Sota felt something.
When he placed his hand on Kurosawa’s collarbone, it was more than just the sensation of simply resting his hand.
That sensation was akin to being momentarily pulled in.
It flew away before he could really grasp it, but he could certainly feel that the action had given rise to something in the other person.
“…Alright.”
Sota murmured that as he coughed and struggled to get up. He couldn’t stand up right away.
His back hurt like hell.
What he saw before his eyes was Yuka’s back.
It had always been like that. Yuka, much smaller than Sota, always stood in front of him. She did help, but Sota wasn’t sure if he had really been of any assistance until now.
His hand hurt. The level of pain had long surpassed mere discomfort. Blood continuously flowed from the wound where a sharp object had cut him, making his palm slick and slippery.
His body felt damp as if soaked in sweat. In reality, he must have been sweating, but the blood he had lost was far more than that.
He wasn’t sure if the blurriness in front of him was because he had lost too much blood or simply because of the pain.
But still, Sota mustered strength in his legs and stood up. His ribs or perhaps his side ached, but there was still something he had to do.
Instinctively, he slipped his hand beside Yuka’s neck.
“…!”
Yuka inhaled sharply. Blood splattered on the side of Yuka’s face. It was Sota’s blood.
Red began to spread over her completely white skin.
Once again, he couldn’t entirely cut down the black Sota. He didn’t know if it was due to the blood flowing from his own body or because of the emotions regarding Kurosawa, but he thought that was all there was to it.
Crack, and a sharp sound resonated. Yuka was glaring at Kurosawa with terrifying eyes.
Sota couldn’t help but think, I hope she doesn’t hate him too much…
After all, Yuka had said not to think that a Yōkai was living. If necessary, it was only natural to cut it down. Sota thought that that was how it had to be when there was no other choice.
He thought it, but—
Yuka yelled.
It was a sound that had no rules to be called a language, merely filled with emotion.
Yuka leaped forward.
A white light pierced Kurosawa’s shoulder, and then Yuka’s body slammed into Kurosawa’s with all her might. The red blade was in the hands of the black Sota. The blade, once seized, did not move easily.
The red blade slipped from Sota’s hands, and Yuka and Kurosawa rolled together. Who let go first was unknown, but both Yuka’s blade and Kurosawa’s blade slipped from their hands and tumbled to the ground.
“…”
Kurosawa said nothing.
Perhaps they couldn’t speak. Yuka’s hand was resting on Kurosawa’s neck.
“Yuka!”
Sota rushed toward Kurosawa.
He couldn’t even tell what he was thinking.
Did he want to stop Yuka? Did he not want to see Kurosawa die?
Yet if they couldn’t take down Kurosawa here, everyone would ultimately be in danger. Kurosawa was likely looking for Kurosawa’s mother inside, not Yuka or Sota.
He had no idea what would happen if those two met. However, Sota could easily imagine that it wouldn’t be a light matter.
Kurosawa made a gurgling sound.
His face was expressionless, but, looking like a choking person, blood was slowly pooling on his face. At first, the hand that had been pushing Yuka’s face away dropped weakly to the side.
“Yuka.”
Sota placed his hand on Yuka’s shoulder, but Yuka did not budge.
It felt ominous. Somewhere, he thought he had been played with from the beginning until now.
Sota reached out with trembling hands and placed them over Yuka’s hand.
Yuka’s breathing faltered. She couldn’t hold back trembling as she looked at Sota’s hand and arm right in front of her.
Yuka’s hand was trembling too. Seeing Kurosawa looking up at Yuka with her face stained with tears and red, her eyes wandered aimlessly.
From that hand, strength slowly drained away.
But he didn’t completely remove his hand. He didn’t know what Kurosawa would do if she sprang up at any moment.
“What do you want, exactly?”
Sota asked.
“…”
Kurosawa stared blankly at the ceiling, having lost her speech for a while.
A single tear flowed down Kurosawa’s cheek.
“Ah, pa…”
What Kurosawa had said was like that.
Yuka garnered her breath. For a brief moment, strength slipped out from her hand—
Rrrip, the sound of flesh being torn echoed.
Sota had always been slower than Yuka. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t match Yuka who had always been doing such things. Sota himself didn’t even think he could.
Thus, the one who always got hurt in front was Yuka.
But even Sota could push Yuka away this time.
“…You’re not deceived, huh?”
Blood flowed from Sota’s mouth.
“Your expression is a little different. You and Kurosawa.”
Sota said.
Even if it was expressionless, there was a difference between someone who had no interest in the world and someone who simply didn’t know what expression to wear.
Kurosawa’s expression was more like that of someone who wanted to know a bit more about everything.
Just a kid who hadn’t been placed in a favorable environment.
“…Sota?”
Yuka’s voice had become so small, it was almost a whisper. Like she thought that if she made a louder sound, Sota might just die.
Kurosawa’s hand had pierced through Sota’s abdomen.
“Still, you haven’t adapted, huh?”
Sota looked down at Kurosawa and said.
“So that was it.”
Sota laughed.
In other words, she wasn’t finished yet. Kurosawa wasn’t dead yet.
The Hyakki Yagyō hadn’t come yet either. There was only the existence of Kurosawa right before his eyes.
“…So you came looking for me? You must have something to find Kurosawa for?”
Sota said that.
And this time, he didn’t wait for an answer.
Instead, he placed his blood-soaked hand on Kurosawa’s shoulder.
To let the blood blend.
This time, holding tightly onto Kurosawa’s hand that was stuck in his stomach so it wouldn’t get swatted away.
*
Sota couldn’t properly explain this sensation.
It felt like thoughts of different people were intertwining, as if looking at each other with different bodies, but feeling that what was right in front of him was not there but rather far away.
Sota moved a step forward in that indescribable space.
“Ugh!?”
And raised his hand to block his face.
It was ominous.
What was visible to the eye was truly just Kurosawa’s face right in front of him. The grinning face of Kurosawa, frozen in place.
Someone beside Sota was desperately shouting. It seemed like they were trying to push him away to separate them, but it seemed as if Sota and Kurosawa’s bodies had firmly stuck together and wouldn’t move at all.
Thus, Sota had his eyes open but in reality, felt like he was blind. In that world of imagination, Sota could not see. He just took step after step forward, staring at Kurosawa’s frozen face.
The fiery sensation made him feel as if his whole body was about to melt away. It wasn’t easy to push forward while burning just his mind.
“Why?”
In Sota’s ear, there was a voice whispering louder than Yuka’s voice.
It was a voice similar to Kurosawa’s but a little different.
“I’m curious why you’re doing all this.”
“…”
Sota hesitated to answer in that heat.
He had no certainty. Whether he could continue to endure the pain. Whether he could meet someone on the other side of the flames, someone he felt was there.
But the answer that came after that hesitation was—
“Because I want to help.”
That was his answer.
“I came to ask for help. There’s someone right in front of me asking for it; how could I refuse?”
Suddenly, Shii came to his mind. Shii was like that too. Right in front of him, a kid in need of help. A child reaching out for assistance.
If Sota had just ignored it, he might have been a little more at ease. He might still have been getting along well with his wealthy father and wouldn’t have had to work part-time after school.
But then, all the memories he had spent with Shii would have just vanished.
The memories with Kurosawa were the same.
Had Sota simply ignored the voice of bullying, he wouldn’t have had to go through this. He would have just passed by without knowing who Kurosawa Koto Ne was.
But it was what it was. Sota answered.
And he had built various memories with that child.
He didn’t want to just leave someone who had already taken up a corner of his memories as a fleeting moment.
The reason he couldn’t give up was that there was a chance it could be found.
If helping could help, how could he refuse to reach out to a close friend?
So Sota moved forward.
“That blood.”
The false Kurosawa whispered.
“That blood, which can retain sanity without mixing together, definitely—”
“Sota!”
But that conversation could not continue.
Jingle.
A sound echoed, and suddenly Sota’s lungs filled with air. His already aching chest throbbed as if madly.
That pain caused him to unintentionally remove his hand from Kurosawa’s shoulder and lift his head.
Someone was outside the window.
“Well, this is troublesome.”
The person beyond the window said.
In their hand was a bell.
Jingle.
Every time the bell rang, a clear sound echoed. Each time the sound rang, Sota’s consciousness returned, which had drifted far away.
Ironically, the person shaking the bell bore a striking resemblance to someone in the room right now.
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