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Not all tales are told, and so they will not be passed down.
Some tales will be buried and eventually fade into obscurity. Some tales would flourish, popularized beyond its time, and none of them will stay true.
Daisuke has always felt those words ring in his head when he looks upon the Yamato-e landscape delicately painted on a long illustrated hand scroll. The landscape depicts that of Spring, wisteria trees in full bloom and brought into focus by the mountains and artistically drawn clouds in the background. The piece itself was a relic from the Heian period, and according to the specifics of carbon dating, around the early 10th century.
One of the earliest painting in Japan was hanging proudly and securely in the confines of the gallery of Daisuke’s home. His mother had avidly collected them, even until the very end of her life. His father, in memory of his mother, continued his mother’s efforts.
As a young child, Daisuke and his sister were not allowed to enter the gallery. Only when they learned of discipline and to follow explicit instructions were they finally allowed. The gallery was filled with delicate artifacts and paintings from the original artists themselves, and so it required for any who entered it to exercise extra care and caution.
Everytime, Daisuke came back to stare at the specific painting from Heian for long periods.
The painting had no title, a simple scrawl of the artist’s name on the bottom part of the scroll. A succinct “Fujiharu”, more legibly written than some manuscripts that had “artistic quality”. There were no words of poetry, or anything that could have made the piece like others. It was the most straightforward thing that Daisuke had seen in his life, and it always caught his breath.
He could easily grasp Fujiharu’s thoughts as he painted it, so verily clear and in peace with himself.
What would have been it like to be able to stretch his hand and reach beyond the painting, grasping the hand of the painter and meeting him?
If Daisuke told him that his family had all the money in the world, would Fujiharu be swayed? Would Fujiharu be bought, like all his so-called “peers” who only befriended him because his family was rich and had great standing?
Daisuke was merely seven when he had entertained these ideas.
When he managed to bring it up to his father, his father had smiled kindly at him, “Did you know that there were controversies regarding Fujiharu?”
Daisuke had knitted his eyebrows in confusion then, before shaking his head negatively.
“You see, Fujiharu’s earliest artwork was dated back in the early 10th century. It’s the scroll painting that you always liked to look at. Can you guess when his last and final artwork was dated?”
“Late 10th century or early 11th?”
His father flashed a mischievous smile, slightly shaking his head, “No, it’s the late 16th century.”
Daisuke would have spluttered if he was anyone but Daisuke, so he only gaped at his father before he collected himself, “But, but humans can’t live that long. Can they?”
“Of course not, but that’s the strangest thing. Before, it was merely speculated that the pseudonym ‘Fujiharu’ was undertaken by multiple individuals-- perhaps of the same family, perhaps from an apprenticeship as a way of inheritance. Now, however, the carbon dating of all the works he has that survived at present says otherwise. From the writing to painting, from the indents of fingers that has never faded, it all points out that Fujiharu, who has artworks that spans within six centuries, has been one person all along.”
“How?”
“It’s one of the enigmas that have plagued the art industry for centuries too, until now. It remains a mystery, and I assume, it would not be changing any time soon.”
His father and Daisuke had parted ways after that conversation since his father had a meeting to attend, and Daisuke was left to his thoughts. It was preposterous, to even consider that Fujiharu were different individuals. But it was more preposterous to consider that Fujiharu had been one individual all along.
Soon after, he searched for his wayward sister to tell her about it, and when she heard from him, her eyes had shone with the curiosity of a thousand burning suns.
“We must solve the mystery then!”
Her sister had excitedly tittered, opening her laptop and connecting to the internet. His family had made a personalized browser far superior than the sluggish Internet Explorer, and so they sat down the whole day, hunting for answers. Some of Fujiharu’s works were posted, and Daisuke couldn’t help admiring them. Even the conspiracy theory that his Father had told him was explained in detail, and in bullet points at that.
“Wooow, this is amazing! I wonder which is it?”
“Which is what?”
“Is Fujiharu a pseudonym of multiple people across the ages, or is Fujiharu six-hundred years old? What if he’s still alive now?”
Daisuke turned to his sister slowly, incredulity twisting his features. Suzue was supposed to be the one with the book smarts; even if they were young, their education had surpassed that of other children their age. So why--
“Brother, it’s just speculation. I can see you going off your head.”
“Because it’s not feasible.”
Suzue rolled her eyes at him in exasperation, “I know it isn’t. Don’t be overdramatic. I’m just making a hypothesis from the relatively small data that we have. Unknown factors could be at play that would make a significant difference. As of now, what we have is that, either all those people who have undertaken the pseudonym trained and made their body a complete copy of the original artist, or the original artist is some sort of immortal.”
“Carbon dating can be wrong.”
“True. Almost all of the artworks that have been found were preserved very well though, and the accuracy due to that is estimated to be 95%.”
Daisuke shot her a conflicted look, and Suzue raised her hands as a sign of surrender. Surrendering before they make this into an argument or possibly an ill-conducted debate that would have one of them bitter by the end of it, most probably.
“Well, we can’t hope to solve it ourselves when it’s practically a puzzle that has been going on for centuries, can we?”
Daisuke glumly accepted, but a seed has been planted in his head.
As he grew up, taking on more responsibilities because his Father refused to coddle both him and Suzue, he worked hard to better himself to a standard befitting their family. Suzue had said that she refused to be in the spotlight but will still support Daisuke, and their Father had conceded to their request. Despite his general erratic schedule that has him attending to their many business meetings and galas, Daisuke has never once forgotten the old painting in his home, nor the painter who painted it.
His desire was further piqued when both his Father and Suzue gifted him another piece of Fujiharu during his 12th birthday, which made him hunt down the rest of Fujiharu’s works that he could find and vowed to buy them all when he has gained enough experience, and when his Father would hand down the company to him. His Father, who knew his son like the back of his hand, only shook his head fondly at the resolve and the renewed effort to be the best.
At sixteen, Suzue has created a prototype of an A.I. that will serve Daisuke’s family, and Daisuke’s Father had succumbed to his illness. For the first time, Daisuke shed tears as his Father gathered both him and Suzue in his arms for the final time. They had a private funeral that only permitted Daisuke’s relatives and his Father’s close friends to attend, sending off his Father who had been a great man, and even a greater father.
Daisuke, who had been exposed to the business prior, had to take the full brunt of it. Some of his company’s associates and rivals thought that he would bend, but Daisuke trained his whole life for it. He made it so that they would continue to have those erroneous thoughts as he stealthily dismantled their business by stealing their costumers and lowering their demands, and when they fell, Daisuke stood upon them and made them a spectacle, so that nobody else would think otherwise that Daisuke was anything but competent.
Within a year, Daisuke has purged their business of their worst enemies that would go as far as hire paid killers to get rid of him, and those who embezzled some of the stocks and money when his Father had been at his lowest. He ruined them beyond belief, and at the end of the day, drank the finest wine to commemorate a success that was well-deserved.
It was by then that Suzue came to him, gasping for breath and stuttering, eyes wide. Daisuke had been immediately concerned, and wordlessly, Suzue made him to follow her into her workshop. Daisuke could only think that his sister may have done a new invention, or perhaps it was more of a bad news?
“Brother, I will tell you first to remain calm and not to do anything drastic.”
At the ominous statement, Daisuke raised a fine eyebrow. Suzue shot him a warning glare, and Daisuke nodded to acquiesce.
“I have finally completed HEUSC, you see. I wanted to surprise you with it and didn’t tell you right away. The first search that I did with it is about Fujiharu.” Suzue gestured to the wide, blue screen behind her, and HEUSC pulled up all of Fujiharu’s artworks.
“Brother, HEUSC has thoroughly analyzed that all of Fujiharu’s works were made by the same hand.”
Daisuke looked at her in disbelief, legs slightly weakening which had him leaning on the table. Suzue began to pace, a hand on her chin.
“Not only that, but some artifacts, mainly blades of different uses—from swords, kitchen knives, up to tools for tilling like hoes—were also presumably made by Fujiharu.” She pulled up the said images of the artifacts, all of them showing an engraved branch of wisteria in a circle, finely detailed.
“It has never been connected to Fujiharu?”
Suzue shook her head, “The blacksmith had no name in any historical records. He was also not as famous as Masamune or Muramasa.”
“Dates?”
“Middle 12th to late 16th century.”
Daisuke pursed his lips, his brain in an overdrive. If Fujiharu was indeed the blacksmith, then something must have happened to him in the late 16th century. Did he finally die, perhaps? Believing that a person could live for six centuries would be quite a big leap, but Suzue is a genius and HEUSC is her greatest masterpiece. As reluctant as he was, he believed wholeheartedly in his sister’s abilities.
“But that’s not all, brother.”
Daisuke snapped from his musing, facing Suzue who had an uncharacteristic nervous expression.
“I, perhaps it was due to my curiosity, but I delved even deeper, to see if all of these works that have continued to exist until today would have a match with a… living person.”
Daisuke’s fingers twitched, “You found someone.”
“I did.” Suzue nodded solemnly, stepping back from the screen as it pulled up piles of information upon information, as well as several photos of one man, from the monochromatic ones, to sepia, and finally, multiple modern ones. There was no change in the man’s face or build, except the clothes that would have been appropriate for the era. The modern ones showed that the man’s hair was a shade of brown—taupe, to be specific, and his eyes were a fascinating golden hue.
“He’s an exact match. His birth certificate, as you can see, were forged, and some information about him were tightly locked. He’s not affiliated with any government, or people with high-standing, so I assume that he must be the one who locked and forged the information himself. He was known by different surnames, but he uses the same given name everytime.”
“Haru.” Daisuke breathed, eyes roving the man’s features to memorize them. He looked so young, and yet so world-weary. Those golden eyes looked almost ancient and lightly incandescent.
“His name is Katou Haru, official age: 19 years old, height: 178 cm, and Blood type: A. He’s a trainee in Metropolitan Police Academy. He’s also a seventh dan in Judo. No other proficiency in Martial Arts were listed other than that but his… former names, had been listed to have known Kendo, Aikido, Kyudo, and Bojutsu.”
“From bare-handed to weaponry, I see. I suppose he must have a lot of time to spare.”
Suzue’s lips curled upward at that, “There’s also the ‘Tou’ in ‘Katou’.”
“Wisteria.” Daisuke’s eyes dilated, inhaling sharply, “Fuji.”
“From the available records, just as how his given name is always ‘Haru’, his surname too has a kanji that means ‘Wisteria’. It seems like Mr. Fujiharu liked to remain faithful to his pseudonym. If it’s a pseudonym, at all.”
“You think it’s his real name.”
“I’m not sure, but I suspect so. Perhaps another variation of ‘Wisteria’ and ‘Spring’.”
Suzue handed over a black stud earring and Daisuke examined it before looking up again at Suzue for her to elaborate.
“It’s to access HEUSC. It’ll be our new family butler now, and will do anything that you ask-- from financing your account, managing you time, to stalking your idol.”
Daisuke’s eyes narrowed at the disrespect, but Suzue only gave him a smug smirk. She, who knows him more than anyone, could accurately predict some of his actions that he will take and Daisuke did not want to admit it, but she would be right.
Daisuke finally emerged from his sister’s workshop with a new A.I. Butler and a face to the man that he worshiped almost all his life. He headed towards the gallery and to Fujiharu’s artworks that he managed to collect so far. There were seven now, and the final and eighth piece that survived was still in Scotland. He’ll be making a trip there this weekend, and will be buying the painting in person.
“HEUSC, track all Haru’s artifacts and buy them all.”
“Affirmative.”
After spending a few more hours in the gallery, Daisuke went to rest, pulling up pictures of Katou Haru and the videos from the national CCTVs. He had HEUSC improve the quality, and watched Haru walk, have his morning run, buying from a mobile food stall and eating the crepe on a bench, buying groceries, and returning to his small apartment.
Daisuke frowned, displeased at the notion of Haru living in anything short from grandiose. Haru deserved it. Haru should be living in a high-end penthouse or a mansion, not in an old apartment. Did Haru lack money? If so, Daisuke can provide for him. Daisuke would happily spend money for Haru.
“HEUSC, how much is Haru’s bank account balance.”
“Katou Haru has ¥ 545,237,518.20 in his bank account.”
Daisuke’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, “That’s quite enough to enter Japan’s richest people. In the top 100 even. So why is he living in such rundown quarters?”
He studied a video of Haru and peered at his face. Haru went down the frozen aisle and picked a cheap chicken, turning it over, before he picked another and doing the same, this time however, Haru looked satisfied and he placed the chicken in his basket. Daisuke was confused as to what Haru was doing, but he continued to watch on.
Haru was still an enigma despite knowing him through the screen and the information on him. He did things that baffled Daisuke, and things that astonished Daisuke once again. The clothes he wore were well worn, and it seemed like his wardrobe was very small. He preferred cheap things over the expensive ones with higher quality, and regarded other people who he interacted with in a respectable distance.
Haru could seamlessly blend in the background like water, unseen and unheard. Despite that, Daisuke never failed to notice him. Haru, for him, has a homing beacon that only Daisuke seemed to follow.
For all of Suzue’s teasing, Daisuke never approached Haru.
Daisuke has seen him in person, has observed his actions and fell even deeper into a hole that could be labeled as obsession. Daisuke checked in on Haru the moment he woke up, all throughout the day if Daisuke doesn’t have appointments or has free time, and before he fell asleep. Even in his dreams, Haru would follow him.
Suzue told him again and again to introduce himself to Haru, but Daisuke has only refused every single time. He felt his fear of being rejected by Haru renewed, because at this point, Daisuke can’t live without Haru, but Haru hardly feels the same.
Haru doesn’t even know him to feel anything for him.
He wouldn’t be able to take it if Haru would hate him, if Haru would know that Daisuke has been practically stalking him. What if he pulls away and tells Daisuke to never show himself again? If he disappears and Daisuke won’t be able to see him again?
It’s quite amazing how a man who doesn’t even know of Daisuke could destroy Daisuke very easily.
“I will not have this pining and moping anymore, Brother! You are 25 now! It’s been eight years and you still haven’t made a move, or even introduced yourself?! Where is the fearless brother that I know, who has made all of our enemies kneel before him? Brother, please. I believe in you, and wasn’t it you who said that you can have anything you want if only you don’t give up on them?”
Suzue heaved a breath at the end of her tirade, looking up fiercely at him. Daisuke felt chastised and ashamed of having being scolded, but her words rang true, and he felt like he woke up from a long dream.
“I—”
“Go to England, get a fast-track degree in law, and come back here. You’ll have an excuse to approach him by then, maybe you’ll be one of his close associates and will have a chance to get your guy. He’s an immortal, but you are Kambe Daisuke! You are stubborn and witty, and inside that love-muddled brain of yours, resides a competent intellectual who can plan and act swiftly and accordingly.”
Suzue dragged him towards where one of their private jets were, and shoved him in it, “HEUSC, fly my idiotic brother to University of Cambridge, UK. I’ve already enrolled you, and you better come back here so that you can finally introduce yourself!”
Daisuke followed his sister’s advice when he finally snapped from the unexpected development. With his money and high-intelligence, he would be able to graduate in three-years time.
A year and a half later, HEUSC informed him of an incident that had Haru demoted. A misfire, they said. Haru was no longer a part of the oh so great Division 1, and was subjected to the Division that has little action, because Haru “couldn’t” hold a gun anymore.
Daisuke trashed his room in sheer ire for Haru. The audacity of that Police Department! Haru had served them for so long now, and yet they threw him away like he was trash!
“HEUSC, have the school informed that I shall be graduating this year.”
“Affirmative.”
Everything had been too quick after that. Daisuke had taken tests after tests, all of his scores and his thesis nothing but perfection. He informed Suzue that he would be coming back soon and busied himself with processing to become an investigative officer in Japan too, so he could forget the anger stuffing his chest.
When he finally came back to Japan, it was with a threat about a city bombing. Daisuke’s first meeting with Haru had horrified Daisuke inside, because Haru had immediately reprimanded him for his thoughtless actions. And then came the bridge incident, where for the first time, Daisuke had finally seen Haru so close. Daisuke was too distracted from the injury on Haru’s forehead that his usual snark came unbidden from his mouth, and even before he could pull up Haru and touch him for the first time, Haru had deigned his help unnecessary and made himself fall into the river instead.
Daisuke panicked. What if Haru became more injured than he was? All because of Daisuke—
“HEUSC, scan Haru’s body for any additional injuries aside from the cut on his forehead.”
“Katou Haru has no other injuries.”
Daisuke let out a relieved sigh, booking it out from there while he observed Haru’s actions afterwards from the backseat. Haru had surely hated him because of that. Daisuke should have been more attentive with his words and actions.
He came to Suzue afterwards and informed her of what happened. His sister gaped at him before she rubbed her temples, placing a hand on her hip.
“Right, okay. So, you have to show your cards. Confront him about his immortality, and build his trust from there.”
“What if he runs?”
“Then you chase after him.”
Daisuke confronted Haru after a few days, unsure but hiding it beyond overconfidence. He’d trapped Haru and felt the length of Haru’s warm body against him. He felt joy like no other when Haru told him the truth instead of deflecting him or lying to his face. But then, Haru had accused him of wanting immortality for himself. If only Haru knew that Daisuke cared none for that. He only cared about Haru, and nothing else.
So, he showed Haru. It might have been a harebrained decision, but Daisuke had only ever wanted Haru.
He kissed him, and Haru did not respond, so Daisuke kissed him harder. When he felt two arms snaking around him and Haru finally opening his mouth to let Daisuke’s tongue in, Daisuke was ready to combust. Everything was so hot; Haru’s tongue expertly glided inside Daisuke’s own tongue, and Daisuke felt his brain finally turning into a mush.
He felt Haru’s fingers stroking the hairs on the back of his head, and another hand groping his butt. Daisuke couldn’t help but moan in pleasure because Haru was so good. When they finally parted, Daisuke had to catch his breath, mouth still ajar. Haru licked at the saliva that had ran from the corner of Daisuke’s lips down his jaw and Daisuke shuddered.
Twenty years, and Haru was finally here, holding Daisuke in his embrace. How much would Daisuke have to offer so that he can finally have all of Haru?
Apparently, he had said his desperate thoughts out loud, because Haru’s expression closed off. Haru had told him that Daisuke couldn’t buy people and human trafficking was illegal. Daisuke told him that Haru knew that wasn’t what he meant, and wanted to tell him that he knew he couldn’t win Haru over money. He just wanted to ask what he would have to give so Haru would want him back, as much as he wanted Haru.
“Tough luck. Not everything has a price. If you can’t understand that then you won’t be able to have me the way you want to.”
Haru then walked away from him, and Daisuke’s heart constricted. Having a price was much easier, and was doable for Daisuke. Daisuke understood Haru because how couldn’t he? He’d watched Haru for a decade, helping other people who he doesn’t even know and living a humble life. Altruistic and humanistic Haru, who cares for no price and did almost everything for free for other people.
Daisuke drove to Haru’s apartment, knowing that the man was yet to be home and went inside it. The apartment was clean and only had one bedroom, a living area connected to the kitchen, and a bathroom. When he went deeper, he could see some of Haru’s artworks hanging on the wall, and there was even two tall bookshelves in the living area. There were scrolls and books held together by being knitted on the spine.
At that moment, Daisuke realized that all of these were Fujiharu’s works that have never made known to the public. Daisuke, who collected his works ardently, wanted to kneel down and rejoice.
He carefully picked one of them, and started reading through the book. As expected, it was handwritten. It was presumably Haru’s notes. It was filled with herbs, medicinal or for cooking, and Daisuke found himself fascinated. There was no complete date, just a short “1612”, exactly how Fujiharu was so curt in everything, even his art.
When Haru managed to come back, Daisuke had been half-way through one of Haru’s sketchbooks, which was more recent. Haru told him that he was breaking and entering, and Daisuke knew that, knew that he invaded Haru’s space. He readied himself to be kicked out, but Haru did no such thing.
Instead, Haru cooked, and when he was done, he called on Daisuke to eat.
Daisuke felt his heart pounding. Haru cooked for him! He could eat at the same table as Haru! Suppressing his emotions from leaking out, Daisuke sat down. The meals weren’t what he was used to and they looked more appetizing than any meal that he had seen, so he asked what they were, and Haru answered him.
Guilt-ridden from imposing on Haru, he offered to pay for the food, and Haru told him that he doesn’t need to. Touched at Haru’s kindness, Daisuke ate the food infront of him, and predictably, it was the best food that he has ever tasted. They ate in companionable silence.
After they had eaten, Daisuke went back to the sketch book that he had been looking at prior to the meal, and after it, he picked up another book to read. This time, it was a book written in 1524, about swordsmithing. Engrossed, he hadn’t realized that it became so late, until Haru had handed him a shirt and sweatpants.
Haru’s shirt and sweatpants.
He changed in them swiftly, face burning. He was glad that Haru hadn’t noticed.
When Haru laid out a futon, he asked Haru why. Haru had then pointed out that the sofa was lumpy and was not that great to sleep on. It made sense to Daisuke, but he had never slept in a futon before. He would sleep there if that’s what Haru wanted.
He continued to read, and after two books that had been read from cover to cover, Daisuke went into Haru’s room to join him to sleep. Finally feeling the effects of being somnolent, Haru’s bed with Haru on it looked more inviting than the futon below. Daisuke slipped into Haru’s bed instead, expecting to be pushed away. Haru grumbled at him sleepily and pulled him into his arms instead.
Daisuke slept well, warm and content, his dream an expanse of white and happiness. When he woke up, his limbs were tangled with Haru’s, Haru’s hand curling on Daisuke hip almost possessively, and both of Daisuke’s arms coiled around Haru’s torso. They were so close, so comfortable, and Daisuke engraved Haru’s sleep-mussed hair, lashes fanned across his cheeks, and slack expression into the deep recesses of his mind.
When Haru had woken up, Daisuke informed him that he was going to go home now, and Haru didn’t let him. Instead, Haru cooked him breakfast.
It was unfair how Haru doesn’t know what he’s doing to Daisuke.
Telling Daisuke that he would cook for him if Daisuke asked him had Daisuke almost opening his mouth and asking Haru to cook breakfast for Daisuke for rest of his life. That was as good as a marriage proposal, and Daisuke was thankful that he managed to stop himself on time, or Haru would only be further weirded out by him.
Daisuke went home and told Suzue. Suzue jumped so hard and was saying something about, “I am so blowing a party! This is a momentous occasion, brother! It should be celebrated!”
Daisuke had barely stopped her from doing so, before he went to his workplace and met with Haru again. This time, he bought a case from those incompetent fools in Division 1, and Daisuke was disgusted that an officer of the law could be easily bribed.
Haru had then shown his prowess in martial arts, and Daisuke had HEUSC record it. He’d have to replay it again.
When Haru had asked later why Daisuke hadn’t bought a position in Division 1, Daisuke was inwardly appalled. Those people had discarded Haru, and they were filled with fools with superiority complex. They were also weak, and their morality even more so. They were proud, and they couldn’t even live up to it.
Daisuke had told Haru what he thought, and Haru followed up that being in the Division Haru was in should have been a waste of Daisuke’s time too. Preposterous. He had waited to be beside Haru for two decades, every second together with Haru was worth it.
In the end, Daisuke did not reveal himself to have stalked Haru for a long time. He let Haru have his misunderstanding, it it meant that Daisuke would stay beside Haru, unimpeded.
Once more, Daisuke invited himself over to Haru’s. This time, he brought his own sleepwear. As much as he liked wearing Haru’s clothes, he had exploited Haru’s generosity for far too much. Even so, he couldn’t stop. Now that he was too close to Haru, stopping himself from wanting more had proven far too difficult.
Daisuke had finally asked him about why Haru hadn’t gotten a bigger house for himself. Haru had millions in his bank account, buying a house shouldn’t dent his funds as much. But then, Haru told him that it was only a matter of time before he would leave.
Haru would have to change his name again, and live a new life—a life that might not include Daisuke in it.
Panic-stricken, Daisuke offered to cover for him when the time comes. HEUSC can bypass any security, so he can hide Haru until the rest of his days. Daisuke swallowed a huge lump in his throat, and his mood hadn’t lifted even when Haru agreed to go under Daisuke’s protection.
That night, when they shared a bed again, body pressed close once more, Haru had asked him what Daisuke wanted from Haru. Daisuke wanted to shout at him, have him listen to Daisuke that Daisuke doesn’t want immortality or anything related to it; he just wanted Haru.
Haru, who would not be swayed by money even if it turned out that he has very little of it; Haru, who chose to see Daisuke as Daisuke, and not as a Kambe, not as a figure of powerful standing in the society; Haru, who made masterpieces that were as straightforward as he was, built blades without nary a care if he should be credited for it; Haru, who was weary of the world but still cared for people, never even once using his immortality as a label that he was better than anybody.
“In another life, even if you weren’t immortal, I’d still want you, Haru.”
In another life, maybe Haru would be a grumpy officer who cared not for money but only for the people that needs saving. Daisuke would be his partner again, and he would see Daisuke as an equal. Haru, who has yet to tire of the world and haven’t seen the horrors that it could offer, would be stubborn and headstrong. Still humanistic, still altruistic, still a no-nonsense person.
“There’s no one else but you, Haru. It has to be you.”
There’s nobody else who could make Daisuke want to such a degree. It had only been Haru, for two decades and counting.