Chapter Text
199 seconds left.
Protecting the cubed Chika, I ran for Border HQ, risking my life.
Kuga, Jin, Miwa, and the others kept the enemies away, while I came up with a plan.
I almost reached the entrance of HQ, but Replica…
Flash!
There was a vision of dark black needles burning through his limbs. The blades were impossibly sharp, rimmed in purple energy, absorbing all light. They were the interdimensional knives which split Replica into two halves. And the portal to the interior of an orbiting spacecraft was closing fast.
Mikumo Osamu opened eyes which were already open. Not a Trion body trick—less technological than that. He woke from a memory into a chilly, empty night. A dream about events which were not a dream.
A nightmare.
Another night at Mikado General Hospital.
His name was Osamu.
Two and a half years ago, he began middle school in Mikado City, in the aftermath of the First Large-Scale Invasion. Near the start of his third year, he joined Border. Even then, he’d been ordinary. Weak though full of justice. His general kindness gave him friends while his worries kept him from growing close to any of them. Everything was much the same. As it had always been.
Until everything changed the day Kuga Yuuma transferred to his third-year class.
“Greetings, Osamu. I am Replica, Yuuma’s chaperone.”
Aftokrator came to Mikado City, hard and fast. To keep back the tide, Border struggled against time itself. And then the invasion ended in vast swaths of destroyed land, thirty-two Agents lost, and a small, black miniature on the bedside table; the final sign that Replica was still out there, still alive.
“Sorry. Because I wasn’t strong enough…” said Osamu.
Just like every other time Osamu tried to take responsibility, Yuuma took the events in stride and brushed his sentiment aside like a fly.
“Now we have another reason to get to A-Rank,” said Yuuma.
It was amazing how, for Yuuma, the loss of another family member was nothing like a source of strife.
Osamu would return to the roof of the hospital after the press conference hosted by Border. Thinking was as natural to Osamu as flying was to a bird. As he stared over the city, he thought about his declaration to pursue Aftokrator. The fight to reclaim what they lost would continue in another world. The battle against the Neighbours would happen again; Border bringing to another country what had been done to Mikado City twice.
Border would get their captured Agents back. There were a lot of reasons why Osamu was determined to have a role in the upcoming fight.
Because Kuga Yuuma was dying.
They mightn’t have more time.
The afterimage of Green Trion tracks behind his eyelids, Osamu said, “Tsuji should be left?”
Yuuma rose from the ground and said, “Chika shot him down with Ibis.”
Osamu, dazed and still reeling after striking Ninomiya with Hound, reread and finally registered the ‘Match Over’ declared on his HUD. The tension which had built up under Osamu’s skin discharged through his pores, as if their victory had opened the door to a sauna, the difference in pressure spilling vast plumes of steam into the wild. They’d used every last one of his plans and used plans he wouldn’t have commanded. Round 8 of the B-Rank Wars went to Tamakoma-2, placing them in the top two B-Ranks.
Relief mixed with victory and something tasteless.
That night, Tamakoma Branch held a feast cooked by Kizaki Reiji. Discussions of tomorrow’s plans took place over cake. Chika said she would go to farewell Nasu Squad’s Hiura Akane, and Yuuma mentioned taking a break from individual Rank Wars at HQ to work with Hyuse in the morning.
Suddenly, Karasuma leaned over and reached for Osamu’s arm.
“Osamu,” said Karasuma, “Your plate.”
They had migrated away from the dinner table when the cake was doled out. Osamu straightened his plate and picked up his spoon from where it was about to fall.
“Thank you,” he said.
Karasuma’s smile was warm. Approving, Osamu hoped.
“Good job out there today,” said Karasuma.
“We couldn’t have done it without your help,” said Osamu.
“No, I suppose not,” said Karasuma lightly. Friendliness, Osamu deciphered. “But you did do very well.”
“It was thanks to everyone else,” said Osamu.
“Isn’t there something called too much modesty?” said Karasuma, and that was the extent of Osamu being able to tell if his senpai was making fun or being serious.
Osamu avoided answering by putting another spoonful in his mouth. He’d managed to enjoy dinner, but the tastelessness was back. Their celebration cake was egg and sugar over his rolling stomach. The sponge crumbled against his tongue.
Chika went home once the sky grew dark. Osamu finished his share and became one of the first to bathe, telling the others he was tired. They didn’t ask him questions, unaware of the uneasy feeling that returned to him ever since the match ended.
When he woke up the next day, the uneasy feeling was still strong.
“I’m going for a walk,” he announced after breakfast.
His plates were cleaned up. He put on his outdoor shoes and a light jacket. He left Tamakoma Branch behind him at a light jog, his back to the sound of the river. In his senses, the fresh breeze of early March was floral. Now he knew the difference of feeling, it was a wonder he hadn’t been aware of the Trion gland next to his heart. Being full of Trion while in his physical body gave him a boost that, like most metaphysical concepts, couldn’t be calculated. Motivation. Spirit. Energy. Whatever it was, the same run felt effortless in the morning—after recharging Trion overnight—compared to evening runs after training, drained of Trion.
He jogged further than normal, farther than when he could go when he enlisted six months ago. He stopped at a point near the edge of Mikado City, his hood over his ears to offer shade for his neck, and found a spot off the road to take a break. He could see over the town’s low buildings and into stretches of land belonging to the Forbidden Zone, parkland and old utility poles scarred from previous attacks against Trion Soldiers. He was overlooking the water, in a place where he could twist his head and see the shrine where Chika liked to play. Inexplicably, he thought about Border declaring war on Aftokrator, and his mind wandered to the Amatori siblings. Chika, who he swore to protect. Rinji, who asked him to protect her in place of him.
“I’ll use normal bullets in the next match.”
By logic, Osamu knew that Chika must have had her reasons. She had to have. Her inability to shoot people was something she’d been fighting for months. As their leader, Osamu’s duty had been to believe. He’d done everything he could to make it clear that she had a place with them whether she could shoot or not. It was clear that Hyuse was the one who put this change in her mind and given her a push.
Osamu trusted Hyuse to help.
Should we not have trusted Hyuse…? he wondered.
Instead of fading, the uneasy feeling remained. Unchanged. Like when he’d taken the squad the wrong way with an incorrect trajectory to his thoughts.
Osamu shook his head. Air filled his chest as he reminded himself, Trusting Hyuse is what allowed our Tamakoma-2 to become the second best B-Rank squad in Border.
Their team had fought for and earned a place on the Expedition. Until the Away Exam started, all they had to do was wait.
But the uneasy feeling also stayed.
Osamu tilted his head and looked up—up to the bright torii gate, at bold orange pillars and paper streamers, at the shrine and its open mouth. He thought again about Border declaring war on Aftokrator, this time envisioning the current version of Tamakoma-2 out on the front lines. There was no doubt that they were at their strongest after the match with Ninomiya.
Would they be strong enough?
Would they be able to do anything against the combined force of Hyrein and Mira and the other Aftokrator forces and the tactical disadvantage of battling on unfamiliar territory?
To get Replica back, like Yuuma wanted?
There. There it was! Struck by lightning, Osamu gripped his hands into fists. He was the weakest combatant out of everyone in Tamakoma, reliant on his smarts to make up for talent. The experience he gained from leading his squad in the B-Rank Wars made it impossible to continue ignoring the obvious. The more he learned, the harder it was to continue believing he could get Replica back and rescue the captured C-Ranks at the same time. There was no knowing where Replica might be, firstly. Second, Hyrein knew that Osamu had a reason to rescue Replica. Anything could happen in Aftokrator.
It was basic strategy to use Replica as a trap.
The terrible feeling grew stronger, confirming his conclusion was right. Border might rescue their agents as Osamu said to the press, but Osamu might end up losing more in the process of saving Replica. Alone in his moment of weakness, Osamu took a deep breath and closed his eyes, swallowing over the trembling deep in his chest. They were so close to the Aftokrator Expedition. They were limited, blind aside from Enedorad and Hyuse, their only two sources of intelligence. There was nothing for Osamu to do but wait and keep working on his own skills. Study more tactics. Sit down with the other squads. Consider approaches and formations. Brainstorm. Optimise.
Truly, if what they needed most was information, then the most optimal path moving forward was the most impossible. If they’d managed to avoid the future where Replica was ever sacrificed—
The sun passed by.
“—kumo!”
Mikumo Osamu opened closed eyes.
“Hey, you alright?” said a familiar voice in a fuzzy world that smelled of citrus.
“Looks like he’s awake!” Another voice, also familiar. “I’ll go tell the teachers.”
“I’ll come with you,” said the first voice, but try as Osamu might, he couldn’t piece together the voices’ owners before they vanished.
Someone handed him something, metal against his fingertips. Slim, jointed, delicate. Realising they were his glasses, Osamu tried to wear them.
A shot of sparks twinged his nerves. His arm moved two centimetres.
“What?” Osamu tried to say, but all he managed was the opening of his jaw and a scratchy sound, “Ahrraaaa?”
And exactly like what had happened with his arm, a burning sensation exploded in his neck.
“Yuuma,” began a robotic voice, masculine and steady, one which would have made Osamu’s heart leap under normal circumstances, “You should help him with his glasses.”
“Huh?” said Yuuma. Then the glasses left Osamu’s hand. Hovering between Osamu and fuzzy ceiling lights was a white blob of hair and bright ruby eyes. “Here, Osamu. Your glasses.”
The glasses were slid over Osamu’s ears. Osamu blinked carefully, like closing a creaky door. Except the creaking was inside his own body and he felt more like a wardrobe than a human being lying on a mattress. He recognised this room. It was the nurse’s office of his middle school; he was usually one of the visitors, not the one in the beds.
There was a pressure on the back of his neck. Osamu didn’t realise it was there until it left. A black device floated up from where it had been hidden, and Replica opened the seam which passed as its mouth to retract the pale lilac measuring appendage which must have been under Osamu’s collar.
“Welcome back, Osamu,” said Replica. “You fainted after the Marmods’ attack.”
And then, before Replica could say any more to Yuuma than a quick, “I did not identify anything of immediate concern during the diagnostics scan,” he shloop-ed back into Yuuma’s ring. Behind where Replica had been was a calendar which said December. Seconds later, their classmates returned, the school nurse in tow.
Osamu was suddenly very glad he couldn’t speak.
Inside his head, he was free to scream.
There was a hole in the side of the school. Some classes would be cancelled for the rest of the month. Schedules would be shuffled around, and teachers would do their best to resume life as normal despite the home economics facilities taking significant damage.
For some students, it was the stuff of dreams.
Mikumo Osamu was not one of them.
To Osamu, it was March. He was going to take the Away Exam. He was about to graduate and attend First Mikado City High. Osamu had reached the part of his third year where the school no longer held mandatory classes. He mentally considered himself to have finished middle school. Osamu had plans.
What was happening?
According to the calendar, it was December, and he was three months in the past.
By chance, the Marmods which attacked the school had damaged supply systems belonging to the air conditioning system in the nurse’s office. The nurse, concerned about Osamu’s temperature, had put a blanket over him and closed the curtains. Secure, hidden from view, Osamu was alone, alternating between panic (at not being able to move his body), disbelief (over the idea of time travel), and thinking about matters he had no ability to control while lying on a thin mattress with a bar making itself known over a part of his back.
His circling thoughts lingered on something specific. Osamu took a deep breath and prepared himself.
Then he moved.
Pain. Pain exploded everywhere up his arm, worse than losing a limb in a battle sim with settings turned up to max. He was blinded. His movement left him winded, but he managed a success. He had his hand in his pocket, fingers curled around the bumpy grip of a Border Trigger holder.
“Trigger on,” he grunted.
Instead of transforming, something else happened.
The prickling sparks and pain, which until that point had been predictable, were suddenly everywhere. Like standing under the sun with no clothes on. And then going to an ant hill and kicking the top off. A horrific, itching feeling broke over him, a thousand million billion tiny pinpricks outside and inside. Phantom tingling and wriggling in pockets and spaces where there was soft, untouched flesh. He was no longer Mikumo Osamu, he was pain in the shape of a man-shaped gingerbread biscuit. Someone had taken pity on him and dressed him up. Blazer, shirt, slacks. His mother would be annoyed if his tie hadn’t been drawn on right. At least they remembered to add a mouth and eyes with icing in a different colour.
The sensations left.
Osamu came to the feeling of fluid dripping onto his blanket, dark shadows puddling on the fabric. He panted as he heaved oxygen into his lungs, leaking tears and snot and saliva. He moved without thinking and froze, expecting something. But nothing happened, no pain nor sparks nor anything. All of a sudden, he could move without feeling like his bones were stretching his body to the point of falling apart. He grasped for the tissues near the bed and fumbled with his glasses, then the pads of his fingers brushed over the muscles of his face. It felt like relief? He exhaled a sound without fighting to make a word. He was fine.
The calendar caught his eye when his glasses were returned to his face. Osamu took a deep breath.
He was alive, three months in the past, alone in the nurse’s office.
He was alive.
Living through two interdimensional invasions of autonomous man-made monsters in the last five years had taught Osamu to accept change when it happened. Being a ‘defender,’ rather than a ‘creator,’ Osamu responded to this new reality with adaptability and a Border Agent’s experience. He took stock of himself (weak, unfit, unscarred) and was going through what he had available to him when he noticed a soft glowing near his chest.
He wiped off the stains from the blanket, then peeked underneath. There was a light coming from Border’s Trigger holder. On, off. On, off. It was flickering yellow around the middle.
Border Triggers, while designed for universal use, did encounter some limitations. Even while he was C-Rank, he knew that that light pattern meant misconfiguration in the Trigger holder, and an instruction to turn it in for maintenance at the soonest.
Osamu took the device in hand and said, “Trigger off.”
The light disappeared. Extracting the Trigger holder and his head out from his blankets, Osamu breathed out a sigh.
Time travel. If this was time travel. Last time, the first time he experienced this day in his life, he had run to fight against the attacking Marmods and nearly died. Perhaps… this time… he’d died? Osamu pat himself down. He would have to ask Yuuma for details.
Time travel. Last time, Osamu had been praised and scolded by Arashiyama Squad in front of the rest of the student body. He’d spent the afternoon in his classroom worrying about his fate. After all, he had still been C-Rank, and C-Rank Agents were forbidden to use Triggers outside the base.
Time travel. Osamu dove deeper into his memory, pulling out the rest of the events from that day. His trip to Border HQ, for a verdict over his rule-breaking, had been in the company of Yuuma and Kitora Ai. Osamu vaguely remembered making a bad impression on Kitora, somehow. Then he remembered the sizzling purple energy of a Gate.
An Ilgar had appeared and bombed the town in heavy attacks.
The modified Rads! realised Osamu in a flash. If today was that day, then it wasn’t long since Yuuma transferred and defeated the great white Bamster which had been carrying an army of Rads. Deployed by Aftokrator as part of scouting efforts, the Rads and their irregular Gates had brought destruction to the town outside the Forbidden Zone. Border had unwittingly revealed their hand in a response to keep the city safe.
The original Osamu hadn’t known what to do with that information. He’d followed Jin and Yuuma, accepted their generosity, the free boost to B-Rank.
The time travelled Osamu was the young man who had been used by Border’s Public Relations team as an attempted scapegoat, experienced victory as Captain of Tamakoma-2, and came to know the concept known as ‘loss’.
Osamu looked around. Seeing only the tissue holder and a mess of crumpled tissues near him, he picked up the Trigger holder and placed it on top of the blanket, using it to mark the moment Aftokrator invaded. He grabbed the crumpled tissues, one by one, and began building himself a timeline.
The Marmods attacking the school means the Rads are here. The Rads being here means Aftokrator is already in orbit. I have to assume they’ve already learned that C-Rank agents don’t have Bail Out. Getting rid of their ship is the problem. Is there a way to do that without sending Replica on-board to program it back to Aftokrator?
The sound of the bell marking the end of a long school day echoed in the walls. An hour had passed since Osamu’s pain disappeared.
It was to Osamu moving around clumps of tissues in efforts to visualise the intricate dynamics of cause and effect that the curtain slid open.
“Yo, Osamu!” said Yuuma, striding inside with palms exposed. “Are you going to Border’s HQ after this?”
Osamu jumped. “Kuga!”
“I brought your bag,” said Yuuma. He lowered the second bag on his small shoulders onto the floor.
Osamu put his Trigger holder back into his pocket, hiding relief at how nobody else was following Yuuma.
Then he realised… Yuuma had a question.
“Y—Yeah,” said Osamu. “I’ll go to Border HQ.” He paused, hesitating over a question of his own. “Kuga, you said we would need twenty of me to defeat a Marmod, right?”
“Right.”
“And of the twenty, eighteen would die?”
“Yup.” Yuuma nodded. “You got it.”
Did I die? Is that why I’m here now? Osamu tried to ask, but his throat closed before the words could leave his mouth.
Osamu removed his glasses and wiped his eyes. He gathered what strength he could find and lowered his feet to the ground.
Taking his bag from Yuuma, he asked, “Can you remind me what happened on our way out?”
“Sure,” said Yuuma. “No problem.”
According to Yuuma, this Osamu had run into the school by himself to fight the Marmods. After Replica detected Osamu’s Trion to be low, Yuuma had gone in and shielded Osamu, defeating both Marmods using the borrowed Border Trigger.
“You were praised by that nice guy and scolded by the huffy lady,” Yuuma finished. “Then as soon as you got back to the classroom, you collapsed.”
So nothing had changed compared to what Osamu already knew. Considering how terrible his luck had been when Tamakoma-2 had lost Hyuse in the worst spawn location during the final round of B-Rank Wars, it must have been a miracle that Osamu could approach this situation maintaining his advantages.
The nurse appeared, looking startled. Her mood darkened as soon as she spotted Yuuma.
“I had instructed all of you to let him rest—” the nurse began.
“He’s rested,” said Yuuma. “According to Repli—eh. Osamu said that.”
Osamu gulped at the looks sent his way. He squashed down any remaining dizziness. “I’m—I’m fine.”
The nurse turned on Yuuma. “How did you get inside?”
Yuuma pointed to the window on the opposite wall. “Since the door was locked, I came in from the other floor.”
Oh, thought Osamu. That’s why Kuga was alone.
“Wait,” said Osamu. “From the… Did you do that while carrying two school bags?”
“Hm?” Yuuma looked at Osamu, like Osamu was slow of mind. “No, I opened it. Then I threw the bags in first.”
“You what?!” exclaimed Osamu.
Yuuma made a face. “It wasn’t hard. You’re always so picky, Osamu. I’m used to climbing where I’m from.”
The nurse had run over to the window. In the same instant, Yuuma grabbed Osamu’s arm. He pulled with incredible strength and Osamu could only follow as Yuuma led him out of her office, like—
Like a past Osamu had seen a large lump of Japanese money before pulling away the naïve Yuuma.
The memory came to Osamu suddenly. Against the Neighbour’s vice grip, Osamu didn’t struggle.
“Replica said I could bail you out, Osamu, so I chose to,” said Yuuma. “I know what those adults are like. You have to run when you can. Otherwise, they won’t let you go unless they’re satisfied.”
“Is that something you learned in the other world?” asked Osamu.
Yuuma let go when they entered a stairwell, and dusted the front of his trousers. “Hm. You could say that.”
Stupid, thought Osamu. Stupid, stupid. How could nothing have changed? His waking in the nurse’s office was already a deviation to the original time. He’d never had a chance to hear more about Yuuma like this. He’d been too busy being concerned that Yuuma was too weird to pass as normal in Japan.
“You’ve been helping me out a lot, Osamu,” said Yuuma. “You were gonna go to Border HQ, right? If you stayed any longer, the sky’ll get dark. I’m just repaying the favour.”
In the first timeline, it hadn’t been a long time between when Osamu first met Yuuma and when Replica was sacrificed. No matter how good Yuuma was at moving forwards in the face of adversity, Osamu knew, intellectually, that Yuuma had to have been affected by loss. Even if the ‘loss’ that Yuuma held was different in texture, shape or form to the ‘loss’ held by Osamu after living through two Large-Scale Invasions, there should be something common in their experiences, and Osamu understood the feelings of Kuga Yuuma as its own fact.
But now, exposed to a side of Yuuma he hadn’t met the first time around, Osamu’s blindness became obvious to himself.
Osamu had grown so dramatically in three months that he’d failed to notice how much Yuuma changed at the same time. Right here, the changed Osamu could perceive details about Yuuma, when Yuuma should technically be a stranger right now.
They’d begun. Changes to the timeline had already started.
At that moment, following Yuuma out of the front doors of the main building, Osamu made a decision. He thought about the makeshift timeline he created in the nurse’s office, clumps of tissues a solar system borne from his memories of the future. He created a new turning point in the eyes of fate, determined more than ever that he would aim to move the world towards the best outcome.
Not the second best, or maybe the third.
Osamu would find a sequence of events that didn’t result in pain and loss and sacrifice.
And then, Yuuma could have more time with Replica before his flesh-and-bone body inevitably ran out of time.
It was at that moment Osamu and Yuuma stepped into the courtyard, squinting briefly against the setting sun shining into their eyes. There was the sound of digital camera shutters, of students whispering in admiration. Osamu’s eyes adjusted and revealed the silhouette wearing a posh girls’ school’s uniform beneath a stylish beige long coat.
“What’s she doing?” said Yuuma.
The visiting student stiffened at the sound of Yuuma’s voice. She spun and turned on Osamu, just like Osamu remembered from his time.
“I was waiting for you,” she said sharply. “Mikumo, right?” Without waiting for his confirmation, she flicked her hair back and said, “I’m from Arashiyama Squad of HQ. Kitora Ai.”