These so-called onshou were a flexible bunch, Chiaki Shuuhei thought.
How was it possible for them to have such familiarity with present-day society? He could only stare in wide-eyed wonder and admiration at the recently en-bodied onryou strutting down the street in his borrowed face, blending in perfectly... Amazingly enough, he was even fluent in loanwords of foreign origin. That ability to learn and adapt was an imminently imitable trait.
(Eh, he’s probably just showing off.)
No one wanted to miss the latest fashions, be it then or now.
The onshou within his line of sight were making pleasant small talk.
“Can you hear me, Nagahide?” Naoe’s low sonorous voice came clearly through his earphone. “The target is approaching you. Can you confirm?”
“Yeah, confirmed. He’s just joined them.”
A café, early afternoon. Chiaki was loitering next to a wall, dressed as a server. Hypnotic suggestion being his forte, Chiaki often worked jobs requiring infiltration. Dressed in matching monochromatic colors and wearing a long apron, a round aluminum tray in one hand, he looked the very image of a waiter.
(Not that clothes alone will get the job done; you also need top-notch acting skills.)
He was monitoring and reporting the movements of the onshou back to Naoe via an earphone hidden under his hair.
Their ‘target’ had just come through the door. He looked like a businessman in his thirties and carried a large luggage bag.
“Looks like he’s brought the object. I’m going to verify the contents,” he murmured into the small mike latched to the back of his collar, before jauntily stepping out onto the floor. Proceeding towards his quarry’s table with pitcher in one hand to top their water glasses, he addressed the ‘target,’ “I’m very sorry, sir, but we have a no-pets policy within the café. May we keep it up at the cash register for you?”
“Oh no, this is just a puppet,” the ‘target’ explained, holding onto the bag. “It’s inanimate, so I don’t believe there should be a problem. It should not be touched.”
Chiaki quietly withdrew, but not without first sneaking a look inside. Back under cover, he reported to the mike, “—Confirmed. There’s no mistake. It’s the object we’re looking for.”
“Copy. Don’t let it out of your sight.”
The onshou finally left the café with the ’target’s luggage in hand.
“Can you hear me, Naoe? The transaction is complete. Three men in business suits are leaving the café now. You follow them, and I‘ll stick to the ’target.’”
“Copy that,” Naoe responded, ending their communication.
Chiaki swiftly removed his apron and bow tie. He waited for the ‘target’ to finish his tea and followed. After leaving the café, he pushed his way through a crowd of youngsters in a bustling CD store to sample the music at several listening stations before wandering aimlessly through a bookstore. By the time he got on the subway, night had fallen. Tailing someone in rush hour was no picnic, but this wasn’t Chiaki’s first rodeo. He was more or less able to keep the man in sight through the congestion.
The ‘target’ had reached the parking lot in front of his apartment building when an unfamiliar man addressed him.
“Sir? I believe you dropped this.”
Chiaki had anticipated him. He was carrying the ’target’s wallet.
“...Oh, you’re right, I guess I did. Huh, when did that happen? Thank you for coming all this way.”
Chiaki approached with a kind expression. He forbore to mention that he had used the turmoil of disembarking to slip it out of the man’s pocket, then beaten him here using the address from his license—a perfectly executed plan.
Chiaki grabbed the ’target’s hand as he reached out for the wallet.
“! ...What...? Ah!” He pitched forward as Chiaki jerked him close.
Chiaki murmured into his ear, “You can’t use a body to hide. It’s obvious you’re possessing this man.”
“!”
The man’s eyes immediately changed. He thrust Chiaki away and went on the offensive. His will flared against Chiaki’s «goshinha» before igniting the shrubs behind him. Crap. He was a fire-starter.
(Guess I’d better settle this quickly.)
“ (Bai)!”
Without further ado he cast an outer bind to freeze the ‘target’ in place and formed the symbolic gesture of Bishamonten.
“Noumakusanmanda bodanan baishiramandaya sowaka. Namu Tobatsu Bishamonten!”
Headlights brushed against Chiaki and his quarry as a car entered the parking lot. Oh, crap, Chiaki thought, but he could not stop mid-incantation, for it would cause the «exorcism» to fail. Focusing his concentration once more, he continued: “For this demon subjugation, lend me thy power! —«choubuku»!”
The flare of light from the back of the parking lot startled the young couple climbing out of their car, and they turned. They screamed as what they had mistaken for a camera flash exploded to encompass the entire parking lot, the light so intense that anyone looking straight at it would be blinded. After ten seconds or so, it disappeared with a gritty sound like the movement of a river of sand.
“Wh, what—what was that just now?!”
“Hey, someone’s collapsed over there!”
They saw a man lying on the asphalt, and a figure standing over him.
“What are...?! What did you do to him?!”
Chiaki walked past them without a word, and the couple stiffened. Time stopped. The thread of their consciousness severed cleanly with a plink, and they stood frozen in place. A moment passed, and the sound of a car horn brought them back to themselves.
“What—what just happened?”
“Hey, someone’s collapsed over there!”
(Mission complete.)
The shouts faded over his shoulders as Chiaki walked away.
Living in the city had its conveniences.
Mild apathy, revolving doors. Another anonymous face doing who-knows-what, where no one cared enough to pry into how he put food on the table—such conditions were obviously ideal for someone like him. His specialty in hypnotic suggestion had probably been born out of a desire to ‘avoid troublesome interference from others,’ after all.
Yet six months ago he had put down roots in Matsumoto
.
Of late he’d become quite charmed by the view of the sun setting over the Northern Alps from his apartment door—and was rather alarmed by that fact. The city offered no such sublime prospects as those sun-struck peaks crowned by sudden clouds—one he could view by taking but a single step out of his door. What fantastic luxury.
The Northern Alps were particularly lovely under its cover of snow.
The cold still stumped him, and he fretted over the fact that he didn’t think this sort of life was half-bad.
These were the thoughts running through his head as he stared at an advertisement hanging from the train ceiling. It’d been a while since he’d taken the Hanzoumon Line, though Tokyo was a familiar hunting ground. He’d known it since it was called Edo, after all, and had witnessed all its transformations great and small.
And where people gathered, so did onshou.
Rather than large-scale cases of the type they’d seen in Matsumoto and Sendai, Tokyo seemed to attract smaller mysteries related to the «Yami-Sengoku» on a regular basis. Transactions between onshou like today’s were not unusual, in fact.
This early in the year, the city seemed not yet past its New Year’s mood. For someone who celebrated neither the Lantern Festival nor New Year’s, the first three days of the year seemed to sap away all energy, and even deeper into January it was difficult to switch into top gear; though companies and schools were open again, everyone was finding it difficult to regain the rhythm of their ordinary days. The city had that kind of feel about it.
(Too bad the onshou don’t have any holiday spirit...)
Naoe was at the hotel bar where they’d arranged to meet. Apparently he’d already completed his part. He was seated alone at the end of the counter, deep in thought as he nursed a drink.
“...Drinking on an empty stomach? You’d better eat something or you’ll feel it in the morning,” Chiaki said, dropping into the seat beside him.
Naoe looked up at him. “Is it done, Nagahide?”
“Yeah. Target eliminated without a hitch. How about you?”
“The object in question has been deposited at their secret base of operations. The «Nokizaru» are keeping an eye on it, and they’ll let me know if there’s any movement. More importantly, we now know the identity of his business partners.”
“Yeah? Who?”
“Onryou from Iga League’s rebellion—those who died when Oda quashed the Iga Revolt.”
“Iga Revolt?” Chiaki repeated.
Oda Nobunaga had attacked Iga in the ninth year of the Tenshou Era (1581). Now the north-western part of Mie Prefecture, Iga had been a place worthy of special mention. Long-disregarded by the various powerful daimyo of the Sengoku, its lesser-known residential samurai-farmers had unified to form their own province with a parliamentary system which exercised the power of a feudal lord, creating a ‘commons.’ Regular government affairs were carried out by ten elected magistrates according to eleven articles of law. In times of invasion, Iga’s powerful clans were mandated by law to band together to defend the province. Surrounded by mountains, Iga was a natural stronghold located strategically between the Kinai and the eastern seas, and for a long time its inhabitants successfully defended it against encroachment by much more powerful warlords.
Until they were destroyed by Oda Nobunaga in the offensive against Iga in the ninth year of the Tenshou Era. That grudge had given them new life in the «Yami Sengoku».
“Huh. So now they’re looking for revenge against Nobunaga.”
“Their aim is to retake Iga Ueno Castle and make it their stronghold in their resistance against Oda.”
“Iga Ueno Castle... the one that Toudou Takatora built?”
“Yes. It’s currently in Oda’s hands. It was constructed to seal away the onryou of the Iga Revolt. The Iga League will soon be attacking the castle to take Iga back from Oda both in name and reality.”
“They’re planning to use the object in question in the attack?”
“After the revolt, Iga Ueno Castle was designed by Toudou Takatora to be a ‘fallback castle’—that is, secure to the point of being impregnable. They know that they can’t take it without considerable preparation.”
“That makes sense,” Chiaki muttered, picking up some peanuts. He asked for a draft beer from the bartender and planted his elbows on the counter. “...So that’s why they need a monster.”
“The «Yami Sengoku» has grown rather clever. The onryou are no longer blindly waging war on each other as they were a few years earlier. Using tsukumogami and spirit beasts and the like seems to be the new fashion.”
“Yeah, really.”
Just a few days earlier a tsukumogami-possessed saber had caused an uproar.
In the old days, wars of the «Yami Sengoku» had been simple affairs: onryou warrior crossing swords with onryou warrior and battles unfurling from there. A more innocent time, it seemed now. Then it became more prevalent for onshou to take vessels, with strategy becoming more and more crucial. The phase of pure grudge being pitted against grudge had passed.
“It wasn’t so much trouble when all we had to do was go around and perform «choubuku», hmm?”
“Feh. Because the onryou are getting pretty darn good at passing as normal people? Great.” Chiaki gulped down his beer. His thirst appeased by the stimulating, refreshing drink, his empty stomach started making itself felt. “So now we even have weapons dealers specializing in «Yami Sengoku» weapons?”
“Nothing good comes out of onryou possessing people.”
The spirit Chiaki had «exorcised» earlier had been one of these weapons dealers, a troublesome fellow Naoe had been tracking who’d gathered tsukumogami and spirit beasts from all over the country to sell to onshou. He had frequently surfaced of late in connection with tsukumogami utilized by onshou.
“...He was involved with that mess with the saber from the other day as well. In any case, the problem has been eradicated at the root. All that’s left is to deal with the object.”
The article purchased by the Iga League was a youkai called the ‘Bald-headed Snake-Bones Monster.’ Born from the ruins of Iwamura Castle in Tounou, it was said to possess the ability to produce mist. Iwamura Castle, too, had a connection to Oda; it had belonged to the clan of his aunt’s husband, and Oda had laid siege to it and destroyed it.
“She was called Lady Iwamura. After the castle fell, she was executed on the riverbed on Nobunaga’s orders. It’s said that she cursed him on the brink of death. The youkai appears to have some connection to her.”
“Why don’t we just let them do what they want, Naoe?”
“You mean stand aside and do nothing?”
“If they can bring down Nobunaga, we should be thanking them.”
“... We can’t do that.” Naoe shook his glass, loosening the heap of ice. “It would be dangerous to allow the youkai to go on a rampage. I don’t believe they’ll be able to control it. We have to take care of it before it harms the ordinary people of the city.”
Chiaki gazed at Naoe’s profile in silence. “Well, you haven’t changed. Still faithfully discharging his duty according to the instructions set down for him.”
“That’s our mission.”
“And you’re the very image of a workaholic—though that’s not at all what’s on your mind.” Naoe’s eyebrows lifted slightly at that. “So what’s going on with you and Kagetora?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It may not be any of my business, but it worries me. Besides, our work sure as hell doesn’t get any easier when there’s trouble in paradise.”
“... Shut up,” Naoe snapped, and threw back his drink. There was no getting him to say anything more when he was in this mood. So it had been since the old days. Drinking didn’t loosen his tongue; even completely plastered, he was still silent as a clam.
(Though he’d probably feel better if he’d just let himself go once in a while.)
It was necessary to Naoe to hold fast to the precepts he’d claimed as his own. Like the clothes he wore, his abnegation and self-restraint were by-products of that dogma. If he could only release himself from those prohibitions, he could perhaps live in greater ease.
(Somewhere down the line, you became so afraid of your relationship with Kagetora tearing apart that you put yourself in a cage... But you can’t stay in it forever.)
And the cage had broken.
Thirty years ago—
(Though you already knew a long time ago that doing it that way wouldn’t work.)
One look at Takaya when he’d returned from Kyoto had told Chiaki that there was trouble between him and Naoe. He’d been wearing the same expression as Kagetora of thirty years ago, when Minako had come between them—his eyes had been that cold, that wild.
(So you guys’re now writing the sequel, huh?)
A young salary man entered with a woman, their argument rather out-of-place in the quiet bar as she badgered him for a name-brand Christmas gift.
“...Geez, Christmas is already over. To her every day is probably Christmas, while all I get are onryou exterminations and youkai eradications. I want it to be the next New Year’s already! Sheesh.”
“Christmas, huh...?” Naoe flashed an ironic smile, his angular hand wrapped around his glass. “Do you know of Leonardo da Vinci’s ‘The Last Supper,’ Nagahide?”
Though wondering at the abrupt shift, Chiaki accepted the new topic with equanimity. “I’ve never seen the real thing... but it’s supposed to depict the dinner Jesus Christ shares with his twelve disciples before he’s arrested...”
“Yes. It’s a mural of Jesus and his disciples after he tells them that one of them would betray him. They’re seated at a dinner table; all the disciples are shaken, asking ‘who is it’—‘could it be me?’ One look is enough to tell you which of them is Judas.”
“Isn’t he usually the one doing something sneaky at the end of the table?”
“No, he’s sitting among them. Jesus is at the center of the table, and Judas is in the cluster of three men to the observer’s left. He’s the only one whose expression you can’t clearly see. If you look closely, you can see the bag with the pieces of silver in his hand, but it’s hard to see from a distance. Everyone searches for Judas when they look at the painting; besides the coins, da Vinci gives us another big hint.”
“Hint?”
“Judas‘ hand,” Naoe answered. “His left hand, the one not holding the coins. If you look carefully, Judas’ left hand is held out in Jesus‘ direction. The pose captures a sense of great urgency, like this, as if saying ’I can only throw myself on your mercy.’” Naoe held out his hand in the same manner. “Jesus, meanwhile, is speaking serenely, his hands spread on the table like so. He’s not looking at Judas. That’s how it appears at first view, but if you observe only Judas‘ left hand and Jesus’ right, it seems to me that what they say is extremely important. It left a deep impression on me.”
“Their hands...?”
“To me it’s the most striking part of the painting.” Naoe sank again into thought as he gazed down at his own left hand. “...Was he reaching out for forgiveness? Or was he only...” Naoe stopped again. “...I’m sorry, Nagahide. I’m going to go up.” He stood, tab in hand. “I’ll phone your room in the morning.”
Looking up at him, Chiaki saluted jokingly. “Roger that. Hey—don’t be bringing any women back to your room now.”
“Don’t stay out too late,” Naoe retorted, and left. He looked tired. His black funereal suit might as well be his dogmatic cage—a mark of his fidelity.
“Goodness’ sake...” He tossed back the rest of his now-flat beer. No flavor remained but bitterness.
What Naoe had been trying to say kept nagging at him.
Chiaki impulsively turned into a specialty bookstore. There were few people this late at night, so near closing time. He found a massive volume of Leonardo da Vinci’s paintings. Leaning against a rolling ladder used to reach the top shelves, he studied ‘The Last Supper.’
He found Judas as Naoe had described him. Everyone else was well-lit, their expressions clear; Judas alone was shadowed, his face turned diagonally backwards so that the viewer saw him at an odd angle, his expression distorted and unreadable. In his right hand was a bag with the ‘thirty pieces of silver’ inside.
Jesus sat at the center. A halo encircled his head, and his expression was gentle, transcendent. He remembered hearing that da Vinci had purposely left Jesus’ expression ambiguous in order to evoke that feeling of transcendence. Compared to the realism of his disciples, Jesus appeared enigmatic and unearthly.
Chiaki’s gaze moved to his hand.
(That’s—)
‘Their hands’ as Naoe had described them.
It was difficult to see from a distance, easier to understand with the close-ups provided. As Naoe had said, Judas’ left hand was extended toward Jesus with obvious urgency, tendons rigid with tension, as if pleading for salvation.
And Jesus’ right hand—
It was straining as well, in marked contrast to his mild, ambiguous expression, as if it was trying to grasp Judas‘ hand yet still. Jesus’ hands were spread, and he was not looking at Judas, but his right hand told the entire story—the right hand reaching toward his betrayer.
These two hands told the truth.
Distracted as they were, none of the other disciples noticed. Nor did Jesus himself draw attention to Judas. But their hands—their hands alone spoke the truth.
(Huh... What a masterpiece,) thought Chiaki. The painting told a deep, poignant story, using Jesus and Judas’ hands to tell the truth that they alone knew.
It was as if Jesus‘ hand was a response to Judas’ plea of forgiveness.
Or was Judas begging for rescue from the sin he was about to fall into?
It was the hand of someone reaching out to grasp one who was about to fall off the edge of a cliff.
What significance did Naoe attach to this hand?
Was he reaching out a hand in a plea for forgiveness? Did he see himself as Judas?
Was he begging Kagetora for his forgiveness?
(But to me...) Chiaki muttered, closing the book. (...it looks like they’re asking each other for rescue.)
The store began playing ‘Light of the Fireflies’ in preparation for closing.
Time to go home, he thought, and was about to put the book back on its shelf when—
“—Shuuhei? Is that you, Shuuhei?” a woman’s voice behind him interrupted his thoughts.
Surprised, Chiaki turned. A pretty young woman in her early twenties stood frozen in place in the middle of the aisle. She was wearing a mini-skirt with long boots and a knitted hat pulled over her shoulder-length brown hair. ...But he didn’t recognize her. She, however, seemed to know him. Tears gathered in her eyes.
“I’m sure it’s you, Shuuhei...! Shuuhei!”
“Woah!”
She suddenly stepped right up to him and hugged him. The book nearly slipped out of his hand.
Chiaki was exceedingly disturbed to find himself being embraced by a strange woman in front of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
“...You...”
“Where have you been all this time? I’ve been searching for you for so long!” she asked, her dark eyes wet with tears. “I’ve been looking for you, Shuuhei!”
He should tell her she had the wrong person and make his escape.
But if all else failed he could always fall back on hypnotic suggestion...and so he stayed. The woman who had suddenly hugged him there among the tall shelves in the specialty bookshop minutes away from closing began crying without regard for the stares of the other patrons.
“What’s wrong? Don’t you remember me?”
(Crap...)
So she knew this vessel, had known ‘Chiaki Shuuhei’ before Yasuda Nagahide had taken over his body. Of course Chiaki didn’t know who this woman was. If she’d been his lover, things were about to get a whole lot more complicated.
“Um, I’m sorry...but I’m kind of in a hurry...”
The woman paled. She grabbed Chiaki’s collar before he could make his escape and pressed him back.
“What are you talking about? Have you really forgotten me?” He did not want to get into a noisy lovers’ quarrel. Just as he was getting ready to perform a hypnotic suggestion, she yelled, “Have you really forgotten your sister?!”
Chiaki’s eyes widened. “—‘Sister’...?”
They moved from the bookshop to a nearby shop.
The woman’s name was ‘Chiaki Natsumi.’
She was the biological sister of ‘Chiaki Shuuhei.’ The reason she had looked so familiar to him without them ever having met was due to the similarities between her face and the one he saw in the mirror every day. The resemblance in the area around their eyes was especially striking. Natsumi’s face, however, was round—perhaps even a little childish—while Chiaki Shuuhei’s was oval with more mature lineaments. He didn’t know which of them more resembled their mother or father, but anyone could tell at a glance that they were brother and sister.
She was five years older than him, and working now as an office lady in Tokyo.
She’d been searching all this while after he had gone missing from their home in Fukui three years ago.
“We had the police search, too, but they came up with nothing. I’d almost given up hope... I never guessed you might be in Tokyo.”
Natsumi rubbed at her reddened eyes. Not that anyone could blame her for her copious tears, given her sudden reunion with her lost younger brother.
“I had no idea that you had lost your memories in a traffic accident. I’m so sorry, Shuuhei. You must have felt so alone. What are you doing now? Are you okay getting by?”
He couldn’t tell her the truth. He could only gaze wordlessly at her flushed face. But she attributed another explanation to his silence.
“Oh...I’m sorry. I should have realized. It must be pretty confusing to have someone suddenly show up and tell you she’s your sister when you don’t remember anything.” She took a drink of her red tea in agitation. “But maybe if you came home, you’d remember something. We left your room exactly the way it was. So please? Come back with me. Mother and Step-father and Yoshiki are all waiting. Just once.”
“I’m sorry, Natsumi-san.” Natsumi’s eyes widened in surprise. Chiaki continued calmly, “...I have my own life now. I have a busy job, and I don’t think I can leave right now.”
“Why?! Don’t you want to remember who you are?!”
For a moment Chiaki was at a loss for words. But a flustered Natsumi immediately collected herself and folded her hands on the table. “You-you’re right, of course. Expecting you to just drop everything is silly. We have time. But at least tell me how to get in touch with you. I‘ll give you my contact too, okay? Please?” she entreated cautiously. She was a stranger to Chiaki, but to her, he was family. Though he had mixed feelings, to say the least, he could well understand a ’sister’s desperation,’ which made it impossible for him to simply refuse. With a deep sigh, he mirrored Natsumi’s folded hands on the table.
“I’m sorry...Nee-san. This has all been so sudden. But I do want to know who I was.”
Natsumi’s face immediately cleared. Her smile shined like the sun through clouds and for a moment captivated him completely. She leaned across the table and covered his hand with hers.
“Thank you, Shuuhei.”
Then she started telling him all about ’Chiaki Shuuhei’s life growing up. Their mother had re-married a man who also had children from a previous marriage, and they now had a step-brother called Yoshiki along with other siblings. Only their mother and step-father remained at home. They had married six years ago, and their relationship seemed a happy one. Shuuhei had gone missing the spring of his first year in high school three years ago. He’d been a excellent student, and had gotten into the top college prep school in their prefecture.
“You...liked music and books. You went to the library every day and checked out and read hundreds of mystery novels. You did kendo in elementary school—look, you still have the scar from a bamboo fencing stick.” She turned his hand palm-up and pointed. “You were such a cheerful, dutiful child...”
She then murmured something that Chiaki couldn’t hear before pressing a hand against her mouth in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I...”
“Guess I grew up to be a handful, Nee-san?”
Natsumi turned serious, and she clasped Chiaki’s hand as he peered into her eyes. Then she smiled wryly. “Boys get moody when they hit puberty—that’s what they teach us, anyway. You weren’t exactly an exception to that.”
“I see,” Chiaki commented, pulling his hand away. “I don’t remember anything, though. You really don’t feel like my ‘sister’ at all. If I’m not careful I might start flirting with you, so I’m going home. See you around.”
“Shuu—Shuuhei? Wait!” she cried as he got up, forcing a memo with her contact written on it into his hand. “Call me, okay?” she beseeched. “Just call me. Please. Promise me.”
His expression as he looked down into her pleading face was sober—then his tight-pressed lips loosened, and he hooked his pinky finger around Natsumi’s in promise. They left the shop together, and she watched him uneasily as he disappeared down the street.
A troubled Chiaki was still wondering what he should do later in his hotel room as he rolled over on the bed.
Experience had taught him that to be found by a blood relation was the most difficult of scenarios to deal with. He should have erased her memories and gone about his day as if nothing had happened. Instead he’d made her a promise that would only create more difficulty for the future. Cutting off contact now would only serve to make Natsumi even more worried.
(What should I do...?)
He’d intended to erase the memory of meeting him from her mind when they’d parted, but for some reason he hadn’t done it.
Right about now Natsumi would be telling her family, who in their delight would be eager to seek him out. Things would’ve been much easier on him if they’d given up hope of ever finding him.
(Meeting her again to put the whammy on her wouldn’t fill that hole when I make my escape.)
What a terrible waste of effort, and all to drive the happiness from her face. Not that she would believe him if he told her the truth, and the particulars would shock her even more. Had he been so soft-hearted with her because he felt as if he needed to atone? Atone for what, at this late date?
Just then he got his regularly scheduled call from Takaya. On the other end of the line Takaya immediately sensed Chiaki’s agitation.
“Has something happened?”
It annoyed Chiaki that Takaya, who was usually so frustratingly dense about these things, would be so quick to catch on this time around. “What? No, it’s nothing. Have you contacted Naoe?”
“... I got his report.”
“That’s it? Did you at least tell him how much you appreciate his work?”
Takaya didn’t respond. After regaining ‘Kagetora,’ Takaya’s behavior toward Naoe was reverting to the abruptness and ugliness of their mutual hatred thirty years ago.
“... How am I supposed to tell him I appreciate his work if he hangs up on me?”
Chiaki abruptly recalled ‘The Last Supper’ from the book of paintings earlier. How Jesus had held out his hand to Judas even while he averted his face...
“I‘ll dispatch the «Nokizaru» to Iwamura Castle. Don’t make a move on the ’Snake-Bones Monster’ yet. Naoe didn’t sound happy with the plan; if he tries to move ahead himself, stop him. I’ll join you once Haruie gets here to guard Yuzuru. Keep an eye on them both until I get there.”
“Fine, but don’t act like a kid paying a courtesy call to the landlady.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s darn aggravating for everybody else.”
“I have no idea what you’re driving at,” Takaya refused to play along. “Don’t be so caught up in the New Year’s spirit keeping a woman company that you let our target slip out of your hands,” he warned, and hung up. Chiaki looked at the memo paper Natsumi had given him. Even her handwriting looked familiar.
Kanshousha were capable of compartmentalizing their bodies‘ memories away, and generally never touched them. To do so was to run the risk of having their own personalities be affected, so it was far better to seal those parts away. Which was why Yasuda Nagahide didn’t really know what kind of person Chiaki Shuuhei had been. On the other hand, perfect isolation was probably impossible as well. Perhaps the reason he had been unable to cut Natsumi off was due to ’Shuuhei’s’ love for his sister permeating his brain and seeping through into ‘Nagahide.’
(I guess he really loved his sister...)
Studying the affection welling up within him as if it belonged to another person, Chiaki rolled again on the bed.
(I‘ve cast you away, ’Shuuhei’... Because I can’t take your place.)
Though he hadn’t even showered, he closed his eyes and instantly sank into sleep.
Comments
This is Awesome!
Yay, new translation! And your translations are always so smooth and natural it really lets the text shine through. This is a good chapter. Across the years I keep being in impressed with how good Mirage really is. Starting to read this chapter, I was thinking that if I wasn't already a fan it would just be two guys having a generic manga-ish adventure, but then it dives in and all that emotional complexity is there. Thank you for continuing to work on this.