Honoo no Mirage Vol 2 Chapter 6

Chapter 6: The Solitary s.h.i.+eld

A tableau of disaster awaited him.

The terrible sound had come from the students’ entrance. Takaya arrived at a gallop at the same time as the teachers, bare moments after the accident had occurred.

The breath caught in his throat.

All of the geta-racks at the entrance had collapsed.

He could hear the groaning of trapped students and see their arms and legs crushed beneath the racks.

“Uuuugh...”

A dark puddle of blood stained the floor at his feet. He could see what looked like a female student’s hair underneath the racks, as well as the motionless shape of a human foot.

A student who had escaped harm by a hair’s breath was sitting on the floor in a daze. Her friend screamed her name from where she lay pinned.

He staggered.

(Wh...)

He could not recall any words with which to speak.

(This...)

“Everyone who’s here, please help raise the geta-racks! Suzuki-sensei, call an ambulance!”

“Yes!”

The students sprung into action at the direction of the teachers. Chaos instantly descended upon the entranceway. Next to the motionless Takaya, a student who appeared to have witnessed the accident desperately appealed to anyone who might listen.

“It’s true! We didn’t do anything, they just suddenly collapsed! All by themselves!”

This time he stopped breathing altogether.

By themselves? Did he say that they had collapsed all by themselves, just like that?

“I swear! We didn’t do anything at all!”

The student’s pleading voice receded from Takaya’s hearing.

The baseball team members’ injuries from yesterday. The windows which had shattered on their own. These geta-racks which had collapsed by themselves. The blood-stained, white-clothed...

“!”

Feeling a shock as if ice-cold water had been poured down his back, Takaya spun sharply.

He froze.

Ghosts in white burial robes stood behind the scene of the accident as if looking over the chaos. There appeared to be around twelve of them all together. They were as immaterial as smoke, but that wasn’t enough to conceal the crumbled ruins of their faces, the wounds torn into their bodies, the matted, disheveled hair coming out of their topknots...the gazes full of hatred.

The ice crawled up his back, and he shuddered.

(They...)

This was the first time he had ever experienced true malice. It felt as if he had been flung into the depths of an abyss of cold stagnant mud: a black, bottomless abyss of hatred and despair.

It was repulsive.

Repulsive—his entire body shouted that word, and he instinctively hugged himself. He could hear a low voice...a crowd’s voice. It grew louder and louder, pressing against Takaya’s ears.

«Nitogoshoooo...»

«Nitogoshoooo...»

That directionless malice closed in upon him, and he involuntarily put his hands up to his ears. He pressed hard in an attempt to block out the voices, but they only echoed more loudly within his mind.

«Nitogoshoooo...»

«Nitogoshoooo...»

He shook his head, unable to stand it. The voices of the onryou. Resentful voices full of hatred. He couldn’t block it out!

(Stop it!)

A frozen silence. The ghosts stiffened as if they had been shot, then turned into mist and faded away.

But their leaving could not return things to normal.

(Tada Kasuke...)

That name alone remained, echoing in his ears. Takaya finally raised his head. The trapped students calling out for help were being helped out.

Bloodstains. Shoes with holes. Unconscious students.

He bit his lips and clenched his hands into fists.

(Is this...because of me?)

His eyes half-closed in anguish.

(This is my fault, too?)

The ambulances’ sirens drew ever closer.

Takaya alone stood stock-still within the swirling chaos.

 

 

 

It was raining.

He had refused Naoe’s offer of a ride and started back alone. The rain gradually grew more violent, but Takaya, umbrellaless, walked the drenched streets unhurriedly, shoulders hunched.

(What should I do...?) He murmured the question deep in his heart as raindrops beat down upon his body.

The others had presumed what he himself could not concede, the upshot of which had only been increased danger. Danger surrounded him on all sides.

He couldn’t convince himself.

Even now, no matter how much Naoe and the others spoke of Kagetora, Takaya couldn’t think about himself in those terms. He had neither the memories nor the power. He had never wanted anything to do with the «Yami-Sengoku» in the first place.

(Why did this happen?)

His gaze dropped to the asphalt.

(What should I do...?)

Water dripped from his hair.

He wasn’t Uesugi Kagetora. Perhaps the truth was merely that the shadow of this stranger named Kagetora had attached itself to him; what Naoe and the others saw was not the person called Ougi Takaya, but this shadow. And no matter what he said, Naoe wanted him to be “Uesugi Kagetora”.

(What if he’s wrong...?)

Doubt flashed through his chest.

(What if I’m not him?)

Anxiety pushed up from the depths of his mind. Anxiety—no, fear was probably closer to the truth. Fear of being unable to resist them even if they impelled him onto this path. Fear of being forced to bear responsibility for all the unhappiness around them.

Bewilderment and helplessness choked him with despair. Because of the violent shock he had received earlier? Or perhaps because of his wretched state as the cold rain struck against his solitary figure.

...His heart trembled.

What was he doing?

(What should I do...?)

He was cold. He wanted warmth.

That fact alone he could resolve.

He understood—he realized that he felt as if he had rejected them.

He understood...
 

Naoe’s expression as they’d parted surfaced in his mind.

Yes, he had refused Naoe’s offer to take him home. In all honesty, he hadn’t wanted see their faces. He hadn’t wanted to reply to what they would say to him about taking action. Instead, he had recklessly turned his back on them and walked away, clinging to the belief his present suffering was caused by their insistence that he was Kagetora— But.

There had been a part of him that had wanted them to come after him.
 

(? That can’t be true.)

Where had that thought come from?

But when he had yearned for warmth, it had been Naoe’s face, full of worry for him, which had rising unbidden to his mind.

Takaya started at the sudden realization.

(Was I looking for a response from him?)

Confused by that thought, he instantly denied it. It couldn’t be true, and it wasn’t. It wasn’t true...wasn’t...

He stopped dead amidst the falling rain.

(That’s not it.)

The truth stunned him.

He had wanted to have someone by his side, to have someone protect him.

(That’s—insane...)

Had he become so gutless? Him? So much so that he wanted to be protected by someone else?

He was instantly terrified. He suddenly noticed how weak he felt. A dulled blade: the hostility that he had clung to as a weapon crumbled within him.

Takaya waged a ferocious battle against himself.

Against the need to be protected, against the desire for shelter.

He would be d.a.m.ned if he let himself go down that path.

But though he might conquer himself, he knew that the longing still existed. If he continued on this course, he would be swept away by this stupid desire to depend on someone else.

What should he do? With these unnerving thoughts—with his own weakness? He could not allow himself to be weak.

And even that was not as terrifying as needing someone.

If he recalled the sense of security that came from being protected, he would no longer be able to fight. He’d be done for.

(I...)

Takaya warned himself desperately, (I can’t let myself be weak!)

What should he do?

The conflicting emotions churned into a muddy sludge and unbalanced everything that he had known about himself.

Laziness a.s.saulted him in its turn. Why shouldn’t he seek warmth? Why shouldn’t he just entrust everything to someone else?

No, he couldn’t.

He couldn’t!

He couldn’t allow himself to take shelter. He couldn’t rely on anyone but himself. If he let someone protect him now, he would lose all of the weapons he had ama.s.sed so painstakingly over the course of these past five years. He understood his own brittleness well. If he knew warmth, he would no longer be able to compete. He would no longer be able to bare his fangs. This was he feared, if fear it was.

And so he had refused. He had completely rejected even that meager offer of shelter.

And yet...

(—Would I have been able to obtain that...?)

He closed unyielding eyes. Even in the midst of his defiance, he thought:

(If I were Kagetora...)
 

A puddle of cold rain water acc.u.mulated at his feet. His body was chilled to the core.

He climbed the narrow staircase of a multi-apartment complex and came to a stop in front of the steel door labeled number 302. He dug out his key, but surprisingly the door was unlocked. His little sister seemed to have gotten home before him.

“I’m home. ...Miya?”

Miya, wearing an ap.r.o.n, poked her head out of the kitchen at the sound of his voice.

“Welcome ba... Oh no, what happened?! Onii-chan, you’re soaked!”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t bring an umbrella, did you! Hurry up and change your clothes! You’re going to catch a cold!”

She clattered off to bring him a towel, then tugged him into the bathroom.

“You’re cold as ice! You should take a shower. You’re going to get a fever if you stay like this!”

“Mi...Miya!”

“I’ve turned on the hot water, so go take a shower. I’ll bring you a change of clothes, too.”

And Miya was off again. Takaya took another look at himself, then began to strip off the s.h.i.+rt clinging to his dripping body.
 

After a hot shower had warmed him back up, Takaya put on the logoed T-s.h.i.+rt and jeans Miya had brought him and walked out to the dining room.

“You’re pretty early today.”

“Yeah. The teacher had stuff to take care of, so Club’s been suspended in the meantime. I went to go get groceries, then came right home.”

Shaking back long hair tied in a lady-like bow, Miya gave him an angelic smile and brought him some warm milk. Takaya sat down at the dinner table and cupped the hot mug in his hands.

Miya continued cutting up carrots diligently.

“What’re you making?”

“Miya learned how to make hash beef with rice in home econ today, so that’s what we’re having for dinner.”

“...”

Making hash beef from scratch the way Miya had learned seemed a rather tedious process. It would probably have been easier if they’d bought instant roux.

Takaya smiled without saying anything.

Ougi Miya. The sister Takaya had parted from at the age of three, who was now a second-year junior high student. Since she’d expected to be late coming home today because of after-school club activities, it’d been Takaya’s turn to make dinner. But Miya had taken over instead, perhaps in rehearsal for her home econ cla.s.s.

Takaya sipped at his hot milk, gazing at Miya as she happily made roux.

“Oh, Onii-chan, Dad said that he got a new job.”

“Our old man? He called?”

“Yeah. I guess he was a bit late getting home today, but it’s really great about the job, isn’t it?” Miya smiled happily. “Dad doesn’t drink as much anymore, and he doesn’t fight as much with you anymore, so Miya is really glad.”

 

 

“...”

“It’d be wonderful if he could keep this job for a while, wouldn’t it?”

“... Yeah,” Takaya replied in a low voice, and was silent once more.

Their parents had gotten divorced when Takaya had been a first-year junior high student. The reason had probably been their alcoholic father, who’d started drinking when his business had failed. Their mother had remarried and was now living in Sendai.

These past few years their father had been in and out of jobs, but was apparently finally settling down.

However, their family situation back then had been utterly terrible. There had been a violent argument virtually every night; their father would go into a drunken frenzy, their mother would cry hysterically, and the only thing Takaya had been able to do was to protect the frightened Miya and endure it all.

Their relatives and the other adults around them, fearing that the debt might somehow land upon their own shoulders, had extended only rancor and belittlement.

The kind uncles and aunts of old, their father’s formerly loving friends—all of them turned their backs. Even Takaya and Miya, who knew nothing at all, were treated with as much coldness as if they were carriers of the plague. Takaya had no way out. The only thing that he could do was to become a s.h.i.+eld to protect the young Miya.

No adult had given them protection.

Terror enough to make anyone bare their fangs. In his single-minded need to protect Miya, he neglected to defend himself. He recalled only taking the icy thrusts of their swords upon his own body.

(How many times has he said that?) Takaya wondered.

In actuality, he had never had the room to look back on himself. Dog-eat-dog, hurt them before they hurt you—these were lessons Takaya had probably also carried away from that time. But he had learned those lessons in order to protect another person, so above all he had endured.

Yet because of them, he was always on guard, always looking behind his back. Before he realized it, he had become the sort of person who would never rely on someone else.

And yet...

(I endured because I could take it...)

He could be a s.h.i.+eld—he could protect anyone.

He could take these deep wounds, and he would still climb to his feet without anyone’s help. He could take all of the swords and arrows. He didn’t need someone else to s.h.i.+eld him at this late date. He would endure. He didn’t need anyone to protect him.

(Why would I need someone else?)

He had never thought to have anyone. To hurt and to be hurt: these past few years, his entire world had been attack and defense. It had worn him down, left no room for anything else...and eventually.

(—What do I hope to gain...?)
 

“Is onion soup okay? We still have some cans left. What do you think? Onii-chan. ...Onii-chan?” Miya said a bit more loudly, regarding the unresponsive Takaya dubiously. His head was bowed over the mug in his hands. His hands were shaking slightly.

“Onii-chan, what’s wrong? Are you cold?”

Takaya finally raised his head. Miya was looking at him worriedly. Miya. This sister—his only sister, whom he had so desperately fought to protect.

(If I were really Kagetora.)

If he were kanshousha.

There should have been some other Ougi Takaya—the true Ougi Takaya—here to protect Miya. Kagetora had stolen this body from the real Ougi Takaya. They said that he was Kagetora. But he didn’t have Kagetora’s memories. If nothing else, he was not Uesugi Kagetora.

He, who was not Kagetora.

He, who was not even Ougi Takaya.

Then, the one thinking these thoughts was...

(Who in the world am I...?)
 

Miya’s face was full of worry.

“Onii-chan...”

“If I said I was sorry or that I lied to you!”

Hearing the echoes of words he had once said, Takaya smiled a small, pained smile.

(Even so, I was the one who wanted to protect Miya.)

It didn’t matter who he was. Whether or not he was Kagetora was beside the point; if it was his fault that the students at Jouhoku High were being harmed—

He had to settle it.

(I don’t need a hand from anyone.)

He had made his decision.

If it was because of him that someone might be injured.

(Let’s go hunting.)

A distinctive feral spark gleamed sharply in Takaya’s long, narrow eyes, filling them for a moment with battle-l.u.s.t.

He would take them up on their challenge.

By himself.

A roused predator stared out of his eyes. Such power roiled up within him that it astonished him.

“Miya.”

“Yes?”

“I’m going out tonight.”

Miya’s eyes widened. “Huh? You’re going out? Then we should have dinner early. You’ll eat before you go, right? I’ll hurry up and finish, so you’ll eat, right?”

That innocent reply left Takaya blank for a moment. He combed the hair out of his eyes and felt at last like he could smile again.

“...Yeah.”

He had Miya. And he had Yuzuru.

That was enough.

 

 

 

The rain fell ever harder.

The wind shook the trees surrounding the school buildings. The rain struck against the windows. All the students had hurried home after club activities.

An empty Jouhoku High.

A shadow loitered at the foot of the pilotis pillars in the deserted school.

“Are the preparations complete?”

A white light danced behind him.

It was a young man in school uniform.

«Everything, Ranmaru-sama.»

“Then all that’s left is to wait for Kagetora’s coming to spring the trap. The Nue-shuu will await my orders outside the barrier. I will need thy power only if something unexpected should occur.”

«Yes.»

“Good. When the time comes, release the Kasuke spirits from their «chains». Afterwards I shall let thee wreck thy violence to thy heart’s content.”

Listening to the howls of the trees, he muttered in a low voice to himself, “I’ve prepared your grave, Kagetora. Come quickly. There are a great many guests waiting for you.”

The beating rain.

"Come to do your exorcism for the sake of these students. Let me see this «power» you used to crush s.h.i.+ngen.

His lips twisted into a smile.

“You’ll make a wonderful tragic hero, Ougi-senpai.”

The storm increased in violence.

Dark clouds loomed heavily over the school buildings.

The swirling malice dropped like a curtain of tragedy over Jouhoku High.