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It had been cold.
The chilled wind, perfect for the current day and time, slipped and wrangled through the thin fabric of the Anthropologist’s clothing, passed around his skin, embracing it in a flurry of anxiety and despair, before it had slipped along its own path of fate into the darkened horizon. The embrace of the wind, at the time, was bitter; as if Boreas, himself, fueled all of his rage and negivitism into encoating Shinguuji into a chilled, empty blanket- one which only amplified the boy’s pain.
Chilly or not, there had almost been a sense of warmth, a sense of beauty in the moment. The hopelessness, the despair, the spirit, body, mind, all together into one instance, all trapped in a single, everlasting spark of anguish. The one true moment where all distinct parts that define a human being, soul and shell, harmonize together for the first time; the only time.
The moment before true freedom
The moment before love.
The moment before death.
Now freed from the hat that constricted them, twists and snarls of dark hair combed through Boreas’s wrath, whipping violently around the Anthropologist, struggling to free themselves from the embodiment of despair which held them stationary. The tendrils of black had whipped over and around the damaged boy’s head, scattering themselves against the darkened horizon, and hovering over the hundreds of feet of dark, inviting liquid below them.
There was almost a sense of freedom in the moment, until the boy remembered why he had been there; why he was standing upon this bridge in the midst of the night, and why he had his arms spread out, taking in his last moments of beauty as the breeze slipped between fingers. This very same breeze threatened to shove Shinguuji over the edge of the bridge, threatened to whisk him away and make him plunge into the dark tar below him, which personified all his dreams and nightmares he's had since Her death. The black tar only further emphasized the pain and agony he felt, the need to join her, the obligation. After all, her death was his fault and it's his utmost desire to join her, to make her happy... isn't it?
No, it shouldn't have been. But it was, it had to be. The words had repeated in his head, humming over and over with a familiar voice made of silk: ‘How could you do this to me? How could you make me suffer like this, my dear Korekiyo, if you love me as much as you say?’ and he can’t get her out of his head, her bittersweet words urging him to ‘Do it. Do it and join me, my sweet, baby brother’.
But she’s far from ‘alone’, lingering in her dark cocoon in the afterlife; hours and hours of strategic bloodshed, hours of time had gone into following and drugging women to keep his sister company during her life in death, to give her friends throughout all these years. No; not just any women, but women who are worthy of being friends with his love.. Women who sacrificed themselves for the greater good, and women who were kind-hearted. Those were the only human beings worthy of being in Sister’s presence, being her friend.
One hundred.
One hundred friends, just for her . Yet, it was never enough. It never had been; it’d always been a loop, never-ending and agonizing. But then, he was going to be free from the demanding hums beyond life; he would be a free spirit - a spirit freer than Amaterasu, herself. A free spirit able to join his love, to share the constant pain to embrace their passion as they used to. For the first time in what seemed like a millenia, he would feel her daggered claws soft fingertips caress and gently lift his chin, and taste the poison the passion on her lips. The one moment in time he would finally be tranquil, happy, as Shinguuji could have already felt and saw a future of confinement freedom where he could finally hear her true words once more, her bitter venom soothing, sweet hums, the hums which whispered all the wrong right things; the hums which scared soothed him.
However...Shinguuji had imply lingered, frozen on the edge, breath trapped in his lungs, the air chilly, terrifying; and she knew it. Sister could sense his dread, sense the tar already flowing through his nose and mouth, overtaking and drowning his soul. She could already sense Shinguuji Korekiyo’s fear, that ate him alive from the inside-out, the monster which overpowered more and more of him as time drags by.
Hesitation; that’s what it was called.
It was overpowering.
In a way, it had been the young man’s subconscious attempting to override the true beast hidden behind his soul, the one pulling all the strings and controlling him: even in death. For only Sister could accomplish such a feat, have such great power and control over him, to hide in the back of his mind and rule him. Shinguuji was a weak, fragile puppet in his sister’s hands. Nothing but a tattered and empty doll. A doll controlled to bring love and joy to his sister in the afterlife, to love her. Or, at least, that was what he had thought since he was a child.
She was controlling, manipulative, conniving. Ever since the first time she had led her lips to Shinguuji’s in that empty, sickly room, he had fallen under her spell as a puppet, limp and ready for orders. It had always been this way, even after Sister had passed; the younger brother held his promise to her, a promise to remain by her side forever. That’s why it was so difficult to break away from the rusted metal with loomed over the black liquid below- Korekiyo Shinguuji had felt the obligation and burden on his shoulders to uphold this promise.
Yet he never did it. Over and over, in that everlasting moment on the bridge, he imagined his sister leaning upon a table, head in hand, nails tapping impatiently against her beautiful skin… he had imagined her laughing, crying, purring, screaming, all in her soft, feminine, gorgeous tone, and he was ready. But he never let go, he only observed the beauty of the lighted town below, he only hovered on the edge of the rusted metal which held the anthropologist from falling, and he felt the wrath of Boreas swift her his hair through the bitter night, feel it trickle through the gaps between his fingers. All for what Shinguuji thought was the last time.
Everything was in motion.Everything was in plan - the young man had convinced himself he would be happy, he would finally experience love as if he never had, and he would taste freedom and joy once again … Wouldn’t he? Everything had been ruined… No, everything had been saved . All from the simple, merciful call of-
“Korekiyo?”
...
There’s a ginger tap on his shoulder.
...
“Hey, Korekiyo... Kiyo . You all good?”
There’s a warm touch on the anthropologist's hand. Or.. no, it’s another hand. It’s comforting, having the ability to drag the long-haired boy from his dark thoughts, the agonizing memories swirling around his head. The same warmth causes Shinguuji to flutter his eyes open (when had he even closed them?) , and meet his hues with the lime-green ones staring ahead of him. The lime-eyes were paired with a look of concern sprawled on the face in front of Shinguuji’s, which leaned forward slightly (causing the same-green hair to dangle in front of this person’s eyes) , as the other crouched in front of Shinguuji, a small, lazy, tight-lipped smile drawn on the other’s face matched with his furrowed, concerned eyebrows. Green. Green hair and green eyes, trickling with concern and an ever-so false smile.
Amami.
Ah, yes, he was in Amami’s house... No longer was Shinguuji on the rusted bridge, arms spread and hair fluttering through the wind; no, he was in the warm, inviting, and tranquil home of his close friend. Thank goodness.
Shinguuji let a sharp exhale, one of relief, leave his lips and a light smile replaced the tight-lipped look of daze that was previously there. He wouldn't want to be rude, now would he? It was bad enough the anthropologist had brazenly entered the household of his friend, hell , Shinguuji knew himself to be disgusting, a failure. So why was he here? Gah, he felt nauseous just thinking about it. But at the same time.. It was nice. Trapped within an inner battle with himself, the anthropologist didn't know whether to allow himself to relax and put his joy into Amami’s hands, or to be disgusted with himself for even letting his good friend see him this way.
Why was it this difficult? It was horrible he was here… no, nononono , that's what she would want him to think; no, in truth, Shinguuji was fortunate to be here. It was beautiful and it radiated hope. Something he needed very much right now, and that’s what Amami could provide for him…. Couldn’t he? The long-haired male had no desire to jump to conclusions, but one could never be too weary, so was it really alright..? He didn’t mean to…-
A squeeze.
With the same, gentle touch as before, Amami’s hand tightened around Shinguuji’s, pulling the anthropologist back into reality as the tips of their fingers ( totally nohomo) brushed against one another’s. Holding that light smile on his lips, Amami leaned forward even further , his hand still holding tightly onto Shinguuji’s. Just.. like in the car (oh, how great and soothing that ride was; Shinguuji wished it never would end).
“Ah, yes, yes-” Almost losing his composure as he found himself back in the real-world, Shinguuji gave a sigh, obviously frustrated with himself, before flickering his eyes open to meet the other’s. “I apologize. How rude of me.. Please excuse my insolence, I was just trying to gather my thoughts.” Politeness. That was key; even though the two are good friends, Shinguuji wouldn’t dare to seem disrespectful. Females are always polite. He was just accustomed to being respectful at all times and in another’s household, well, he wouldn’t want to mess up, now would he? And lose noone someone important to him?
“No worries, Kiyo. Just stay with me in the present, okay?” Though he seemed like a ‘dumb punk/pothead’, Amami was intelligent. It wasn’t a surprise he could tell Shinguuji was stuck in his thoughts, and stuck in the past. The lime-haired male never wanted to directly point it out, but he was always there to subtly comfort Shinguuji whenever he needed. Hell, who wouldn’t be there to support a friend when they were about to jump off a goddamn bridge?
“I-.....Thank you. For everything. I just- gah-“ Everything was coming back again. Sister. The hospital room. The kisses, the sex, the funeral. The puppet he was, played right between her slippery fingers. “My… apologizes. I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize- she...sheshesheshesheshe-!”
Amami turned, twisted, and found himself in front of the anthropologist again. He clamped both hands over Shinguuji’s, trying to help stop and reassure him out of his mental breakdown. Between each phrase, Amami planted a quick, but warm kiss on each of his hands. “She’s gone . Not for forever, but hell, she can’t do anything to you; and she sounds like a fucked-up sister that you didn’t deserve, but, I mean, I’ll kick ghost ass if I need to.” With another kiss on his hands and in a final attempt, Amami had a reassuring glance; he wasn’t smiling behind his usual mask, but his lime-eyes met Shinguuji’s and he squeezed the other’s hands tighter, bringing it to his mouth once more and leaving one more sheepish, shy kiss on Shinguuji’s hands, nuzzling each finger timidly before continually keeping eye contact. “Hey, look at me. You didn’t deserve any of that. It’s time to leave her behind her; look how much she’s fucking you up. You sure as hell don’t deserve that pain and I sure as hell am not going to let you stew in that.”
In response, the anthropologist rose his head, his teeth clenched and his lips chewed up. His shoulders remained hunched, and his posture was stiffer than a board, but he squeezed Amami’s hands hard, harder than he intended but it helped. He...he needed to get out of this past, and he needed to get back to the present. Present...present….yes. Amami’s house. In his chair. In his pink room. Shinguuji’s eyes shifted around the room, his hands shaking, before glancing in the large mirror in front of the chair. He could see her his long locks of hair everywhere...scattered across his shoulders…..just like her hair. Just like her hair scattered and flayed across the bed, under her feminine, naked body. The locks of hair that arose in every nightmare he had, the locks of hair that ensnared him with every whisper that left her lips. Gone, gonegonegonegone , they needed to be gone now , now, but- Shinguuji froze again. No, nono, he was getting wrapped in his thoughts. He needed to focus on Amami’s voice, yes, the deep, soothing sound of his good friend’s voice. “ But…. But I can’t- IcantIcantIcantIcant -“
“Yes you can. I know you, Kiyo. I know the real you. Hell, I just found you ready to jump off a bridge….Please. Listen to me.”
Listening… yes, yes, Shinguuji was listening to Amami’s voice; it was the only hope he had in this sinister tunnel filled to the brine in fear and regret. And the nickname… it was far better than the name his sister called him, than his given name. Kiyo….that nickname, it caught him, caught his attention, pulled him from the darkness and the memories-
“ I...I’m listening.” The anthropologist's voice lowered to a raspy whisper, his shoulders still trembling, his teeth chewing at his mask; the mask he wished to tear off but never could-...no. No, he needed to listen , to listen to Amami-
“ Well then, where are you?” The voice of hope questioned, coming from the pierced boy.
“Your...your room. Pink. Green. Filled with images of your travels.” A room painted from ceiling to floor in different shades of pink and green. It was...intriguing.
“Great. Now, what’s my name?” Amami gave a serious, tight-lipped smile, keeping eye contact with the anthropologist in front of him.
The said-anthropologist pinched his eyes closed and drew in a deep breath, trying to ground himself in the moment, trying to reach and keep onto that hope that came from his great friend; the one that saved his life. That pulled him from the fall of that bridge. He could never forget that name.. “Amami Rantarou.”
“Sweet. Glad to know my travel buddy finally knows my name.” The shorter male have a quick chuckle with a light joke and tightened his grip on Shinguuji’s hands, bringing his hand up to kiss it again. “Now. What’re we about to do?”
“Cut her- no, cut my hair.” Cutting hair; what a great way to turn over a new leaf, and capture one’s life as their own. That’s what Amami and Shinguuji we’re going to do. They were going to get Shinguuji’s identity back, and leave behind all his fears. And his worries and troubles, and trauma. Leave behind Sister .
“That’s right. A+ for you. Damn Kiyo, I didn’t know you were so great at getting high marks. I bet your teachers love you.” The lime-haired make gave a lopsided, but reassuring grin as he gave the scissors in his hand a quick ‘snip!’ and gave the chair Shinguuji was in a quick spin, opposed to Amami, which was now standing behind the chair, armed with salon scissors and a reassuring smile. “Welcome back. Ready to leave that shit behind you?”
Drawing one last deep gulp of air back, Shinguuji found himself in a better state, able to push away those memories that tortured him earlier. No, he wasn’t pushing them away. He was facing them, hand-in-hand with his traveling friend. Step one; to make his hair is own. His tangled snarls of hair only tortured him with his memories and trauma; it made him still believed he needed to honor and to live his sister in death. But he’s wrong, and Amami sure as hell is ready to prove that to him. He didn’t need her, he already had someone great by his side.
Now, as Amami spun back behind Shinguuji and looked at him via the mirror, Shinguuji saw a genuine, slight smile resting on the lips of his pierced friend. Amami’s lime-eyes held concern, but mostly, it was a lazy but laid-back version of determination to try to help a friend capture his life back. Hell, the adventurer knew his own ways with trauma, and he sure as hell wanted to help any others. First starting with Shinguuji. Kiyo. Yes , he was going to help Shinguuji Korekiyo get his life back and give him something new to live for.
It started with a bridge and with the intention to jump, and now, hopefully, it’ll end with Kiyo overcoming a little bit of his trauma.
Let’s do this.
“Ready yet? I mean, I can’t promise it’ll turn out anything like the Ultimate Hairdresser’s work, but I’ll give it a shot?” Amami gave a chuckle with the half-seriously-half-joking statement and snipped his scissors in the air once more.
“Yes...please. My thanks, Rantarou,” Now with a soft smile underneath his mask, Shinguuji easily found joy in using the other’s given name. It took a while to speak so informally, but now, it helped Shinguuji cope with his feelings toward the other male (whether platonic or romantic, it always brought him warmth). By now, he was ready. To leave everything behind: to leave all the shit he experienced and the troubles that constantly worried his mind. He didn’t expect them to disappear completely, of course, but…. it was a start.
“Well, here goes nothing-” Still smiling and keeping eye contact with his partner in the chair, Amami have a quick sigh, holding onto the warmth of staring into his eyes, before picking up a large strand of hair framing Shinguuji’s face and snipping the long, silky strand to the male’s collarbone.
Relief. That’s what Shinguuji felt. It was small, but… had large significant meaning to the anthropologist.
Snip, snip.
Within an instant, the other strands of hair that framed the other side of Shinguuji’s face dropped to the floor, landing in a tangled mess. But, it didn’t matter anymore. The cut locks of hair had no more meaning to him anymore: the bridge, his sister, his pain, would all be forgotten and thrown away with the cut clumps of hair (which should have been cut much earlier).
Hearing the sigh of relief coming from his newfound ‘client’, Amami held his lopsided smile, paused, and glanced to Shinguuji in the mirror. “Any ideas, preferences? Or should I wing it and we can see how it turns out?” It was a silly, almost challenging but relaxed and tranquil look Amami gave to the anthropologist.
The anthropologist pondered; if this was a true salon, he’s likely be not-picky but now, with so much freedom… it was almost exhilarating to imagine just going quickly and coming up with all the possibilities and fun on the way. It was a different feel for Shinguuji, but nevertheless, it was within his comfort zone (albeit the border of his comfort zone, but still in there). “Ah, well, it's all up to you, Rantarou-kun. Anything to make it go away. And I do trust your judgement.” A tender smile crossed the anthropologist’s lips. He did trust the other. Albeit, with Amami with scissors in hand was somewhat concerning because it was a different kind of trust, but nevertheless, he had heard stories of Amami cutting his sisters’ hair, so he couldn’t be that bad.
“Heh, welp, let’s see if I can live up to your expectations. How about a little cut in the back? Mind if I cut it shorter than these strands?” Almost engrossed in making this shit look right, Amami grabbed the short strands framing the anthropologist’s face and turned his attention to the not-cut, longer strands in the back.
“Feel free. Of course.”
And with those words of confirmation, Amami gingerly picked up a strand from the back of Shinguuji’s head and clipped it short- shorter than he expected.
“ Ah, shit. I’m sorry ‘bout that, Kiyo.” The pierced male gave a sheepish chuckle and furrowed his eyebrows downwards, keeping that sheepish smile and making the honest excuse of: “Sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve cut long hair. I mean, I’ve got experience but since my sisters….” Amami paused, a serious look crossed his face before he slipped on his usual smile and let out another sheepish chuckled. “ My bad, that slipped a little. Anyways, I’ll get all your hair fixed up, I promise.”
And before you could say ‘Monokuma Sucks Dick ’ (but not as much as Ouma), Amami gave another snip of his scissors, held onto another strand of hair, snipped again, and snipped, snipped, snipped. Locks tumbled down, scattering on the floor. With each strand, another memory, another moment of pain and insecurity washed away. Albeit metaphorically, but it was enough to ease Shinguuji’s mind. Although having Amami touch and mess with his hair triggered something deep inside of him, gave him anxiety and fear and made him feel unsettled to a degree, the male let those emotions fall to the ground, like each lock of hair did. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Or, at least that’s what Amami would say.
Speaking of Amami… Shinguuji glanced up to the mirror to see Amami carefully snipping and rearranging shirt strands of hair at the back of his head. Shinguuji Korekiyo, with his sharp glaze and idea of beauty, stared into the pierced boy’s eyes, his lime-hues only seizing Shinguuji’s emotions and soul, as well as his heart (you can take that as platonically or romantically, however you wish). Those lime eyes had captured Shinguuji from the first day he met him, and it was the same lime hues that persuaded him to step away from the bridge and to get into the security of Amami’s car. It was those lime eyes, bold and brilliant and full of compassion yet tranquility, that locked eyes with Shinguuji’s during the ride here, and those same eyes that repeatedly started into the anthropologist’s as the pierced boy kissed the other’s hand. It was a beautiful gesture. Whether Amami had shyly intended it to show some feelings to Shinguuji, he’ll never know, or if it was simply to reassure him in the moment, either way, it soothed the taller male.
With another snip, Amami stepped back to view the start of his handi-work, before his eyes met with Shinguuji’s in the mirror. Their eyes met once again and Amami gave a lopsided, yet attractive grin, giving the anthropologist a childish yet casual tap on the head. “Oh, hey there. Fancy meetin’ you here.”
“Oh indeed- what a beautiful yet unexpected sight: a wild Rantarou cutting hair.”
The adventurer could even hear Shinguuji chuckle slightly as he played along with their little exchange, and could see his mask pull into the corners, probably from a smile. Amami then chuckled, waving his free hand around, amused, “I mean, if I was in the wild, the last thing I’d do is cut hair. Better yet, why not have me fight a bear? Seems pretty badass, don’t ‘cha think?”
That piqued Shinguuji’s interest as he raised an eyebrow, covering the mouth of his mask with his hand in a slight look of both surprise and enthrallment. “Rantarou-kun; I hope you do not mind my curiosity, but have you fought a bear? Because likely on your travels I wouldn’t be surprised if you encountered them; and in America, you must know all the legends and even folklore surrounding bears and beast-like creatures. Bears are everywhere there, thus, many legends and stories arose from them, especially stories and myths from the Native Americans, where even current urban legends like ‘Bigfoot’ remain very popular to this day.”
The shorter, pierced boy lowered his scissors, placing a hand on his hip and giving a quick laugh before shrugging. “I’m sure as hell glad I didn’t fight a bear, but I knew a couple other travelers that did. But…. I did fight a drunk dude wearing a bear suit; he sure did look like Bigfoot. Scared me half to death. Hah, he was an asshole anyways. No regrets, though.” As Shinguuji barely tapped the surface of folklore in America, Amami leaned in a bit closer, interested and had his interest captured. “Kiyo, you know so much random trivia and interesting stories, it’s not even funny. No wonder you’re an Ultimate. You sure do fit the title.” He gave his taller, good friend another couple light taps on the head with a grin, making eye contact in the mirror with him again, as he went back to snipping some hair pieces. “I mean, that’s you. That’s not anybody else, that’s not your sister. That’s you talking and that’s you with all the knowledge and with all your travels and data and stories. Sure, she may have piqued your interest in anthropologist but that’s part of you, you know? Hang on tight to that identity, because it sure does make you one of the coolest cats I know.”
Identity…. that’s what Shinguuji needed. Not reminders of his trauma and not memories that keep him awake to this night. He may have kept his long hair for his sister, but everything else… he could make from himself. The lipstick he wears shouldn’t be because of his sister. It should be because of his continual love of makeup, ever since childhood. His mask shouldn’t remain a thing to keep his sister hidden deep inside him, or to hide her. It should be because he is confident when wearing it. And his talent as the Ultimate Anthropologist shouldn’t be because of her, it should really be because of Shinguuji Korekiyo, and all the hard work he put into earning that title, and following his interests.
“I… cannot thank you enough, Rantarou-kun. I apologize for being a mess and a burden, but I hold much thanks because of your interest in me and your care. Thank you.”
Another lock of hair gone. Which means another painful memory is lost.
“You really don’t have to thank me, you know. Thanks for coming back from the bridge and hoppin’ in my car. Hah, I can’t imagine that was pretty easy,” More eye contact, another lopsided smile from the shorter adventurer.
“It.. wasn’t, but now I’m not regretting that decision as much as I was earlier.”
“Hey, that’s good. I’m proud of you, Kiyo.”
“Ah… Thank you.” The anthropologist murmured into his mask with a slight, but pleasantly grateful smile, his smile only growing more as the pierced boy ruffled the anthropologist’s newly-shortened hair and placed a timid peck on the side of his forehead.
From there, the two glanced up to each other, sharing smiles and stories, and kisses on the hands; Shinguuji’s favorite. It always made a blush-red spread on his ears, and always brought a pleasant smile to his face. Although for Amami, he seemed to do so timidly, it brought a grin to his own lips to see the other alive and well. The ‘snip snip!’ of scissors lingered in the room for a bit, and smaller and smaller clumps of hair fell to the ground, slowly growing into a bigger mountain of memories; but a mountain that would be swept away into the garbage. Just as Rantarou finished trimming the back of his good friend’s hair, he lifted the cloth holding scattered pieces of hair, and gracefully fanned it out in the air, dark green bits of hair flying everywhere and landing in the other mountains of hair (not even mentioning the tons of little bits that now were landed on the two’s shoulders and clothes), but Shinguuji was smiling. It didn’t matter if he had hair all over his jacket and pants, he loved his new hairstyle. It was...more him than he imagined it could be. Albeit it had its uneven spots, but that didn’t matter to the anthropologist; he was simply grateful to have someone to rely upon, and someone who would lend a shoulder without judgment, as well as travel with him and fuel his interest in anthropology.
As Amami swept up the clumps of hair with a broom (aided by Shinguuji who insisted to wield the dust-pain) , the lime-haired male paused for a moment, examining the hair before glancing up to his friend with a slight, but understanding and lopsided smile. “You don’t want to keep any of this shit, do you? No judgment if you do, of course.”
The anthropologist gave a sigh, examining the hair before shaking his head. “I… don’t think I need it, nor would it be a good idea, I believe.”
“Nice answer.” Amami walked up to the other and spread his arm across the taller male’s shoulders and clamped hand on Shinguuji’s furthest shoulder with a tight squeeze and an approving, genuine smile. Amami let his arm then hang loosely around the other’s shoulders and to be honest, Shinguuji didn’t mind it. It was comforting, after all. And the warmth from Amami’s torso was warmth and soothing. Very different than the bitter cold, the wrath of the wind gods on the bridge. It...was a feeling Shinguuji didn’t want to forget. Perhaps, he could heal his trauma and his ‘love’ for Sister and replace it with feelings for another. Or, Rantarou’s feelings specifically. It would be incorrect to say Shinguuji had no feelings or thoughts towards Amami, but the boy covered in piercings and armed with a set of tranquil, lime-eyes, intrigued and definitely caught the attention and interest of Shinguuji Korekiyo. To what extent, specifically, well, it covered all realms. Or… Shinguuji didn’t quite know the answer to that yet. However, time yields patience and with that, all questions would be eventually answered. It didn’t have to be right now, but between the two, there definitely was a spark of some sort.
But for now, the two would focus elsewhere. After all, they still had places to go and places to be. These two were the perfect duo; one traveling for the thrill of it and to find his family, and the other traveling for the interest in the location's background. With each country brought another story and with each story brought another country. It was a loop; a fun, exhilarating loop where the two of them could stay: Amami Rantarou and Shinguuji Korekiyo would definitely show up somewhere new. They’d disappear off the map for a couple months and reappear, only to be found in Romania or Iceland, or even the most obscure location on the plant.
The globe was their playground, after all.