apart, one hand in his pants pocket, the other clamped around the handle of his briefcase. He did not blink when our gazes clashed. He only swallowed, face still grey, eyes distant once again.

"Change is coming," he said, as if his words came from somewhere else. "And complacency in the face of it serves no one."

We said nothing as his eyes returned to the present.

"Is this a prediction, or just a word of advice?" I asked as he mopped his glistening face with a handkerchief.

Shogo didn't speak.

Then, quietly, he muttered: "It's both."

He walked out without another word.

I did the same, uneasy, cards of Shogo's tarot reading shuffling through my head.

Desperately, and for the fiftieth time, I repeated, "I said I was sorry, OK?"

"Yeah, yeah," Amanuma said, rolling his eyes as he punched another button on the Goblin City machine. "I get it, already."

The scent of stale popcorn and fried circuitry permeated the arcade, smell second in intensity only to the flashing lights and beeping machines that filled Amanuma's favorite gaming center. I'd shown up here early, but he'd arrived even earlier, informing me right away that he'd already beaten six high scores and was aiming for a seventh, "So don't bother me too much and mess me up, huh?" I started my Amanuma Apology Tour (1991 edition) immediately afterward, doing a poor job of not distracting him as I dogged his steps around the arcade, intent on impressing my penitence properly and before Yusuke arrived to make an even bigger deal out of it.

(And so I wouldn't think about Shogo and the Hanged Man. That, too.)

Not that Amanuma was terribly receptive to my contrition. He responded less to my words than to my offer to pay for this trip to the arcade, plus the promise of an ice-cream sundae later, but even to these apologetic overtures (read: bribes) he still gave something of a cold shoulder. He barely looked at me between games, and while normally he'd laugh and banter and poke fun during his time at the various game machines, today he kept his eyes affixed carefully on the screen. It wasn't until I offered to play a round of Time Crisis with him that he finally made eye contact, and only so he could ask me if I wanted the red gun or the blue gun as we squared up to the machine.

"I mean it," I said as we shot enemy agents and crouched behind cover while reloading our digital weapons. "I'm super sorry. I—" An enemy popped up on a hang glider; I yodeled, "On your left!"

"Got it," Amanuma said, and he took out the enemy mook with a pinpoint strike before heaving a sigh. "Just wish you'd called or something when you knew you couldn't make it last weekend."

"I know, kid," I said, rapid-firing at the screen in front of us. "But we won't have reliable cellphones for a while yet."

Amanuma glanced away from the game long enough to give me a look that said I sounded insane, at least to him. "Cellphones? You mean those big bricks that businessmen carry in suitcases?"

"Yeah. Those." I tried not to look too guilty. "They'll get better in a few years, based on the way technology progresses, so…"

Amanuma grunted, then said, "On your right!"

"Thanks." I took out the enemy goon with a well-placed shot. "I—on your right, kid!"

"I see it!" He grinned, ice in his eyes thawing at long last. "You take the right path and I'll take the left, and if we flank 'em, then—"

We played for a while, progressing far deeper into the game than I was used to whenever I played on my own. The way to Amanuma's heart was truly paved with video games, and he grew more and more at ease with me the longer we played Time Crisis. When we finally died on a super advanced level (mostly due to my delays on the dodge button), we were prompted to input our initials on the leaderboard page—a new high score, just like Amanuma wanted.

Get really far before dying and inputting their initials. New high score.

"Y'know, you're not great at a lot of games," Amanuma said as he excitedly input his name, "but you kick butt at the shooting ones."

"I've had practice," I said, grinning as I shot the letters KEI into place on the board.

"I can tell," he said. "Want to play again?"

"Sure." Clearly the win had put him in a good mood, because at last he was actually beaming at me. Miming a quick-draw at the OK Corral, I said, "I can show you how to shoot from the hip."

Before Amanuma could reply, another voice cracked out with a snicker, "What are you, a cowboy?"

I recognized Yusuke's voice at once. Readying myself for some good ol' fashioned banter, I held the plastic Time Crisis pistol at my side and grabbed the brim of an invisible ten-gallon hat with my other hand, preparing a thick Texas drawl for Yusuke's enjoyment. Yeah, I was a dork, but I found me funny, and that's what mattered.

"I mean, I thought 'Tex' was just a nickname," Yusuke continued, "but you're really earning it."

"What can I say? I'm the fastest draw in the West." Spinning, I yanked up the pistol and mimed taking a shot, declaring, "Stick 'em up, pardner—oh."

Yusuke stood a few feet behind us, casually leaning up against a neon pink Sailor V game. He wore The Worst Outfit in Existence, ridiculous green jacket and yellow sweater vest and red plaid shirt topped with a pair of ridiculous reflective Aviators—but although his outfit was eye-catching in the extreme, it wasn't what attracted my attention first.

That honor went to Kuwabara, who stood beside Yusuke looking as shocked to see me as I felt to see him—and judging by the shit-eating grin on Yusuke's face, something told me that getting out of this confrontation sans awkwardness simply wasn't written in the cards.

Notes:

Next time on Lucky Child, we'll see some movement on the Kuwabara-is-mad-at-NQK subplot, a check-in with Ayame about all sorts of fun stuff, and more. Brace yourselves, because if my calculations are correct, shit's gonna pop off in chapter 114. Almost out of the exposition woods, yaaay!

Wrote that scene with the tarot cards a while back; was happy to get to use it this week. I know nothing about tarot, so the research aspect of this chapter was quite interesting.

I want to levy a huge and joyful "thanks" towards these fine folks for their support: Solita, S, C, Flame, A, Smile, J, R, Captain Kitty, and Sammie (nicknames and initials used for privacy). They know what they did; more details on my Tumblr page ( .com). But rest assured that they're helping me with something huge, and I honestly can't thank them enough for that. Please let me know if you have any wishlist LC one-shots I can write for you to thank you for your kindness.

And I want to thank THESE lovely people for coming out and supporting LC last time with their comments. Your support really does keep me going when I don't feel like writing, and I can safely say that this story wouldn't be here without you: Altered-Karma, RainbowWordStrings, OC Time, DragonsTower, Capriciousfan, Sanguinary_Tide, Gerbilfriend, Paddygirl, willowfire, Horigome, SapphireStream, Durinsdottir, TokiMirage, chigi23, NotQuiteAnonymous, snapsdragon, Alumneia, Flame, musiquemer, Marcelline and Co., ShiaraM, Ms_Liz, Rara_Nunadashia