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It felt like he was drowning.
Shiba felt nothing, only an all-consuming serenity the likes of which he had rarely known. His body was relaxed and light as a feather, and there was not a single thought in his head. Darkness surrounded him. He was nowhere and everywhere at once, his consciousness scattered into stardust, and nothing mattered to him anymore. Not pain, not worries, not discomfort. Bliss. It lasted for a long time. Maybe several hours. Maybe days, or perhaps even years. Shiba did not know, and he did not care, but at some point a sound far too alien to this peaceful world rang out in the humming darkness, and then voices.
And he began to wake up.
Waking was a slow process. First, his hearing gradually returned. The hum in the background took shape, splitting into several people. High and low, female and male, quiet and loud. Then sensations slowly came back as well: the very awareness that he had a body, the tingling in his fingers, moisture and fabric nearby. His heartbeat thundered in his ears — deafeningly loud at first, then quieter and quieter — and after that came the awareness of himself. My name is Shiba Togo, and I’m nineteen years old. There was something else… There was something else, too…
And finally, sight. The moment Shiba opened his eyes.
At first, he saw nothing, only a blurred image, but then he blinked several times, trying to understand what was hanging above him, where he was, and what had happened… His memory had not yet returned, but he had a persistent feeling that something had happened, and that whatever it was needed to be dealt with immediately, urgently… Tears welled up in his eyes, as they always did after sleep, and he blinked again until he vaguely realized that his awakening had been noticed, and two heads leaned over him: one with black hair, and the other in a white cap. He did not recognize the second one at all, but the first seemed vaguely familiar, and after several seconds, his memory finally obligingly supplied the recollection of who it was — his boss, Hasumi-san.
Hasumi-san…
Shiba opened his mouth to say something to him, but at that very second, something else returned to him.
Pain.
The world around him seemed to crack apart, and he could have sworn he heard the splintering sound. In the next instant, it felt as though a hundred red-hot needles pierced his head all at once, and it hurt so much, so unbelievably, hellishly much, that he could not even breathe in or scream. He simply opened his mouth in a futile attempt to inhale while his entire body convulsed from the horrible, terrifying pain. In that moment, everything that had been restored before vanished again. Once more, he did not know who he was, how old he was, or what was happening. Who was the black-haired man beside him, holding his shoulders while he was shaking. They were shouting something… he could not make it out… Ah, it hurt so much!
Something pricked his arm, and through the agony, he finally heard what they were saying. A name. A name? His name?.. And something else…
“It’s the strongest painkiller we have…”
“The others will be here in a moment.”
“…hang in there, Shiba!”
Who was that? But he could not ask, because slowly he sank back into darkness.
The next time Shiba woke up, he had a rough idea of who he was. His head still hurt horribly, but not enough to make him want to howl and smash it against a wall in hopes that the pain would stop; though he had absolutely no strength to get up, and he could barely think, moving his head only slightly. Still, after some amount of time — a long one, probably? he could barely understand how time even passed now, his head hurt too much, and perhaps he drifted off to sleep too often — he vaguely realized that he was in a room (obviously), lying on a bed (even more obviously), except the place itself was unfamiliar to him. He still could not properly connect this room to what he had seen before, but the smells gave it away: this place did not belong to him, not the little rented apartment he shared with Mashiro. If his thoughts worked poorly, his instincts managed just fine, and smells were one of those things. Something remembered by the body rather than the mind.
An IV drip was attached to his arm, but Shiba did not have the strength to pull it out. He drifted off to sleep again, perhaps only briefly, and woke because he heard voices nearby once more. When his eyelashes trembled, and his lips twisted because the loud voices sent pain through his head, all the noise stopped at once, and then something lowered itself beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. With difficulty, Shiba opened his eyes, and then he saw Hasumi again, and the first thing he thought was surprise that the man’s shirt was so wrinkled. Had he really not had time to change it?
Hasumi-san would never normally allow himself that.
His boss’s voice was quiet, and only after a moment did Shiba realize he was whispering. Why? So his head would not start hurting again? Or was someone trying to eavesdrop on them? He did not expect him to reach for something behind him and then return with a glass of water, supporting his head while letting him drink a little. It was not as though his mind became clearer, but at least his tongue no longer felt full of sand.
“My god, I was so afraid you wouldn’t wake up. They told me such horrifying things about your condition here, and then your first awakening… hm.”
Shiba blinked slowly, still staring at Hasumi. Why was he worried?.. His memory obligingly supplied only recollections of being yelled at for actions outside protocol, the kind of thing that always drove Hasumi up the wall.
Noticing the lack of response, Hasumi nervously licked his lips. His tongue slid over the dry skin like a snake.
“How are you feeling? Your head… doesn’t hurt?”
Shiba blinked slowly again, then shifted his gaze to the ceiling. Did his head hurt… What a strange question.
“It hurts,” he mumbled, and Hasumi clicked his tongue, seemingly quietly, but unpleasantly loud for Shiba, making him flinch. That caused the man to hurriedly apologize:
“Oh, forgive me, for god’s sake…” Then he peered into Shiba’s face and silently snapped his fingers in front of him, checking his reaction. “Do you remember what happened?”
“Happened?..”
What had happened? Only his head… hurt terribly.
Hasumi’s face took on a complicated expression. He hesitated, then stood up. So what had happened?.. And why was his shirt so wrinkled? So many questions, but Shiba had absolutely no strength to think about any of them. He simply leaned back against the pillow tiredly and closed his eyes. Someone placed a cold towel on his forehead, and it felt like the most blissful moment of his entire life.
“I’ll call the maid.”
The maid?.. What maid?
When Shiba opened his eyes again, the sky seemed slightly darker, tinged with sunset colors. A woman in white sat nearby, and with difficulty, he recognized one of Chiaki’s personal servants. But what was she doing here?.. Shiba had completely lost the thread of what was happening. When the woman turned around, her gaze fixed sharply on him, as though she were ready to tear him apart on the spot, but instead of something familiar — like the times the maids chased Shiba away, afraid he would start another letter problem — she merely dampened his face and then touched his arm, as though trying to find his pulse. Her hands felt both warm and cold at once, and that only confused Shiba even more.
When he tried to blink the haze from his eyes, she finally noticed that he was conscious. Barely, and unclearly, but conscious nonetheless, and she reluctantly explained:
“You’re in the Soga clan estate.”
Shiba asked nothing. He simply understood that something was clearly happening around him, and whatever it was lay beyond his comprehension. And that he had absolutely no strength to think about it in any way.
“You were transferred here while your supervisor, Hasumi-san, was discussing something with the clan head.”
“Discussing?..”
The maid shot him a quick glance.
“It’s really bad, huh? I heard they pumped you full of morphine because you were screaming terribly from the pain. I don’t even know whether I should tell you why…”
While she hesitated aloud, Shiba struggled to piece together a logical chain. Screaming from pain. Morphine? But why the Soga clan? He worked for them… meaning, on an assignment from the clan head, otherwise they would not care. What assignment? Usually, they did not care at all. This was strange. And why would Hasumi-san worry so much… before, he had never fussed over him this much. He might scold him, but then he would say something like, Mashiro, take care of him while he’s off duty, and…
Mashiro?
Suddenly, something surfaced in his mind. Slowly, it rose from the deepest part of his subconscious, and Shiba remembered Mashiro as he had seen him the last time. There had been a hole straight through his stomach, and he had been coughing blood. So now Shiba was supposed to watch over him, right?.. But why had he been injured?.. Irishima, something suddenly flared in his mind. Negotiations with the enemy. They tore you apart like useless kittens, and then their leader trapped you in a cage, and…
Something seemed to crawl across his arm, like an insect, and he jerked, only belatedly realizing there was nothing there. Just a spasm. But the memories became sharper, no longer so faded. A dungeon. A cave. The coldness of the altar. Hiroto-san… Ah! Hiroto-san!
He sat up so abruptly that he frightened the maid. She rushed toward him.
“What are you doing?! You’re not allowed to move yet, your wounds will reopen!”
“Hiroto-san!” he rasped, then stared wildly into her eyes. When he grabbed her hand, the maid seemed to instinctively shrink her head into her shoulders. “Is he here? What happened to him?!”
“He didn’t return, Togo-chan. You teleported here alone. With his haori.”
So he did not make it out, something in his mind thought cruelly. He saved you at the cost of his own life. But there had been a chance!.. There had been hope he was still alive! That damned prince would just torment him a little more, like before, and that would be all! Shiba clutched his head as his temples suddenly throbbed, as though someone were trying to crush his skull in a vise until it burst. Something thick and salty streamed over his lips, and the maid gasped, then pressed the same wet towel she had used to wipe his face against his nose. But Shiba barely noticed — his thoughts were stuck in that same moment where Hiroto-san told him to run, no matter what.
It’s my fault. I should have gotten him out, too. I don’t care what would have happened to me. I should have tried. I should have tried. I should have… That’s why the Soga clan took me in here. Not to heal my wounds. So they could later avenge the death of their strongest fighter that I allowed to happen.
Akemura will be upset, something murmured deep in his thoughts.
“Where is it?.. Where?”
“What, Togo-chan?”
“Where is his haori…”
“It…” The maid hesitated, but seeing how violently he was shaking, apparently decided he was not in his right mind. Though was she really wrong? When her hands disappeared from Shiba’s shoulders, he collapsed onto his side and curled up, trying not to remove the towel from his nose. “I’ll ask. And I’ll call the doctors. Don’t go anywhere, alright? You still shouldn't get up! I’ll be right back, quickly!”
She fluttered away so quietly that Shiba did not even notice, only squeezed his eyes shut until they hurt. He should have tried! He should have!.. If only he had risked everything not for himself, but for Hiroto-san!.. Just as Ariu had said!
A lesson in self-sacrifice. Shiba had failed to learn it.
Over those few days, Shiba learned several things.
First, his head hurt for a reason — he had teleported across such a vast distance that he had nearly burned out his own brain, leaving him bedridden in a state close to a coma for an entire week. He had jumped directly to Hasumi, apparently because somewhere deep down he understood that Hasumi would know how to handle everything once he saw Shiba’s condition and heard Hiroto’s message; theoretically, he could have appeared before Rokuhira instead, but Rokuhira was irresponsible, and there was no guarantee Shiba would have survived. As it turned out, at that moment, Hasumi-san had been at the Soga clan estate, so Shiba ended up there as well — collapsing right in front of him. Hiroto-san’s dirty, bloodstained haori and Shiba’s entire appearance were more than enough proof of what had happened, so for now, apparently, they were not pressing him too hard.
Second, the Soga clan had decided to take care of him. Well, they had plenty of medics, their own personal ones, so it was no trouble for them. Shiba suspected they were doing it solely to learn what had happened to Hiroto, because Shiba had arrived with his haori and therefore knew the information they needed… But whenever Hasumi, in his gentle attempts to pry something out of him, asked questions, Shiba’s headache returned. As though his eyes were trying to burst from inside. He roughly remembered what had happened, but he did not want to talk about it; it made him feel so sick, as though someone were once again trying to crush his skull. Thankfully, Hasumi did not pressure him and barked like a dog at anyone else who tried. For that, Shiba was grateful to him. The only thing he managed to pass along was Hiroto’s message about the looming war.
Third… he still felt horribly exhausted. Well, that was normal. That place had squeezed nearly all the strength out of him, and that spatial jump had taken far more than what little remained. Like plunging deep into the negatives. Shiba spent most of the day asleep, waking only occasionally for sparse meals and bandage changes. They did eventually bring him Hiroto-san’s haori; there was not a trace of blood or dirt left on it, perfectly clean and immaculate, it retained neither memories nor scent. Still, it was calmer with it nearby, as though with it came the hope that Hiroto would return at any moment, flash that foxlike smile, and thank Shiba for preserving his garment. The days rushed by quickly, and Shiba had no desire whatsoever to learn how much time had passed, because all of it had lost meaning — most likely none of the group had survived, though sometimes, when he could still think clearly, he prayed to any gods whatsoever that Hiroto-san had managed to break free and save the others… But there were no rumors about him, and so…
“Poor thing,” the maid cooed over him. “You really went through hell.”
As far as Shiba vaguely understood, the maid who usually attended Chiaki had now been assigned to him. Perhaps at Chiaki’s own request. While she changed the bandages on his arms, he glanced briefly at the wounds on his wrists. Not too deep. Most likely, they would not even leave much scarring. Everything healed on him as it did on a dog.
“I remember when they first brought you to the estate as a child… You were so tiny. The masters were so happy they had found a good sorcerer for the clan’s needs, but the way it was all arranged… with such pomp! How old were you then? Very young, right? You shouldn’t have cut your hair back then.”
“It’s not short now either,” he croaked, and the maid rolled her eyes.
“Oh, don’t even compare it! Though of course everything’s cuter in childhood.” When she finished the bandages, she looked into his face. Her finger wiped something away beneath Shiba’s eye, and he could only guess what it had been. Crying in his sleep again? He did not remember his dreams because of the migraines. “How’s your little head?”
Shiba twisted his face miserably and looked at her pitifully. He propped his head against his hand.
“Honestly? Like I drank way too much.”
“You’re still not allowed to drink,” the maid immediately turned stern. “Alright, never mind that. Rest for now. Your boss is fighting off all the people who want to interrogate you so fiercely. Lucky you.”
“Really?.. I don’t understand…”
Why would Hasumi-san do that? On the contrary, he should have shaken every bit of information out of him as quickly as possible. Sometimes, Shiba truly did not understand what kind of person he was. Too demanding and strict one moment, then suddenly something like this surfaced. He frowned, then looked back at the maid.
“And what about the family head? They still haven’t come asking about their people.”
“I think, Togo-chan, they understand everything perfectly well.”
He remembered their last encounter, when Hiroto had pulled him from the stone box, dragged him along himself, and then told him — run, don’t look back. As far as you possibly can. He should have burned his brain to cinders if that was what it took to get Hiroto out, too. Hiroto-san would have saved everyone else. He should have… Damn it, what had he even been thinking?.. He was even wasting everyone else’s time because of his headaches!.. That was not what Hiroto-san would have done; he would have sacrificed everything for the sake of others, while Shiba here seemed to think only of himself! He bit his lip, rubbed his temples, and then looked back into the maid’s face.
“I think you can tell Hasumi-san that I’m ready to answer a few questions.”
Of course, it could end badly, but it was better to get it over with and let the others deal with the aftermath. At least then Shiba would sleep with a clear conscience. The maid frowned her thin brows, clearly disagreeing, but she did not argue, merely stroked his shoulder. The two of them abruptly turned toward the door when it opened, and a figure entered the room — someone Shiba absolutely had not expected to see. She looked like an expensive doll in a place wholly unfit for one. Of course, it was Chiaki.
The maid widened her eyes.
“Ah! Young lady! What are you doing here?”
Chiaki pressed a finger to her lips. Visiting him? Oh, how sweet…
If Shiba had been feeling better, he would have made some snide remark like, sneaking to me behind Rokuhira's back? How scandalous. Won’t your mother be angry that you treat me with pity instead of contempt as she does? But he had no strength for that, so he merely watched as the maid rose to her feet and excused herself, leaving Chiaki to sit beside him. Well, if she had decided to break the rules, then why should Shiba be any worse? He lowered his head into her lap, which was too cocky even for him, but Chiaki did not chase him away and instead placed her palm against his forehead. Cold. How nice.
With her other hand, she combed through his hair.
“If your mother sees us, I’ll say it was your idea,” Shiba warned, and Chiaki smiled faintly.
“Don’t worry, she knows I’m here.”
“How soon should I expect my execution?”
“I asked her not to yell at you too much.”
Chiaki’s hands were gentle, pleasant… Damn, he thought he finally understood why Rokuhira had fallen so hard for her.
“It’s strange seeing you without a shirt.”
Shiba tugged at the collar of the white robe he had been sleeping in ever since waking up.
“Stylish, right? You can see all my collarbones. Sorry, but this sight isn’t for you, otherwise I’ll complain to Rokuhira.”
“I thought you had a terrible migraine, but you’re talking exactly like usual.”
“That’s because my tongue isn’t connected to my brain. Like a reflex, except all I do is spew nonsense.”
“Stylish, huh…” Suddenly, she narrowed her eyes with amusement. “Why did you ask for the haori?”
“Do you want the funny answer or the real one?”
She pretended to think about it. Probably because she already knew the real answer, and Shiba did not want to ruin the mood now.
“Let’s go with the joking one. I’m intrigued.”
“It’s extremely close to me. Almost intimate. Very little clothing has touched my bare ass.”
“You know, I think I should call Mother after all. You’re getting completely out of hand.”
Chiaki smelled pleasant. Sandalwood? Something calming and soothing. When Shiba had been assigned under Hasumi at the recommendation of the Soga family (he had turned eighteen then and was finally able to officially start working), Hiroto-san had once told him that Chiaki — it had only been a year since her abilities awakened — had seemed utterly fragile to him, like a flower that could break beneath the rain. The previous Soga princess had trained for her role for many years, and Hiroto was used to seeing the family’s oracle poised and confident, while Chiaki had been different. But now… two years had already passed, and Chiaki had blossomed.
She brushed the hair away from his face. Shiba closed his eyes in bliss.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get Hiroto-san out.”
“The family guards are calculating the location you teleported from based on the residual trace. I think Hiroto-san understood that not everyone could be saved. He chose the best option — giving you the chance to deliver the message.”
“I should’ve jumped with him. It would’ve been better if he survived and told everyone himself.”
Chiaki’s voice grew sadder.
“But then you wouldn’t have survived.”
“Well… At least it would’ve been fair.”
“I doubt Hiroto-san would’ve wanted that. He spoke highly of you. Do you really think he would sacrifice you just to escape? I can’t believe that for a second.”
“Yes, but he’s the greatest fighter, the pinnacle of sorcery, and I…”
“Well, then, you need to become the same, replace him, and repay your debt. Isn’t that right?”
Chiaki’s voice sharpened on the last words, but then she leaned over Shiba. In the pale light from outside, her expensive earrings glimmered faintly, and her eyes seemed bright, like two lanterns. A beauty, that maid always cooed about her, and Shiba thought — yes, Rokuhira was unbelievably lucky. But perhaps he deserved to obtain the world’s greatest treasure. Once again, Shiba remembered how they used to play ball together as children, servants and outsiders’ children alike, and back then, it had seemed there was nothing in the world that could ruin tomorrow for them.
But now…
Now, it did not matter whether you were an oracle or not, everyone knew war was approaching. The future was dark and impenetrable, like an ocean from which the Mikaboshi clan had emerged like sea monsters.
So he said nothing, closed his eyes again, and hid his face away, but Chiaki remained there, continuing to stroke his hair and ignore his tears, softly and gently, in a way no one had treated him for so many years that perhaps he had already forgotten what it felt like.
The interrogation was not conducted by the government men Shiba had honestly been dreading; it was Hasumi, and, as the maid later told him in secret, he was the one who arranged it. For the first time in his life, being in such terrible condition worked in Shiba’s favor; usually, if something happened to him — it was rare, but it could happen — very few people cared. Joji, for example, would continue ordering him around, while if Hasumi pitied him at all, he showed it only by assigning him paperwork, which Shiba absolutely hated, making it feel like even more of a punishment.
But Hasumi did not ask him very many questions. Shiba tried to focus on what had happened without recalling his own emotions. It was not easy, and by the end, he felt even more drained than usual. He feared his boss would interrupt and start pitying him, because something like that kept flickering across his expression, but they managed to maintain professionalism until the very end, and when Shiba mentioned the torment inflicted on Hiroto, which had included his own suffering, neither of them faltered. Once Hasumi put the final mark in his notes, he rose to his feet and approached him — Shiba had been allowed to answer while sitting in bed. Apparently, Hasumi was afraid he might suddenly lose consciousness, and this way it was easier to make sure he would not collapse onto the floor and hurt himself.
Maybe Hiroto-san’s garment helped him keep calm. As though his invisible hand was there — as if he were standing beside him. It was stupid, but… there was a word for it. In psychology. Unfortunately, Shiba understood absolutely nothing about psychology.
“You did well.”
Hasumi’s hand patted Shiba on the shoulder, and he simply collapsed backward onto the pillow. He felt shattered; strangely enough, the memories had not stirred any storm of emotion in him, only exhaustion. An unpleasant bitter feeling on his tongue, as though he could have done better but failed, and because of that, the others had died. Hasumi watched him for a moment, then clicked his tongue in disappointment and looked away. Perhaps he, too, felt awful about what had happened. Mashiro was eighteen, and now he would never come back.
“This won’t be enough, and those jackals will want more, but from what I understand, you don’t remember anything beyond that either.”
“Hiroto-san saw more. Maybe that’s why he spoke about a war.”
But Hiroto was…
“He didn’t tell you anything?” Shiba shifted his gaze to Hasumi, and the man sighed. “Alright, get some rest. You worked hard today. Consider yourself on an extended medical leave. I’ll let you know if anything new comes up, but…”
He faltered and did not finish, though it was easy enough to understand what he left unsaid — don’t get your hopes up. Unfortunately, Shiba was a realist, and so he knew Hasumi was right. He merely nodded weakly in response, then turned away and reached for the haori. He pulled it over himself completely.
It felt good beneath it, even calmer. The scents were gone, but it still smelled of the Soga estate, and Hiroto-san had smelled like that, too. Like pine needles, perhaps. Sandalwood as well. When Shiba closed his eyes, he quickly drifted into sleep — there, in the impenetrable darkness, he saw flashes of flame, like memories. The hum of Ariu’s voice, the chirring of insects, a ticklish sensation on his skin… It all continued and continued, and he thought: perhaps I’ve ended up there again. In that stone box. Fine, then. If all of this was a dream, if somehow I were given another chance to save Hiroto-san at the cost of my own life, then I would do it, because that would be right, because that was why they brought me into the family — to be the clan’s support, its loyal servant. But in the end…
Then there was the rustle of fabric, and Shiba grimaced and jerked. He kicked downward instinctively, but realized the sensations inside the box had been different, and in surprise snapped his eyes open.
When he saw the unfamiliar woman beside him, he instinctively recoiled, only afterward realizing that he had seen her before — she had been the former main wife, the mother of the deceased Soga princess, the one who had lost her mind after her daughter’s death. And Hiroto’s mother as well. As he crawled backward, afraid she would sink her sharp fingers into his throat, the woman’s face darkened, and then she grabbed Hiroto’s haori and clenched it with such force it seemed the skin on her hand might crack. A stupid thought suddenly crossed Shiba’s mind — even Ariu frightened him less than a mother driven mad by grief.
His heart began to pound faster from fear, blow after blow, like a hammer striking iron. Like when he watched Rokuhira at work. The pain in his head intensified so sharply that Shiba could barely keep it upright. If not for the fear, he would have simply lost consciousness right there, but terror would not let him lower his guard.
“Took my son from me!..” the woman kept shaking the haori, then fixed him with a wolfish stare. “This is all your fault, you filth! We sheltered a snake in our home! You didn’t save him! Because of you, the main bloodline has been severed!”
She moved so quickly… or perhaps it only seemed that way because Shiba was trying to think about something other than the headache, and failing rather badly at it. He did not have time to react; her fingers tangled in his hair and yanked him along, dragging him out of the room. At first, he tried to resist, but she pulled so painfully at his hair that he simply could not. Hissing from the fresh agony, he struggled to break free, but the instinctive attempt to teleport failed — they had already fitted him with suppressors in case panic drove him to repeat his stunt and burn out his brain completely; he lacked the strength to resist physically as well, and so he stumbled after the dead princess’s and Hiroto-san’s mother on half-bent legs while she screamed in despair:
“Look! Look at this viper! Maybe he killed my daughter, too! For the sake of his little friend! He killed Hiroto! He wants to destroy everyone here!..”
Her screaming worsened the migraine, and Shiba could barely stay on his feet. He was no longer even resisting, only clutching at his temples, trying somehow to ease the pain in his skull, but something inside him pulsed violently, resonating with every shrill cry from the mistress as she continued dragging him along.
“Snake! Wretched creature!..”
Something salty flowed over his lips again. Blood. Right.
It felt as though the agony would never end. This is hell, Shiba realized. I actually died, and these past days I wasn’t being treated at the estate — they were preparing my body for cremation. A journey through the bardo. How long did it last? And apparently it had reached its end. Now they were going to throw him back into the cycle of reincarnation, because he was a sinner and deserved nothing more.
A powerful blow to the back of his head forced him to his knees. Blood poured more heavily from his nose. She hit him again, and again… Like a hammer. Exactly. This was punishment. For what I did. Or rather, for what I failed to do. I didn’t save Hiroto-san, Mashiro, Yoshinojo-san… They all died only because I was too slow. Because I could not overcome my weakness and get everyone out. If only I had been better. If only…
Suddenly, the pressure on his hair vanished, and without support, he collapsed completely to the floor, clutching his head in both hands as he tried to quell the pain. He did not fully understand what was happening. Someone was saying something to Hiroto-san’s mother. A woman. Scolding her. They argued, and then came the sound of… a slap? Had someone struck someone? Then Hiroto’s mother screamed again, so piercingly loud that Shiba thought his eardrums might burst. He squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could, but then footsteps sounded — he felt their vibrations through the veranda — and the screaming stopped. Then someone’s hands settled on his shoulders, and with difficulty, Shiba opened his eyes.
Chiaki’s mother was sitting in front of him. Shiba no longer had the strength to be surprised; he simply continued staring at her with a dazed expression while blood ran down his chin, and Chiaki’s mother pulled out a handkerchief. Her touch was extraordinarily gentle, and Shiba thought — yes, I’m definitely dead, because this woman would never in her life treat me this kindly otherwise.
“Come,” she helped him rise and lean against her shoulder. “The poor thing is out of her mind with grief. But you certainly did not deserve to hear all that. There now… just a little farther… Good boy. See, you can do everything if you want to.”
She did not leave his side for a single step until she brought him back to the room and helped him into bed. She wiped the blood from his face again, called for the maid, and asked her to bring hydrogen peroxide, then rested a hand against Shiba’s forehead. Her touch was pleasant, like Chiaki’s, though her hands were not quite as soft. In the end, she had once been part of the household staff. Shiba remembered that. When he and Chiaki were children, that was how they met, because neither of them had been at the top; they had both been somewhere below, floundering like bugs. But still… how pleasant… His eyelashes fluttered, unable to remain open any longer.
“The girls will bring you pain medicine now. Then get some sleep. And don’t listen to her. No one blames you for what happened to Hiroto and Yoshinojo.”
He twisted his lips, feeling the dry skin threatening to crack even more.
“Really?”
Chiaki’s mother looked at him indulgently.
“Of course. It’s obvious… Everyone understands that Hiroto gave you a chance to survive. There are no fools here, Shiba. You already fulfilled your duty and delivered Hiroto’s final message. The clan leadership will handle the rest.”
“And you’re not angry?”
“What for?” she asked in surprise, and Shiba, already feeling himself slipping unconscious, shrugged and muttered:
“Everyone’s always angry.”
By evening, he had developed a fever, and restless dreams tormented him; of the cave, of Ariu, of the way Hiroto had looked at him. And of insects. At some point, Shiba woke to find his pillow soaked through with sweat. None of the servants were nearby to help, so he reached for the glass standing by the headboard himself and drained it in one go, not even noticing that he spilled water over himself. Hot. He felt so bad. He had never felt this awful before. Even thinking was painful, but Shiba knew nights like these, when sleep would not come, and so he did not even torment himself by trying to toss and turn on the damp sheets. He simply got to his feet and, wrapping himself in Hiroto’s haori, wandered toward the veranda outside the doors of his temporary room. Let the bed dry a little.
The cool breeze soothed his skin somewhat, and Shiba sat down on the edge, lowering his feet into the grass. The estate was quiet now; it was not located in central Tokyo, so the city noise never reached this far, and that eased the pain a little. He closed his eyes. Again, he found himself thinking about how much Hasumi and the servants fussed around him, and probably they expected him to be in worse condition… mentally, that is. Yes, he would not be able to use sorcery for a long time yet, but as for the aftermath of what happened there… in that cave… Maybe something in his head had simply broken along the way? He could not possibly be taking this so calmly. Or perhaps he simply had not fully realized it yet… Maybe because he had not seen their corpses, and so he still carried that childish, naive hope in his heart that they were alive, that everyone would return.
Ariu rose before his eyes again, looking more like a corpse than a man. Cold and just as expressionless.
Something hot slid from his eyes. One drop, then another, a third… They fell onto his palm, soaking the bandages.
He wondered if Hiroto-san was still alive. Maybe Ariu had decided to torment him a little longer. He was from the Soga clan, after all. Their greatest enemy. It would be good if everyone survived. If, after a few days, they walked in here, battered but definitely not dead, and Shiba would ignore everything else and simply rush toward them. Mashiro would smile at him politely, Yoshinojo would burst into his usual thunder laughter… And Hiroto-san would smile at him affectedly and thank him for delivering the message.
Yes… that would be nice.
But no one gets what they want.
When footsteps sounded along the veranda, Shiba opened his eyes with difficulty and looked over, but instead of a servant, he saw Akemura — the last person he expected. Judging by his clothes, he clearly had not gone to bed at all. His face was stern, lips tightly pressed together, and for a moment, he reminded Shiba of Hiroto’s mother, making him instinctively hunch his shoulders, afraid someone was about to hit him again. But Akemura simply approached him, the first time since his return, then sat down beside him and slipped beneath the edge of the haori, pressing so close that Shiba had no choice but to rest a hand on his shoulder.
“You’re burning up.”
“Your aunt made sure of that,” he muttered, and Akemura sighed. He wrapped both arms around Shiba’s waist and buried his head against his shoulder. “Go to sleep, or your mom’ll scold you.”
“She’ll scold you, too.”
“Nope. She won’t yell at me, because it makes my head hurt.”
Shiba laughed weakly, and Akemura looked up at him again. There was certainty in his eyes, and a thirst for revenge, but also… doubt, perhaps. Ah, he probably had no idea what to do. Hiroto-san had been his idol, and now… Shiba wanted to say — I’m so sorry. I should’ve burned my brain to ash, but brought him back here. Hiroto-san should’ve survived. Everyone would’ve managed somehow without me. But without Hiroto-san, things would be hard…
It had been a mistake. He had misunderstood the lesson about sacrifice. He should have listened to Ariu. Ariu had been right… Hiroto should have killed Shiba, and then everything would have been fine.
“Are you crying?” Akemura’s voice reached him, and Shiba shrugged.
“I don’t know. My head hurts.”
“You shouldn’t cry. Is it because of the seniors?”
“And Mashiro.”
Mashiro had been so young. He should never have been taken to the island. Yes, he had helped, but they still lost. And most likely he was dead. Shiba shook his head, then pressed his nose into the crown of Akemura’s head. He smelled like everything in the Soga house, too. Like pine. Something cold.
There was nothing he could say, so he stayed silent. He did not want to keep crying in front of Akemura; the kid was still young, and besides, it felt stupid. It was already over. Too late to grieve. But it hurt so much!.. Hurt so much! So bitter! It would’ve been better… Better if Hiroto had survived. Better if…
“Hiroto-san always told me that a true samurai should protect others first, and think about himself second.”
Akemura did not pull away; he remained seated beside him. His warm hand found Shiba’s and squeezed it. Shiba had thought he would be angry and would surely want to finish what Hiroto’s mother had started, but Akemura sounded so calm that it was almost surprising, considering he was only… what, sixteen?
“Don’t be upset that he saved you. I think he understood logically that it would’ve been better if he escaped instead… But that’s not how we were taught. Sometimes logic must fall before honor. Do you understand what I mean?”
Yes. But it still would’ve been better if Hiroto had escaped. Better if he had asked Shiba to teleport him away, if he understood that much.
“It’s irrational.”
“Why? You’re very strong too. I think Hiroto-san understood that perfectly well. Hm… Imagine a pair of scales…” Akemura thought for a moment. “On one side — him, chosen by logic. A powerful fighter. On the other — you, chosen by honor. But you’re also a strong fighter, and besides, his kouhai. I think, for him, the choice was obvious.”
“And what would you have done in his place?”
Akemura thought for a while, then pulled away from Shiba. He looked him straight in the eyes.
“I believe,” he said firmly, “that Hiroto-san made the right choice.”
Bitterness welled up again, and Shiba pressed his lips together. His eyes stung.
“Really?”
Akemura gave no further answer, as though making it clear there was no point in discussing it anymore. He leaned against Shiba’s side again, and Shiba once more buried his nose in his hair and closed his eyes. He still did not believe Hiroto-san had chosen the right option, but if even Akemura thought so… Maybe… Chiaki’s words returned to him again. Become like him. Repay the debt. Then it will be a fair exchange. Which meant Shiba would have to try harder so that such a nightmare would never happen again.
But would he be able to do it?..
Still, it was not as though he had a choice anymore.
“I hope he wasn’t mistaken.”
“Well, in the end,” Akemura snorted, “Hiroto-san was just a human being. And humans are prone to mistakes. But does that really matter? What matters is that he believed he made the right choice. I trust him, and you… I don’t think you have any reason to doubt him.”
Maybe. Shiba had nothing to say to that. He only tightened his arm around Akemura, and then slowly felt exhaustion and sleep washing over him once more.