“Right, here’s your room key. See you, Kagetora. I told the front desk to let us know when the other two get back. Don’t overdo it with the Gohou Douji. Take a bath and make sure to get some sleep. Okay?” Ayako instructed like an overprotective parent as she handed Takaya his card-key.
They had returned to their Yokohama bayside hotel, located in Sakuragi Town
’s Minato Mirai district. Ayako’s house was close by, and she could have gone home for the night, but she was worried about Takaya and had decided to stay with him.
Takaya hugged Kaizaki’s coat to his chest.
“What’re you going to do with that? We can ask the hotel to send it back if you want.”
“...No, it’s fine. I’ll take it.”
“Okay...?” It appeared she’d been worried since earlier. “Look, Kagetora, don’t start getting ideas just because things aren’t going well with Naoe, okay? D-don’t go running to another man or anything. Just remember I’m always here for you, okay?”
“Idiot. What the hell are you even talking about?” Takaya thumped Ayako in the head. “My «power» is fine. Stop worrying and have a little faith in me.”
“I do have faith in you. I do, but look, you’re the kind of person who bottles everything up, right? You’ll feel better if you talk about things instead of over-thinking them, just let it all out even if you think it’s silly. Even if you just want to grumble about things. I’m a really good listener, you know!”
“I know.” Takaya smiled. “When the time comes, I’ll leave myself in your capable hands.”
“Kagetoraaa...”
“Good night.” Takaya turned his back and headed for his room.
Well, that hadn’t worked. Ayako had expressed herself with utmost sincerity, but Takaya hadn’t been receptive at all. Which was par for the course. Was he unable to expose his weaknesses to Haruie because she was subordinate to him?
(You are such an idiot...)
She understood. Takaya would not admit his pain to anyone but himself. Exposing himself was impossible. If someone didn’t force it out of him, he would never talk about it; he’d never reveal himself.
Or was he waiting for someone to force it out of him?
(You’d probably already have done it, wouldn’t you, Naoe?)
Naoe would have unhesitatingly wrenched open Takaya’s chest by brute force and gotten it out of him, compelled his closed heart to let him in with rape-like violence if he’d needed to, so that Takaya could be at peace.
There was no one to do that for Takaya now.
(But the fact that you’re not here is the true source of Kagetora’s depression.)
Ayako knew that Takaya hadn’t stopped obsessing over that strange man’s behavior.
At the time, watching from the sidelines, Ayako had felt it as a kind of surprise attack. ‘He got to him,’ she’d thought.
(What a horrible thing to do...)
Of course the other man probably hadn’t meant it like that, but wrapping a coat still warm with his body heat around someone else? That was was still gross and inappropriate.
Stuff like that was dangerous to Takaya. He’d become so frail that he might crumble away altogether. He’d actually allowed her to see him crying. If they weren’t careful it would lead to violence. Doing such a thing to someone who had always been weak to warmth was simply wrong.
Ayako pressed her lips together in worry as she gazed at the room Takaya had disappeared into.
Alone in his room, Takaya sat down on the bed. He didn’t feel like taking a shower.
(Crap...)
Even Takaya himself was perplexed and embarrassed.
To cry over something like that? He’d never have thought it of himself. He was pathetic for shedding tears over another person’s warmth. Pathetic or so lonely that he’d sunk to that level—which made him a truly miserable human being. Takaya flashed an ironic smile at himself.
The tears had finally made him realize what he needed, what he wanted, what frustrated him so because he couldn’t have it, what he was starved for.
The answer had come to him so easily.
“The sea breeze is cold; please take care.”
He’d heard those words before, hadn’t he? Takaya thought, reaching back into his memory. Who had said them to him?
Takaya picked up the coat next to him. Picked it up, and wrapped it around his shoulders the way it had been on the rocks. A velvety warmth enveloped his body.
(Aah, that’s it.) Takaya smiled slightly. (It was then...)
Naoe had said those words to him at twilight at Lake Chuuzenji: “Please take care.”
Naoe had whispered them into his ear as he’d taken off his jacket and laid it across Takaya’s shoulders there on the wharf with the cold wind blowing.
He’d also said: “Don’t expect comfort from me” as if thrusting the words between them. But in that one moment, the words he’d uttered had been so tender and his jacket so warm...that Takaya had never forgotten them.
(Why...?)
Takaya’s head fell, and he closed his eyes tightly.
What was wrong with him that the warmth of a stranger had made him cry? It was as if he only wanted to be held—it didn’t matter by whom.
(...It shouldn’t be like this.)
Takaya bit his lip in mortification.
If only he’d never known the warmth of another person. He couldn’t want what he didn’t know. He was like a cat that had lost its home. The body that knew what it was to have a place of rest dreamed of that gentle warmth when it shivered in the cold outside.
(This is wrong.)
Who had done this to him? Why had he been manipulated like this?
It was Naoe’s fault. Takaya had recognized these things in himself not because he’d wanted to; he still didn’t want to accept it. He shouldn’t need anyone; he should be able to live on his own. He’d never wanted to bind anyone to him. He wasn’t putting up a facade...wasn’t he?
He had to admit it was a façade.
That day when he’d thought he would lose Naoe, terror had filled his entire body...
Moment by moment, hour by hour, he was being scraped out of his shell—being forced to directly face his desire to be naked and his own bottomless greed.
(It’s your fault.)
You told me it was okay to be selfish.
You opened your hand and gave me permission. You shouldn’t have coddled me. I’ll want it for real. I want it.
(It’s okay for me to want, isn’t it?)
Tell me you want me. I want you to yearn for me, to never leave my side. I don’t want to be alone. You’ll let me want those things from you, won’t you? You’ve let me all along, haven’t you?
(Am I wrong, Naoe?)
Takaya believed no matter how much Naoe wasted away—no matter how deep his despair: that in the end, yes. He would freely offer his warmth. He would enfold Takaya with the profound kindness that asked no recompense.
“It’s all right. ...Don’t be afraid.”
(No one knows you better than me.)
Better than he knew himself.
Naoe’s self-respect was such that he would always feel an intense sense of inferiority before a superior human being. But he wouldn’t grovel and turn away; he would always be glaring upwards, up, up, aiming ever upwards. If he was inferior to someone, he would give chase so that someday he would surpass them. It was a harsh desire for improvement that wore away at his heart and mind so that sometimes he lost sight of even his true self.
(But I know you...)
No matter how he twisted his shape—even when he was convinced that twisted shape was him, Takaya could always recognize the true self shining through in the end.
Holding him tight.
Giving him his warmth.
Lavishing his devotion like that of a parent to a child.
“I will be with you always.”
Say it.
“I will protect you.”
Tell it to me from the heart.
He had not perceived the true shape of his love. He’d thought on it so much he was exhausted, and he couldn’t see it. But Takaya could always see it.
Takaya had always known Naoe’s last remaining desire as if he could feel it with his skin. He felt it with his entire body.
(Yet...)
It shouldn’t have been this way. Takaya didn’t understand this Naoe. No matter how long he’d waited, Naoe hadn’t regained his Naoe-ness. He’d stretched out his fingers in need of that heart’s touch, but Naoe had only grazed by. Words he should have understood had not touched him at all. They’d been reflected nowhere in his eyes. He no longer stepped into Takaya, no matter how much Takaya wanted it—even though he should have, it was as if he’d forgotten how to touch him. He no longer drew near. He no longer touched him.
(Why...?)
Takaya had never felt like this, even with Naoe at his coldest. Even when he’d acted in a manner designed to push Takaya away, to starve him, there had always been a linchpin he’d driven into Takaya somewhere to tie them together.
With this Naoe there was none of that. Even when Takaya exposed his own need there was no reaction, to say nothing of a linchpin. When he reached out to confirm that what bound them together was still there, his hand swam through empty air; there was nothing to grasp.
Or had he simply lost his ability to grasp?
(...Have I gone mad?)
The touch he needed had come from elsewhere: from a stranger. He’d done it without intent, surely. He’d probably just looked really cold. So much so that he’d roused another person’s compassion.
“Please take care.”
(Those are words you should have said to me, Naoe.)
Takaya touched the collar of the coat wrapped around his shoulders with his lips.
(You’re the one warming me—aren’t you, Naoe?)
Naoe hadn’t noticed that he was shivering with cold—hadn’t noticed even when Takaya had appealed to him time and again. The private language between them that had transcended words now no longer reached Naoe. Takaya desperately needed the kindness that seemed to come from the very core of him. The warmth that Naoe gave him when he wanted to be touched—Takaya hungered for that miraculous compassion.
(Why did it become like this...?)
Takaya didn’t understand.
When had it started? When had they started passing each other by?
(Or is it...) Takaya thought, and shivered, (that you truly no longer feel anything for me?)
“Why me?”
The words that Naoe had once uttered echoed in his ears.
“It could have been someone capable of loving you without feeling so much agony. Why couldn’t it have been someone else...”
Takaya closed his eyes against the pain.
“I hate you...”
(Am I...no longer worthy even of that?)
Was he no longer worthy of being hated by Naoe?
Fear struck Takaya.
The defiance he had always seen in Naoe’s eyes was no longer there. When had it disappeared? Those were not the eyes of someone who had conquered his sense of defeat towards Takaya. There was simply nothing; he could sense neither yearning nor rebellion. There was nothing for him in those eyes.
(Am I the reason?)
Had he lost that which had made Naoe cleave so tightly to him? Had he become someone undeserving of Naoe’s obsession?
(Have I lost my power...?) Takaya shuddered. (Are you disappointed in me?)
Takaya had always feared the word ‘disappointment’, to have others be disappointed in him— “This shouldn’t have happened.” To be disappointed in him, to turn away from him.
Takaya was by nature full of self-doubt. He didn’t want to be someone full of unfounded self-confidence who lost sight of his true position. It was the people around him who supported him that boosted Takaya’s self-confidence.
Naoe had affirmed Kagetora’s power more than anyone else. So much so that it crushed him. Thus Naoe’s suffering had confirmed Takaya’s strength in direct proportion. Even as he’d wished for Naoe’s suffering to cease, he had taken pride in it, reveled in it— “This is my power.”
I worship you, Naoe had said.
It was not just recognition but affirmation, captivation, this is my absolute. Passion.
Someone had called his power ‘absolute’. For the self-doubting Takaya, it was perhaps the first time he’d been able to affirm himself.
Yet. That was now...crumbling.
From the feet up.
(Are you disappointed in me, Naoe?) Takaya trembled in horror. (Is that why, Naoe?)
Because he was no longer the ideal...?
Because he’d lost his charm.
Because he was now far from Naoe’s ideal form.
That was why Naoe no longer felt anything for him.
Why his eyes were empty.
(Have I changed...?)
Or had Naoe himself changed?
Had someone more worthy of ‘worship’ appeared, such that Kagetora was now inferior in comparison? Had someone brilliant, who was vastly more the ‘ideal shape’, appeared? Was that why Kagetora was no longer a threat? Why he no longer hated, why both his love and obsession had faded away?
(Then what am I to you, Naoe?!)
Takaya clenched his fists against the impulse to shout out the question.
If that was the case, then nothing could be more self-centered. In the end, he loved only himself. He’d only wanted an idealized image. He’d loved only an idealized version of himself—an ideal which could change endlessly as time went on. To transform so easily. Even the worship Takaya had thought Naoe had gambled his life on had turned out to be nothing more than an hour’s delusion.
Who could trust a thing like that?
(...Isn’t that why I couldn’t give you anything?)
Takaya hunched down with his hands over his face.
“You don’t give anything back to others. You only take and take, never give.”
“You’ve never even tried to give back. You want everything for free.”
“Though you’ve lived for four hundred years, you’re really no more than a child.”
You’re wrong...
It wasn’t true.
He’d never given anything back to Naoe because...
He couldn’t trust in affection unless it poured out endlessly without need for compensation. Like that thing called loyalty. Unless it flowed ceaselessly and unchangingly even in the absence of remuneration, recompense, reward, he couldn’t believe in its existence.
Perhaps he’d been testing Naoe all this time. Testing Naoe’s love for such a long time, confirming that it was directed at his back even when he refused to turn around.
He’d been so afraid he couldn’t even turn around. Maybe this love would disappear one day... If it was something that would grow disappointed and leave someday, then he shouldn’t turn around in the first place. If Naoe’s affection was something that could be charmed by another and leave him.
If it would betray him so that when he turned around, his reaching hand had no destination.
(I won’t turn around...)
He couldn’t afford to.
Not to protect his pride.
No.
He was helpless to do anything but feel that presence at his back. Once he felt it, he searched for it. Was it still there? Was it still chasing after him?
He’d prepared an escape route from Naoe’s love so that it wouldn’t matter when he left. So that it wouldn’t hurt when he lost interest and turned away. So that when Takaya was truly abandoned...it wouldn’t hurt. That’s what he’d told himself.
That was why he hadn’t turned around. For such a long time he’d only accepted Naoe’s feelings with his back.
“You think only of gaining love and affection, but you will never love another.”
(That’s the kind of person you chased after for four hundred years,) Takaya answered Naoe’s words as they were resurrected one by one inside his heart.
“How entitled you are.”
(Yes, I am entitled...)
So much so that it was always inevitable you would abandoned me. Even if you leave me, I have to right to object...
He’d known, hadn’t he?
That so long as he didn’t cast away his own cowardice and emotional dependence, this relationship would always end in failure.
When he looked back and considered, he could see that nobody could have endured it.
(Yet I...)
Takaya closed his eyes against the velvety touch of cashmere, where it felt as if some person’s warmth still remained. His body remembered Naoe’s warmth. He kept still and was struck by an auditory hallucination.
“Takaya-san—...”
He squeezed his eyes shut at the feeling of his name being whispered into his ear.
The sensation of being held from behind returned.
You’re not so weak that you’d to give in to an illusion, he told himself, but the illusion continued of its own accord.
(No...!)
He didn’t yearn for skin. Yet his body rebelled, clamoring. Heat slowly spread across the parts of Takaya that remembered the touches Naoe had forced on them. Flustered, Takaya quickly repressed the mysterious ache starting to draw breath within him.
(This isn’t what I want.)
Takaya curled in on himself, forcing his hands to stillness. A feeling like numbness squirmed through his body. His fingers slowly spread against his inner thigh in defiance of his will. It shook Takaya.
“No...”
He didn’t want pleasure; he only wanted warmth. Only the feeling of being held tightly from behind even if he didn’t turn around. But his body was starting to want something deeper. It was as if that half-familiar hint of cologne on the coat were infused with an aphrodisiac. Maddened by the impulse welling up from the depths of his body, Takaya clenched his jaw and yelled out, “This isn’t how it was supposed to be!”
He stripped off the cashmere coat, rolled it up, and threw it at the wall as hard as he could.
“...”
Panting, Takaya glared at it with tears blurring his eyes. He was unbearably miserable, frustrated, mortified.
Lifeless, weak, and empty, he sat back on the bed.
That was when the phone next to the bed rang.
“?”
Takaya looked up. He waited a moment to allow his mental agitation to calm before picking up the receiver.
“Hello—...”
The doorbell rang incessantly. Too impatient to wait for someone to come get the door, Takaya disengaged the automatic lock with telekinesis and stepped inside.
The scent of blood hit him immediately, making him slightly dizzy, and he covered his nose.
“Ugh...”
“Saburou-sama!”
The Fuuma clansman attending to Kotarou stood. Kotarou was seated on the bed, naked from the waist up, dressing his own wound. He looked a command at his subordinate, whereupon the man nervously bowed to Takaya and left the room, leaving Takaya and Kotarou alone.
“Kagetora-sama.”
Takaya’s shouldered quivered, and he took a step back. The smell of blood scared him. Kotarou looked grim, and Takaya didn’t want to approach. But worry drew him forward, and he timidly went to Kotarou’s side.
“Is your wound...okay?”
“Yes, it’s fine. I’m done treating it. It’s not serious.”
His upper arm had been bitten by a demon dog. Though he‘d said it wasn’t serious, the wound actually looked fairly deep. Beside his bed were a black needle and yellowish-brown thread stained red with blood, the ninjas’ emergency first-aid tools. He’d sown together his own wound. Next to him was a clam shell containing a green paste, the Fuuma’s own special ointment.
Looking at the lurid just-sutured wound, Takaya felt dizziness pass over him again, but somehow managed to choke it back.
“...That’s good...”
He‘d rushed over after being told that ’Naoe’s back, but he’s hurt.’ Deeply relieved, he sat down as if all the strength had left him.
“I apologize. We fell into Takeda’s trap. They were alerted to our ambush and changed the atake-bune’s port. We were attacked by Yamagata Masakage.”
“Yamagata...! The head of Takeda’s Twenty-Four Generals?”
“Yes.”
Called the preeminent member of Takeda’s brave generals, Yamagata had sustained both the Takeda clan’s government and military, and was an ultra-elite warrior of all-around competence. Dauntless and ingenious, it was said that enemies fled when they heard his attack signal. He’d led the vanguard at the Battle of Mikatagahara, and the fierceness of his attack had convinced Ieyasu he was about to face his death.
“Here’s another interesting character that’s been resurrected, huh?”
“...Nagahide went off after him. I don’t know whether he found him.”
“I see...”
As Kotarou started to wrap the wound, Takaya took the bandage from him, apparently intending to finish the dressing himself.
“...No, it’s all right. I’ll do it.”
“Just let me,” Takaya said, and clumsy began wrapping Kotarou’s arm. Kotarou looked uncomfortable.
“Kagetora-sama.”
“You asshole,” Takaya said angrily. “What were you doing, getting injured like this? This isn’t like you. Even though I keep telling you not to get hurt when I’m not with you.”
“...”
“Although,” Takaya added, lowering his eyes a little, “it’d be even more inexcusable if you got injured when I am with you.”
“Kagetora-sama.”
Kotarou knew that since Naoe’s death, Takaya had developed a fear of fresh blood, perhaps because he remembered the smell of it from when Naoe had been shot. The oddness of his behavior at such moments was probably because he was recalling bits of that scene.
Takaya fell silent. Only his hand continued to move as it wrapped the bandage. But it went slower and slower until it finally...stopped.
“Kagetora-sama.”
“You don’t call me ‘Takaya-san’ anymore...”
“?”
At Kotarou’s surprised expression, Takaya inclined his head slightly. His smile looked lonely.
“Why not?”
Kotarou didn’t have a proper answer. He hadn’t realized it was at all important. Though he knew that Naoe sometimes called him ‘Takaya’ instead of ‘Kagetora’, he hadn’t given any thought to the matter (beyond taking care to not refer to him as ‘Saburou-dono’).
Takaya dropped his eyes a little.
“...I don’t...hate it...when you call me that.”
“Would you prefer to be addressed by that name?”
“...”
Takaya’s smile disappeared. That frustration welled inside him again.
“It’s not a question of what I prefer.”
Kotarou’s eyes widened. Takaya snapped, “Then why did you call me ‘Takaya’ in the first place? Why didn’t you just stick with ‘Kagetora’? Were you trying to be solicitous of me when I didn’t have my memories? It is the only reason?”
“...”
“If that was the case, you didn’t have to keep calling me ‘Takaya’ after I got my memories back. So why? Why did you call me ‘Takaya’? Why don’t you call me that any more?”
Kotarou was silent; he had no answer to give. Takaya was getting worked up. He tried to calm himself down by taking deep breaths.
“I’m not saying you have to call me one thing or the other. ...It’s just, I—” He looked down, forcing the words out with difficulty, “I liked...the way you were when you called me ‘Takaya-san’—...” he finished, and stop talking. Under normal circumstances it was something he’d never say. He was more disconcerted by the fact he’d said the words than embarrassed; he covered his mouth, looking serious.
‘Then that’s what I’ll call you,’ Kotarou wanted to decide, but for some reason he couldn’t do so in the way Naoe did. It was simply a different form of address—so why he feel so much resistance to calling him ‘Takaya-san’?
Kotarou didn’t know how to respond. Takaya looked at him until he couldn’t bear the silence anymore.
“...I don’t understand you.”
Kotarou’s eyes flickered to him.
“I don’t know why you’re like this. I can’t read you anymore. Your eyes tell me nothing.”
Kotarou was shocked. Takaya grabbed Kotarou’s shoulders and peered into his eyes.
“You can see me, can’t you? Look straight at me, tell me you can see me. Naoe. Look into my eyes. Meet my eyes properly!”
Kotarou’s eyes widened. He stared stiffly back at Takaya. Holding his breath, Takaya stared piercingly into Kotarou’s eyes.
Kotarou gulped. His heart thudded loudly. This was the first time he’d met Takaya’s eyes so directly and at such close distance.
(This is...)
The head of the Fuuma was unexpectedly frozen in place as the drill-like gaze stabbed into his soul. It was blunt and unforgiving, and he felt as if it were opening him up from his heart to his viscera. Cold sweat trickled from beneath his armpits. Takaya desperately searched the depths of Kotarou’s eyes.
But a moment later his eyes suddenly wavered with disappointment.
“...Why...”
“...”
“There’s...nothing here...”
Kotarou was stunned by the sharp pain in his chest. He didn’t know what it was.
“Have you given up, then...?” Takaya asked with a timidity that was also supplication, “You no longer feel anything? You don’t care what happens to me anymore?”
“...What...happens...?”
“I haven’t given up. I’ve been thinking about it for so long, and I haven’t stopped. What’s the best way? What’s the best and most natural way? I’ve searched and wracked my brains so hard! But you haven’t looked at all! Instead, you’ve cut me off! Why...?!”
Takaya lifted his voice in agitation.
“We were going to start again, right?! We were going to go out and find it, weren’t we?! This was supposed to be the beginning, not the end! We were supposed to find it for the two of us!” Takaya shouted, unable to hold it in any longer, “Everything was supposed to start from here!”
“...”
Kotarou was pale and silent.
Takaya didn’t bother to wipe away the agitated tears blurring his eyes once more.
Kotarou didn’t understand at all. He didn’t react to Takaya’s passion. In fact, he was overwhelmed and half in shock.
Takaya looked down as if assimilating the reality of his own helplessness.
“You no longer have any interest in me, then...?”
“...”
“You don’t need me anymore?” he asked, pained, and bit his lip.
He began to unfasten his shirt buttons one by one. Before Kotarou’s mystified gaze Takaya opened his shirt and exposed his wound-covered chest.
Kotarou held his breath.
Staring unhappily at him Takaya, asked, “You don’t feel anything...?”
“...”
“You’re not interested any more?”
Kotarou couldn’t figure out what Takaya’s actions meant.
Dropping his agonized gaze, Takaya took Kotarou’s hand and placed it on his own skin. At Kotarou’s surprise, Takaya quietly moved Kotarou’s hand with his in a caress as if trying to soothe his own wounds.
He didn’t want to do these pathetic things, but he believed he had no other way to ascertain Naoe’s true intentions.
Kotarou’s hand seemed to have no life of its own.
Knowing he felt nothing, Takaya quietly stopped.
“Did I do something wrong...?”
“...”
“How did it get to be like this? ...Tell me, Naoe.” he murmured, looking exhausted. “What are you thinking right now...?”
Kotarou didn’t answer. He didn’t know why Takaya was acting like this.
He didn’t understand because he’d only ever held another in his arms to satisfy his biological urges. What would Naoe do? How would he act with this Takaya? He didn’t know. He didn’t have the slightest idea.
What he’d seen that night in the cave on that lonely island in the Seto Inland Sea flashed across Kotarou’s mind.
Why had Naoe been holding Kagetora?
Why did Kagetora want Naoe to touch him so achingly?
“...What does this mean?” he asked Takaya, completely forgetting he was supposed to be playing the role of Naoe, addled as an actor who’d forgotten his lines. “Should I feel something for you right now? Is sexual desire the correct feeling?”
“...!”
Startled, Takaya went red in the face. Kotarou’s absurdly off-base question bewildered Takaya for a moment.
“...What’s wrong...Naoe...?”
“What should I do? Take you in my arms? Take you to bed?”
“Should...?” Takaya was more and more confused. “That’s not the question, is it? Why would you put it that way? I’m asking what you want to do.”
“What...I want...?” Kotarou pondered. It wasn’t something he could understand by thinking about it, but he constructed the formula of what Naoe would do under the circumstances and started computing.
Takaya could no longer stand it.
His sudden lift of the head surprised Kotarou.
“Kagetora-sama...”
“Enough already!” His angry eyes filled with tears. “I don’t even know you anymore. I won’t ask for anything more from you! I won’t expect anything! Leave me if that’s what you want!”
“...!”
“Go away, you traitor!” Takaya yelled as if flinging the words at Kotarou. Kotarou reflexively caught his arm as he stood. Don’t go. His yank caught Takaya off-balance, and they tumbled entangled onto the bed.
“...Guh!”
Surprised, Takaya immediately tried to get up, but Kotarou pinned him down from above.
Takaya’s eyes widened.
“...Naoe...”
“As long as I feel it, it’s all right?” The cool expressionless Kotarou glared at Takaya, panting. “It is correct so long as I want your body? Will it allow even me to be closer to you?!”
“...”
Looking up at him, Takaya must have felt that something was different. His face stiffened, and he shook his head, wide-eyed, as if to say, “Don’t.” But Kotarou didn’t seem the least bit inclined to release him.
Takaya squirmed, trying to push him away as Kotarou buried his face against Takaya’s neck.
“St...op...”
“...If I do this, here...!”
“You’re...heavy...!”
He pushed against Kotarou’s shoulders with all his strength and tried to slide out from under him, but Kotarou bore down against him, holding him in place. As he felt the soft touch of lips traveling down his neck, Takaya desperately averted his face and closed his eyes.
“...Let go of me,” Takaya pleaded hoarsely, gasping. “Who are you...?”
Kotarou’s breath abruptly stopped.
This time it was Takaya who looked strange. His face was turned away, and he was panting painfully.
“I don’t...know you...”
“...”
Kotarou gawped. Had the suggestion come undone?
Takaya’s eyes closed. He slumped back, anguish between his brows.
“...Saburou-dono...”
Takaya didn’t hear him. He drooped like a feeble little bird beneath Kotarou.
Kotarou slowly raised himself and slid off Takaya. Takaya’s eyes shifted to him, but he didn’t move otherwise. Kotarou rose from the bed. “Forgive me for my discourteous actions,” he apologized without much emotion, and mechanically bowed. Then: “Kagetora-sama.”
He offered Takaya his hand.
Takaya turned to him and nervously took it. He allowed Kotarou to help him to rise, gazing at his face all the while.
“...”
Kotarou returned his look with his usual expressionlessness. Takaya’s lips moved and formed his name.
“...Naoe...”
Kotarou’s brows knitted with a faint pain. He nodded silently.
Takaya closed his eyes wearily and hung his head.
Kotarou stood next to him gazing at him all the while.
Ayako slipped out of the hotel in the small hours of the morning and went to the maritime travelers‘ terminal directly behind it, called the ’Floating Pier’.
The hour was late and the ocean wind was cold and strong—that was probably why the benches there were devoid of the couples that usually occupied them.
Listening to the waves flinging themselves at the pier, Ayako turned to the empty space behind her.
“...Well, this looks as good a place as any, don’t you think? How about you stop sneaking around behind me and come talk to me, sister?”
“...”
In response a woman in a half-length coat stepped out of the darkness.
It was Nikaidou Reiko. She’d been following and closely monitoring them ever since she had spotted them on E Island. It hadn’t escaped Ayako’s notice.
“You don’t look like an errand girl for the onshou. Who are you? Why have you been following us?”
Reiko didn’t appear much dismayed. Maybe she’d already known that she’d been spotted. She identified herself resolutely and unflinchingly.
“My name is Nikaidou Reiko. I am investigating the lethal curse placed on Councilor Gotou-shi of Fujisawa City.”
“Lethal curse...?” Ayako frowned. That wasn’t something she expected an ordinary person to just blurt out. “Who are you? You don’t look like a police officer.”
Reiko extracted a black ID badge from her suit jacket and opened it to show Ayako. It was a picture ID similar to a driver’s license.
“Special investigator of the National Public Safety Commission. You are a material witness in our investigation of designated peculiar wide-area events, Kadowaki-san.”
She knew her name. Dammit—had she asked at reception?
“Ougi Takaya—” Reiko continued. “Can you arrange a meeting for me with this young man? I’d like to ask him what he knows and how he’s connected to this lethal curse incident.”
“What do you mean?” Ayako was obviously piqued. “Are you saying we cursed someone to death? That’s ridiculous, why would we want to kill this councilor?”
“You’re saying you had nothing to do with it?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why were you at that grotto?”
“We were investigating it. What does the grotto have to do with anything? Is it connected to the—?” Ayako started to ask, when a sudden realization hit her. “Was the councilor who died the one who opposed the project plans?”
“The project plans?” Now Reiko looked suspicious. “The Tourism Revitalization Project? You know about it? Why would you care about something like that?”
“This is becoming quite the mess, isn’t it?” Ayako groaned as if she hadn’t even noticed the other woman’s disquiet. “So they’re even resorting to lethal curses.”
“‘They’? What do you know? Do you know who the culprit is?”
“Hey sister,” Ayako grinned cheerfully, “It’s pretty cold out here, so why don’t you come back to my room? My roommate is out tonight, so there’s an extra bed. We can talk this out over coffee.”
Only her eyes were deadly serious. “I want you to tell me about the councilor’s death.”