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What will we do with a drunken whaler?
early in the morning
"Who are you?"
Indeed. Who am I?
I am... Akashi Seijuro.
And I...
I'm dying.
Weigh heigh and up she rises
early in the morning
"Sei-chan, why are you listening to this song? It's creepy."
"I happen to like this song, Reo."
And Reo doesn't press the matter, doesn't ask why his captain seems so enamoured with that creepy song.
It must be a painful memory to it.
Stuff him in a sack and throw him over
early in the morning
"So, um, Akashi." Kotarou decides to ask one day. "Everyone's been wondering about that song."
"What song?" he questions, confused.
"You know... That creepy one you always seem to listen."
Ah. That makes sense.
Both him and his other self like the song, but what to tell them without making them freak out?
"Because the lyrics reach me."
"Reach? Akashi, the song is about punishment! Why do you think you need that?!"
Wrong thing to say, huh.
"I apologise. I didn't mean it that way."
Feed him to the hungry rats for dinner
early in the morning
Airial and sea borders will be closed from today. Remember to avoid contact with people you think might be infected and follow hygiene rules.
And Momoi Satsuki cries. Cries because he can't get in touch with her friends, and her parents won't let her out to search for them.
Weigh heigh and up she rises
early in the morning
When Shiori died, Akashi Masaomi felt the world collapse around him. A rare disease she had suffered from, one that made her skin die and her organs rot, slowly but surely.
He had paid the best scientists and researchers, but, no matter what, a cure could not be found.
He was glad that his son seemed to not suffer like his wife did.
Seijuro is fourteen when his heart stops for two seconds during one of his private lessons.
Fear clouds his mind, and he's determined to at least save his son.
No matter the cost.
Shoot him through the heart with a loaded pistol
early in the morning
"Akashi-kun....?" Kuroko can't help but mutter, can't help but state at his former captain. He looks so tired, and his eyes are devoid of hope. There's an inexplicable sadness there, and overall, the once proud Akashi Seijuro looks as if he has given up on life.
Akashi places an old pistol in his gloved hands, its muzzle touching the skin over his heart.
"Please, Tetsuya." he begs, voice trembling. "I want to be at peace. I don't want to pretend that I'm still alive."
"What are you talking about?"
The redhead's hollow laughter echoes into his ears. "Surely you've noticed it. My body has stopped working. I'm dead, Tetsuya. I have no place among the living."
"We can find a cure." he replies, and he looks so sure that this is true.
"Everything happens because of me.I'm not worthy of living. No one deserves this curse."
We can try to cure you, at least. Is what Kuroko wants to tell him. Save you.
But he's two seconds late.
Two seconds earlier, Akashi Seijuro had pulled the trigger of the pistol that was aiming to his heart.
Slice his throat with a rusty cleaver
early in the morning
They called them Generation of Miracles for being prodigies in the sport they loved, at first. But they were determined to give the world a true miracle, something to be remembered by.
Everyone works together, giving their all. They show a more nature side of them, because so many things are at stake.
Their captain is different, as well. He's different than how he used to be. Like an empty, broken shell, he spends his first days with them trying to end his life, the rest of them simply staring at the distance. The people that come close to him are blurry, their voices somehow muffled, but still recognizable. It's his former teammates that surround him, always one by his side, every day. Teammates? Friends? He's not sure.
Akashi Seijuro always knew he was going to die when most people started living, but of course he didn't want the world to end with him. There were people he wanted to be happy.
What a selfish wish of his, to die, but the important people in his life to keep living in happiness.
Weigh heigh and up she rises
early in the morning
He was born in the wake of a December morning, and in a December morning, his body is set aflame. A crowd has gathered to offer him a final farewell and thank you.
The sun is bright but their hearts are clouded. There's no need for the sky to send rain; storms erupt in the eyes of everyone.
The boy's ashes are placed next to his mother's inside a similar silver urn. A famous painter is tasked with creating a portrait of mother and son smiling together, both at their age of death, without the ugliness of the desease that claimed both their lives. They will eternally be happy, standing next to each other, a woman of thirty two and a boy of nineteen years old.
But even as the rivers that took live in everyone's eyes, nothing dulls the ache in their hearts, even more so for a man who had lost his wife, and was now sending his son away, way too early than he should.