Chapter Text
“Makoto.” "Makoto." "Makoto."
"Makoto." "Makoto." "Makoto."
"Makoto."
A voice was calling him. A voice he knew all too well. A voice that was everywhere at once.
It was echoing through the dark, alongside the faint sound of a river flowing far away.
Some of the voices were close. Very close. Too close. He could hear them whisper in his ears, forcefully snatching his mask away from him while he could only stand there in fear. Unable to move and barely able to talk. The shadowy figures belonging to the voices were clinging to him, mockingly giggling.
“How are you doing, Makoto, dear?”
The voices were mocking him, mocking his tone, his pitch, everything he had tried to make his voice different from… him.
“Long hair, huh? I wonder what it would look like if it was shorter. Should we try cutting it?”
No. Please, no. Everything but that. Please, don’t!
Makoto really wanted to yell at them, tell them off, make them go away, and run away himself, but his body was not listening to him. His body…
The shades were ruffling their hands through his hair, cutting it on their way, somehow, without scissors, without hurting him. Happy with their mischief, the shades reached for Makoto’s hand, putting them on his own hair despite his reluctance. Feeling the shortened length of his hair under his fingers, he flinched.
I’m not… I’m… I’m not… I… He is… We… No… We’re not…
“Makoto, dear, it’s not nice to cheat your height with platform shoes, you know?”
Please, no, you’ve already taken so many things away from me… Please, don’t take them away… Please, stop. I can’t take it anymore. Please…
But of course, the shades were not listening to him. Not only because they couldn’t hear him, but because they wouldn’t want to even if that were the case. And, once again, something had been taken away from him against his consent. Without his shoes on, he was slightly shorter.
A feeling of disgust was getting to him, and his eyes were starting to get misted by tears.
At this point, most of the shades had started gathering around Makoto, mocking him with all of their hearts.
“Stop lying to yourself, Makoto. You know that’s not good for you~.”
Their cheerful voices, mimicking his, were making him sick.
While Makoto was starting to have a mental breakdown, some of the shades had made way for a mirror.
“Look at you, you know who you are, don’t you?”
Reluctantly looking up at the mirror, Makoto could see his face in the reflection—tears were running down his cheeks—his small stature, his big childlike eyes, and his short hair.
“I’m not…”
His reflection was the identical image of the ‘real’ him, the person who was currently known as Yuma Kokohead.
“... I’m not Yuma. I’m not him. I’m Makoto Kagutsuchi, CEO of Amaterasu. I’m not… Im’ not him. We’re different. We’re not the same person, we have nothing in common. I can’t be him… I’m me. I-”
Having stared at the mirror for a few minutes now, Makoto was slowly starting to realise that his shoes were still on him, that his hair was still long, and most importantly, that he was alone, in his bathroom, looking at his reflection, with the tap open.
Letting out a long sigh, he washed his face for a few seconds before looking back at the mirror. His reflection was now showing him exactly as he was, like it had been for the past few minutes.
“It happened again…”
Taking his mask, which was sitting on the side of the sink, Makoto silently sat against the furniture.
“It’s getting more and more violent lately. And to think I thought the mask would finally be enough. How foolish of me… If growing my hair and wearing platform shoes as well as a colourful suit had not worked, how could a mask?”
Makoto hugged his knees against his chest.
“They are… No. I am right. I can’t keep avoiding the truth. No matter what I do or what I change, I will forever look like Yuma. Until he dies, that is. …”
Until Yuma’s death, huh?
The thought made his lips curve into a bittersweet smile. By the time Yuma would die, if we were talking about a natural death, what would happen to Kanai Ward and its inhabitants? Would most of them be gone because of a disease or old age, despite their young looks? Would they still be alive if they were not sick? If they were all to die in about eighty years from now, what would happen to him? Would he be alone? Would he find new friends to stay with? But they would still end up dying in the end. An immortal being is doomed to sorrow and loneliness, unless it finds immortal friends.
Makoto had thought about finding a way to make everyone in Kanai Ward immortal, just like him, and repair the zombies piling up in the restricted area. But would they be happy with it? He could not doom his fellow and beloved citizens to eternal life. Then, find a way to make himself mortal again? But he was not sure it was even a possible solution. And Amaterasu was already too busy trying to help Kanai Ward, and he was not selfish enough to force them to focus on him first.
He sighed, burying his face in his knees.
Makoto hated his body and his own existence. Every time he looked in the mirror, all he could see was Yuma’s face. A face and a body that are not his. If at least they were twins, it would have been fine. Looking like someone you like and with whom you grew up could have been fine. But looking like someone who feels like a total stranger while also being different enough to not even be considered the same species felt horrendous. Because that confirmed that Makoto was not Yuma’s twin nor someone who looked like him by a twist of fate. It meant that Makoto really was a mistake created from Yuma’s DNA.
Since his birth, he had wished to meet Yuma, although that scared him. But their encounter felt nothing like he had imagined it. Instead of a warm feeling overwhelming him, like a child finally meeting his long-lost father, meeting Yuma didn’t make him feel anything. Neither joy nor sadness. Sorrow, nor excitement. It was just like a void in his heart. He had not felt anything towards Yuma. Except for an unjustified feeling of hate that came later.
Finally meeting the ‘human him’ simply reinforced his hatred towards his own body and made him hate Yuma for simply existing. Why did he have the right to exist as a human, but Makoto had to live knowing he was nothing more than an experiment? Why should Yuma be considered the real one out of them both? Why, if something were to happen, would people choose to kill him instead of Yuma? Why should homunculi be considered different and even lower beings than humans? Makoto also hated his condition.
Somehow, as sad as it was, Makoto was happy that his fellow homunculi had killed their human counterpart. At least they wouldn’t have to suffer as much as he was, knowing they were not ‘the real ones’ and feeling like no matter what they did, they would not be as good as their human counterparts. They could live as themselves, almost as if nothing had happened.
Although some of them were having a hard time accepting that they were not humans anymore and that they, in a way, ate themselves. Which was why one of the first things Makoto did after revealing the truth was to offer free psychological support to those who needed it. Makoto would protect his fellow homunculi with all of his might and all of his love, no matter what it would take. They deserved it.
That being said, he had to make some exceptions to this. He would not interfere if the sorrow or pain of one of them benefited at least one other homunculus. As was the case for a certain red-haired asshole. Makoto truly could not hate Yomi. Except for divulging some information about Kanai Ward. But fortunately, that did not really have any consequences. And Yomi was already punished enough with the decision to put him under house arrest. It was a better way to punish him than simply prison or death. And a lonely Yomi wasn’t that dangerous. Just mildly annoying.
Sighing as he stood back up, Makoto put his mask back on his face. Even if he only had a mirror in his bathroom, just feeling his face open to the exterior for everyone to see made him cringe. Having his mask on made him feel better anyway.
After stretching for a bit, Makoto exited his bathroom, ready to work on some papers all night long to entertain himself and try not to think about himself or his fellow citizens, not think about anything that could cause him another mental breakdown.
Unfortunately, no matter how smart and talented he was, Makoto could not predict everything.
“... What are you doing here?”