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Ever since the war ended, his brother hadn't been the same. Granted, no one who picked up their blades to defend the country came out unchanged, but a darker and heavier shadow seemed to loom over the enchanted blade wielders.
“There’s no meaning to fighting anymore.”
Natsuki never imagined these words would come out of his brother’s mouth.
“Just because they took Cloud Gouger? We’ve been wielding our swords way before you got it. I don’t understand how it’s any different now.”
Ibuki’s fingers played along the hilt of the old blade he used to fight with, back when he and Natsuki were still an indomitable duo. It was no Cloud Gouger, but the significance it carried was so much more. To Natsuki anyway.
“I’m done fighting battles, Natsuki. That’s just the way it is.”
Once he stepped out of his brother’s room, Natsuki felt their way wouldn’t converge anymore. With how distant his brother had become, he might as well say goodbye to those days where the Misaka brothers wreaked havoc to the terrors of their small hometown.
And with a different path opening before him, it was high time to forge forward with an empty space to his right.
But it was hard to find himself alone at the Kamunabi HQ.
“Yo, Natsuki!”
For once, Natsuki didn’t feel the need to remind Uruha to address him respectfully. Even Uruha had become less annoying, less grating to his ears. Crossing paths on a random day like this, Natsuki would have normally already waved an indifferent hand and turned the other way.
But if there’s anyone who could enlighten him why his brother was the way he is right now, wouldn’t it be this guy? As much as he hated his guts, Uruha fought alongside Ibuki in the war. He witnessed what his brother had, and perhaps, he was also troubled by the same things. Looking closer, Uruha did sport dark circles under his eyes and a subtle shadow of weariness in his form.
“…You look like you need a drink.”
Uruha blinked at him. Once. Twice.
“Wait, are you inviting me out to drink? With you?”
“Ugh, just say no if you don’t want to.”
“No way! Of course, I’m coming!” Uruha was almost scrambling as he caught up to Natsuki’s strides, a wide grin suddenly adorning his face. For a brief moment, he looked like the Uruha he had met before they stepped foot on the battlefield, brimming with optimism and energy. “It’s not every day you want me around.”
Natsuki sighed in resignation. Truth be told, if there were another person he could reach out to, he would go to them.
The war was finally over, and the matter of Uruha being chosen to wield Kumeyuri should already be old news, but Natsuki wasn’t the type to let go so easily. In fact, now that Uruha was stripped off the enchanted blade still without sorcery, that meant Natsuki couldn’t demand a fair match to prove he’s better. Who knows when that chance will come again?
Begrudgingly, he must tolerate Uruha’s existence until the day they can stand on equal footing once more. Then he will prove himself to be the better swordsman.
Uruha, ignorant of the thoughts that filled Natsuki’s head, stuck close by his side until they reached a nearby izakaya. They managed to score a quiet corner. Every living person in Japan would know their war heroes by now, and the last thing Natsuki needed were people bothering them just because they recognized Uruha.
It didn’t take long before their orders arrived – a few large bottles of beer and plates of meat and fish – and not a second was wasted before Uruha was already filling their glasses with drinks.
“How’s Mr. Ibuki? I haven’t seen your brother since we surrendered the blades.”
“Cooped up in his room.” Natsuki wrapped a hand around his glass, looking thoughtfully at the bubbles that fizzled up to the surface. “He’s planning to return home after settling a few things.”
“Alone? You’re not coming? But he said you’ve always been a tandem of sorts!”
“I got into the Kamunabi, I was there today to formalize some documents. Starting soon.”
“Of course you did! Let’s cheer to that!” Uruha clinked his glass with Natsuki’s, not even waiting for Natsuki to raise his. Then in one gulp, he downed half of his own drink. “I’d be surprised if they didn’t recruit you immediately, you’re really strong! Give it a few years and I’m sure you’d be leading a squad of your own.”
“It’s not like they hired me for my outstanding skills,” Natsuki chugged from his own glass, taking comfort at the slight warmth that slid down his throat. “After the war, a lot of people died. Some even left. They need the manpower.”
“Well, there’s also that. I heard even Mr. Shiba left. If I still had my sorcery…”
“As if that old geezer would allow you to leave the way of the sword for the Kamunabi?”
Uruha sucked a breath between his teeth, a brief vision of Shirakai-sensei’s punishment giving him goosebumps. “That’s true.”
“In any case, that wasn’t why I dragged you out here.”
“Hm?” Uruha looked at him with wide eyes and a mouth full of food.
“I need to know…Ever since you lot came from the island and returned the enchanted blades, my brother’s been…different. What happened back there?”
A slight shift on Uruha’s expression confirmed what Natsuki had been suspecting – there really was something. But the change was fleeting, and in half a blink, Uruha’s face was beaming again.
“We won. That’s all there is to it.”
“Then why does my brother look so…dejected?”
“Who wouldn’t feel that way after having to kill dozens if not hundreds?”
“We’ve killed before.”
“Not like this. Not on this scale.”
Natsuki knew his brother more than anyone else. Slicing down enemies was nothing. The Misaka brothers have always been on the side of justice, and thus every slash that came down from their sword was rightful judgment.
“There is something else, isn’t there? Something you all swore to keep mum about. I’m not stupid.”
“Didn’t say you are.”
As foolish Uruha looked with his flamboyant robes and red eye accent, when he’s being serious, the air would shift and Natsuki understood he meant business. Whatever this was, it must be a matter of life and death.
It was pointless trying to fish information from Uruha. If his own blood wouldn’t tell him, what more of this punk? Giving up on his goal, he reached out to pour himself another glass of beer. Instead, he picked up an empty bottle.
“Seriously?”
Uruha looked at him innocently just as he placed another emptied glass on the table. “What? I’m not waiting for you.”
Three hours and a dozen or so bottles later, the izakaya owner kicked them out (politely so, out of respect for the war hero that was Uruha) because it was closing time, and Natsuki contacted Samura to pick his student up. Fortunately, he was around the area and would arrive in just a few minutes.
He had never hung out alone with Uruha before, and though Uruha wasn’t a lightweight, he did drink as if he wanted to drown. At this point, it was a miracle he hasn’t passed out. It seemed to Natsuki that tonight’s drinking was Uruha’s way of confronting the same shadows his brother was dealing with.
“Heyy, Natsuki…” Uruha shifted, hooking his chin on the sharp point of Natsuki’s shoulder, pouting like a little kid, eyes barely open. “Do you really hate me?”
Hours of yammering about Mr. Rokuhira-this and Mr. Samura-that yet he only brings up something so close and personal now?
“What do you think?” Natsuki grumbled, trying to push off Uruha’s face that was mere inches away. “Don’t sleep on me, I’m not carrying you.”
“Sleep? Me?” Uruha opened his eyes wide, as if to make a point. “I finally got to hang with you, I’m not sleeping!”
But that didn’t last long, and he was back to drowsily mumbling on Natsuki’s shoulder. It was pointless to get Uruha off of him, he might fall to the ground if he moved even an inch. There was no choice but to endure sitting outside the store front with Uruha treating him like a body pillow until Samura arrives.
“D’you have any idea how hard it is to hang out with the other guys?” Uruha continued lamenting on his side, words stumbling over each other in a barely understandable slur, “Can’t even be chummy with Mr. Samura or he’ll beat my ass. Mr. Ibuki’s much younger but he’s too cool…he gets along with Mr. Shiba and Mr. Azami better. And after I got Kumeyuri, the other students……anyway, you’re the only person my age I can hang out with, you know?” He trailed almost endlessly until his voice was barely a whisper, disappearing into his sleep. “I wish you hated me a little less and liked me as much as I like you.”
Natsuki’s keen senses didn’t miss that.
All his life, he only knew to be on his brother’s left side. Come the war, he had thought that he’d keep that spot and grow stronger with him, just as they have been doing. But Uruha existed, the war happened, and since then, things haven’t been the same.
There were definitely other reasons why he and his brother grew apart, but Uruha seemed to be the easiest to blame, and one who didn’t take Natsuki’s hatred to heart. He’s just that type of person. If Natsuki wasn’t so proud, he would have felt bad already.
But it’s not like it was all hatred inside him. He’s aware, painfully so, that he wouldn’t be so affected if a small part of him didn’t look up to Uruha’s skills and feats.
He’d rather die than admit it out loud, though.
He turned to look at Uruha’s sleeping figure. From this point of view, he was no prodigy, no enchanted blade wielder, no threat to the life Natsuki was used to living. And from this moment on, he couldn’t return to that past, so maybe he could look at the future with a different perspective.
In between Uruha’s light snores, Natsuki muttered, “Don’t think too highly of yourself. I don’t hate you that much.”
This was the most he could say.
To his surprise, the arms around his waist tightened even more and stayed there. It seemed as if in his dreams, those mild words reached Uruha. And they were enough.
Perhaps, moving forward, Natsuki could learn to stand next to another man.