4 (extract, pages 104-111)
†
It had been a while since Yata last felt such anger and hatred.
The pain of being betrayed by those he trusted. The sensation of his back being left wide open even though it was supposed to be protected. The filthy real nature of people he believed to be his comrades.
“P-Please spare me! It was Yamata who started it all! We just went along with his plans! I-It’s not like we had any choice, y'know?! We’d’ve been shunned if we didn’t agree!”
One of the new members was bullying the town’s hoodlum by showing off a tiny flame, and Yata, unable to stomach it, applied his fist to the guy’s mug once, and now the guy was groveling before him, crying miserably. Even though Yata felt sick of that pathetic reaction and of himself for making the guy into such a disgraceful mess, the angry seething in the pit of his stomach just wouldn’t quell.
He couldn’t believe that this human trash was able to pass Suoh’s installation. He absolutely couldn’t stand the fact that a guy like that belonged with Homura. The anger that the scumbag in front of him really was a member of his beloved team was making him dizzy.
The backstreet was flooded with the scalding heat of the sun. The hot asphalt beneath his feet scorched the soles of his sandals. Sweat clung to his skin unpleasantly on the whole length of his body and was impossible to get rid of no matter how many times he wiped it off. His emotions, unchecked, were heating up.
The emotions that Yata didn’t usually feel. An irritating upsurge.
However…
“That’s enough.” As if a waft of icy air from the North Pole, his partner’s voice cooled Yata’s fever instantly. Fushimi, who squeezed himself into the small shadow cast by the wall, continued listlessly, “He’s not the only one anyway. I told ya, didn’t I? There’s lots of guys like him.”
Listening to Fushimi’s words with his back still turned to him, Yata kept glaring at the Homura newbie. Fists clenched as hard he could, he made his emotions, still dangerously close to overflowing, subside slowly.
This douchbag said he was a stooge of the member named Yamata Daichi. He was older than Yata and Fushimi. It seemed only natural that he would be, but actually, he was only a little taller than them, while being rail thin. It was also clear that he wasn’t used to fighting, and just one punch made him lose all his fighting spirit - no, even worse: any will to oppose and resist he might have had disappeared without a trace. Of course, he was probably aware of Yata’s fame as the Homura vanguard, but the main reason was simpler: he was subjected to “pain” and now cowered in fear at the prospect of more.
Despite being insensitive to others’ pain and having no problem hurting them, he was oversensitive to his own and immediately became servile without so much as considering fighting back. The exact type Yata hated the most.
But what he couldn’t forgive even more was that the guy brandished Homura’s and Suoh Mikoto’s name, using them for his own petty greed.
According to Fushimi, this guy, together with Yamata and his clique, made a “pass” at the foreign mafia that Homura crushed the other day. Moreover, what they offered was to help the mafia in their drug business. In other words, they demanded their share in the mafia’s profit in exchange for peddling their drugs on the territory of Shizume town.
For a strait-laced tough guy like Yata, that alone was already an unforgivable sin, making him itch to fix such guys’ rotten character by giving them a good thrashing, no further questions asked.
But what infuriated Yata the most was that when negotiating with the mafia the fuckers apparently lied, declaring, “This is the demand of Homura and Suoh Mikoto.”
When Yata heard that from Fushimi, he couldn’t stay put and rushed to the streets. Going from one Homura member to another, he questioned them about Yamata and his group’s whereabouts, until finally he found the first guy who knew something - that is, this guy.
“Doncha dare swindle Mikoto-san, you scum…” he growled with magma swashing in his glare, and the guy plopped down on his behind, shuddering violently and shrinking away from Yata.
To Yata, Homura and Suoh were special. Homura was his team, the clan he belonged to and his precious home; Suoh to him was more than simply the leader and king, he was the object of Yata’s awe and adoration.
For better or for worse, Yata was pure, but awkward and rough around the edges, which sometimes resulted in him getting on the bad side of people around him. He was just a brat who hanged out with Fushimi and regarded the world with hostility. He was aware of that.
But Homura and Suoh gave even someone like him comrades to trust and irreplaceable honor to take pride in. Compared to that, becoming a supernatural power weilder was nothing more than a side benefit to him. Yata loved Homura and his comrades and was willing to put his life on the line for Suoh without any hesitation. He wished to contribute to Homura more than anyone and be of use to Suoh. That was what became Yata’s pride and joy.
If someone looked down on, dirtied or tried to harm the two things he held so precious to him, there was no way he could let it slide.
To say nothing of when Homura and Suoh were made fools of by the fellow Homura clansmen, like this time. Their misuse of the power Suoh granted them and Homura’s name was the same as making fun of all the other members. It was inexcusable.
“…Fuck!”
Fushimi’s admonition helped him regain his composure earlier, but the more he kept thinking about this affair, the faster his blood was reaching the boiling point again. The guy, perhaps realizing how close to exploding Yata was, was shaking uncontrollably in his boots despite being exposed to the hot summer sunlight.
“Anyway,” Fushimi spoke up again in the same cool tone. He was looking down at the petrified guy squatting on the asphalt with a gaze so inhumanly icy that it was hard to believe that it was a fellow human being that gaze was fixed on. “You’ve heard it too, right? That Scepter 4 is coming together at a breakneck speed since the new Blue King appeared. Causing trouble is a big nuisance. So don’t get involved in any monkey business ever again. …Ah, no, my wording wasn’t clear enough. Don’t get involved in anything, period. Until the order form the higherups comes, play possum and be afraid to even breathe.” Fushimi left him no room for objection. “I trust you can do it, right?” His lips curved into a frosty smile. “If you can’t, better say it now. We’ll help you and turn you into an exemplar corpse right here and right now.”
“I-I can. I will!” The guy bobbed his head numerous times.
A promise made by a guy like that wasn’t worth a shit, but it could be trusted when it was fear that was ensuring it would be upheld. Fushimi snorted in a clear show of contempt and said quietly but with sharpness of a razor, “Get lost.”
The guy gave a forced crooked smile in open relief and got up to leave.
But before he could, Yata stopped him, “Wait.” Neither his wrath nor the angry light in his eyes weakened any. “Tell me where to find Yamata.”
“—Hey.”
“You shut up for now, Saruhiko,” Yata cut off Fushimi who was about to object and took a step towards the guy.
The guy went pale and, not even trying to evade the question in any way, immediately ratted out his cronies and the name of the joint they used as the gathering spot, then scuttled off. Even if he was ordered to, being so talkative still made him a thoroughly disgusting guy.
Once he was out of sight, Fushimi, a bothersome grimace on his face, clicked his tongue. “Enough with this already. I’ve been repeating this for god knows how many times: it’s not just them. Besides, no matter how much you beat up guys like them, they won’t change,” he spat out, scorn and disdain obvious in his voice.
Fushimi loathed guys like that, too, although the reason they turned his stomach was not quite the same as Yata’s, but as far as the degree of disgust went, he hated them perhaps more than Yata did.
“…I just can’t forgive ‘em,” Yata put all of his anger into that statement. “Not the guys who make a mockery of Homura, nor the guys who disgrace Mikoto-san with their shenanigans…”
Observing the frustrated Yata, Fushimi broke into a sarcastic smirk. “Look, because of guys like you who’re always going on about Homura this Homura that, praising it to the sky, the others start believing it too, and those scumbags get carried away as a result, you know? It’s not like Mikoto-san himself wants people to worship him so much either, wrong?”
Yata, hard pressed to answer, whirled around to face Fushimi. Reading in Fushimi’s look how stupid the other boy found it all, Yata cast down his eyes and hung his head.
There was some truth in what Fushimi pointed out. Even Yata had to admit that much. There was no doubt that the king Yata loved and respected so endlessly didn’t care about how high or how low others valued him. Not bound by anything, he was free, inspiring and manly. Using cliched definitions, he was “cool” without any question. So much that Yata felt exhilarated and thrilled from the bottom of his heart.
And that was precisely why he couldn’t forgive those who denigrated that “coolness”.
“And anyway, even if those guys are trash, they’re still the Homura members, you realize? You sure it’s OK to press them and threaten them like that? Internal quarrels now that we have Scepter 4 to worry about will only worsen Homura’s situation, don’t you think?” Fushimi let out a low chuckle. “Don’t come crying to me when Kusanagi-san tans your hide,” he added mockingly.
His expression made it obvious that he found it all too amuzing to watch Yata’s face twist botheredly. Actually, it was precisely because Yata was enamoured with Homura so much that Fushimi wanted to avoid doing anything that could be disadvantageous to Homura.
But…
“…I don’t care.” Yata’s tone was completely serious.
Fushimi’s look turned weary.
“I just can’t. The unrest I’m feeling just won’t go away. So this time, I don’t care if Kusanagi-san chews me out. I can’t just sit and wait for his and Mikoto-san’s orders. I won’t be able to settle down if I don’t punch those guys before that at least once.” Yata was indignant, yet the way he said it was oddly dispassionate. He raised his head slowly and fixed his eyes on Fushimi. “If I see someone I can’t stand, I must punch them hard… Is it bad?”
“…” Fushimi didn’t give him an immediate answer, only stared back at Yata. Then finally, “…No,” he replied barely above a whisper, “It’s not bad… Fine, Misaki. That’s not bad at all.” His eyes gleamed.
Yata broke into a wide brazen grin approvingly and, nodding to Fushimi, asked, “You’re coming, right, partner?”
Fushimi gave him a smile of satisfaction - for the first time in what felt like ages. The deep smile that was a touch shady and dangerous. The smile of the one falling to his fate by his own wish. “Yeah, partner. Let’s go.”
4 (extract, pages 104-111)
†
It had been a while since Yata last felt such anger and hatred.
The pain of being betrayed by those he trusted. The sensation of his back being left wide open even though it was supposed to be protected. The filthy real nature of people he believed to be his comrades.
“P-Please spare me! It was Yamata who started it all! We just went along with his plans! I-It’s not like we had any choice, y'know?! We’d’ve been shunned if we didn’t agree!”
One of the new members was bullying the town’s hoodlum by showing off a tiny flame, and Yata, unable to stomach it, applied his fist to the guy’s mug once, and now the guy was groveling before him, crying miserably. Even though Yata felt sick of that pathetic reaction and of himself for making the guy into such a disgraceful mess, the angry seething in the pit of his stomach just wouldn’t quell.
He couldn’t believe that this human trash was able to pass Suoh’s installation. He absolutely couldn’t stand the fact that a guy like that belonged with Homura. The anger that the scumbag in front of him really was a member of his beloved team was making him dizzy.
The backstreet was flooded with the scalding heat of the sun. The hot asphalt beneath his feet scorched the soles of his sandals. Sweat clung to his skin unpleasantly on the whole length of his body and was impossible to get rid of no matter how many times he wiped it off. His emotions, unchecked, were heating up.
The emotions that Yata didn’t usually feel. An irritating upsurge.
However…
“That’s enough.” As if a waft of icy air from the North Pole, his partner’s voice cooled Yata’s fever instantly. Fushimi, who squeezed himself into the small shadow cast by the wall, continued listlessly, “He’s not the only one anyway. I told ya, didn’t I? There’s lots of guys like him.”
Listening to Fushimi’s words with his back still turned to him, Yata kept glaring at the Homura newbie. Fists clenched as hard he could, he made his emotions, still dangerously close to overflowing, subside slowly.
This douchbag said he was a stooge of the member named Yamata Daichi. He was older than Yata and Fushimi. It seemed only natural that he would be, but actually, he was only a little taller than them, while being rail thin. It was also clear that he wasn’t used to fighting, and just one punch made him lose all his fighting spirit - no, even worse: any will to oppose and resist he might have had disappeared without a trace. Of course, he was probably aware of Yata’s fame as the Homura vanguard, but the main reason was simpler: he was subjected to “pain” and now cowered in fear at the prospect of more.
Despite being insensitive to others’ pain and having no problem hurting them, he was oversensitive to his own and immediately became servile without so much as considering fighting back. The exact type Yata hated the most.
But what he couldn’t forgive even more was that the guy brandished Homura’s and Suoh Mikoto’s name, using them for his own petty greed.
According to Fushimi, this guy, together with Yamata and his clique, made a “pass” at the foreign mafia that Homura crushed the other day. Moreover, what they offered was to help the mafia in their drug business. In other words, they demanded their share in the mafia’s profit in exchange for peddling their drugs on the territory of Shizume town.
For a strait-laced tough guy like Yata, that alone was already an unforgivable sin, making him itch to fix such guys’ rotten character by giving them a good thrashing, no further questions asked.
But what infuriated Yata the most was that when negotiating with the mafia the fuckers apparently lied, declaring, “This is the demand of Homura and Suoh Mikoto.”
When Yata heard that from Fushimi, he couldn’t stay put and rushed to the streets. Going from one Homura member to another, he questioned them about Yamata and his group’s whereabouts, until finally he found the first guy who knew something - that is, this guy.
“Doncha dare swindle Mikoto-san, you scum…” he growled with magma swashing in his glare, and the guy plopped down on his behind, shuddering violently and shrinking away from Yata.
To Yata, Homura and Suoh were special. Homura was his team, the clan he belonged to and his precious home; Suoh to him was more than simply the leader and king, he was the object of Yata’s awe and adoration.
For better or for worse, Yata was pure, but awkward and rough around the edges, which sometimes resulted in him getting on the bad side of people around him. He was just a brat who hanged out with Fushimi and regarded the world with hostility. He was aware of that.
But Homura and Suoh gave even someone like him comrades to trust and irreplaceable honor to take pride in. Compared to that, becoming a supernatural power weilder was nothing more than a side benefit to him. Yata loved Homura and his comrades and was willing to put his life on the line for Suoh without any hesitation. He wished to contribute to Homura more than anyone and be of use to Suoh. That was what became Yata’s pride and joy.
If someone looked down on, dirtied or tried to harm the two things he held so precious to him, there was no way he could let it slide.
To say nothing of when Homura and Suoh were made fools of by the fellow Homura clansmen, like this time. Their misuse of the power Suoh granted them and Homura’s name was the same as making fun of all the other members. It was inexcusable.
“…Fuck!”
Fushimi’s admonition helped him regain his composure earlier, but the more he kept thinking about this affair, the faster his blood was reaching the boiling point again. The guy, perhaps realizing how close to exploding Yata was, was shaking uncontrollably in his boots despite being exposed to the hot summer sunlight.
“Anyway,” Fushimi spoke up again in the same cool tone. He was looking down at the petrified guy squatting on the asphalt with a gaze so inhumanly icy that it was hard to believe that it was a fellow human being that gaze was fixed on. “You’ve heard it too, right? That Scepter 4 is coming together at a breakneck speed since the new Blue King appeared. Causing trouble is a big nuisance. So don’t get involved in any monkey business ever again. …Ah, no, my wording wasn’t clear enough. Don’t get involved in anything, period. Until the order form the higherups comes, play possum and be afraid to even breathe.” Fushimi left him no room for objection. “I trust you can do it, right?” His lips curved into a frosty smile. “If you can’t, better say it now. We’ll help you and turn you into an exemplar corpse right here and right now.”
“I-I can. I will!” The guy bobbed his head numerous times.
A promise made by a guy like that wasn’t worth a shit, but it could be trusted when it was fear that was ensuring it would be upheld. Fushimi snorted in a clear show of contempt and said quietly but with sharpness of a razor, “Get lost.”
The guy gave a forced crooked smile in open relief and got up to leave.
But before he could, Yata stopped him, “Wait.” Neither his wrath nor the angry light in his eyes weakened any. “Tell me where to find Yamata.”
“—Hey.”
“You shut up for now, Saruhiko,” Yata cut off Fushimi who was about to object and took a step towards the guy.
The guy went pale and, not even trying to evade the question in any way, immediately ratted out his cronies and the name of the joint they used as the gathering spot, then scuttled off. Even if he was ordered to, being so talkative still made him a thoroughly disgusting guy.
Once he was out of sight, Fushimi, a bothersome grimace on his face, clicked his tongue. “Enough with this already. I’ve been repeating this for god knows how many times: it’s not just them. Besides, no matter how much you beat up guys like them, they won’t change,” he spat out, scorn and disdain obvious in his voice.
Fushimi loathed guys like that, too, although the reason they turned his stomach was not quite the same as Yata’s, but as far as the degree of disgust went, he hated them perhaps more than Yata did.
“…I just can’t forgive ‘em,” Yata put all of his anger into that statement. “Not the guys who make a mockery of Homura, nor the guys who disgrace Mikoto-san with their shenanigans…”
Observing the frustrated Yata, Fushimi broke into a sarcastic smirk. “Look, because of guys like you who’re always going on about Homura this Homura that, praising it to the sky, the others start believing it too, and those scumbags get carried away as a result, you know? It’s not like Mikoto-san himself wants people to worship him so much either, wrong?”
Yata, hard pressed to answer, whirled around to face Fushimi. Reading in Fushimi’s look how stupid the other boy found it all, Yata cast down his eyes and hung his head.
There was some truth in what Fushimi pointed out. Even Yata had to admit that much. There was no doubt that the king Yata loved and respected so endlessly didn’t care about how high or how low others valued him. Not bound by anything, he was free, inspiring and manly. Using cliched definitions, he was “cool” without any question. So much that Yata felt exhilarated and thrilled from the bottom of his heart.
And that was precisely why he couldn’t forgive those who denigrated that “coolness”.
“And anyway, even if those guys are trash, they’re still the Homura members, you realize? You sure it’s OK to press them and threaten them like that? Internal quarrels now that we have Scepter 4 to worry about will only worsen Homura’s situation, don’t you think?” Fushimi let out a low chuckle. “Don’t come crying to me when Kusanagi-san tans your hide,” he added mockingly.
His expression made it obvious that he found it all too amuzing to watch Yata’s face twist botheredly. Actually, it was precisely because Yata was enamoured with Homura so much that Fushimi wanted to avoid doing anything that could be disadvantageous to Homura.
But…
“…I don’t care.” Yata’s tone was completely serious.
Fushimi’s look turned weary.
“I just can’t. The unrest I’m feeling just won’t go away. So this time, I don’t care if Kusanagi-san chews me out. I can’t just sit and wait for his and Mikoto-san’s orders. I won’t be able to settle down if I don’t punch those guys before that at least once.” Yata was indignant, yet the way he said it was oddly dispassionate. He raised his head slowly and fixed his eyes on Fushimi. “If I see someone I can’t stand, I must punch them hard… Is it bad?”
“…” Fushimi didn’t give him an immediate answer, only stared back at Yata. Then finally, “…No,” he replied barely above a whisper, “It’s not bad… Fine, Misaki. That’s not bad at all.” His eyes gleamed.
Yata broke into a wide brazen grin approvingly and, nodding to Fushimi, asked, “You’re coming, right, partner?”
Fushimi gave him a smile of satisfaction - for the first time in what felt like ages. The deep smile that was a touch shady and dangerous. The smile of the one falling to his fate by his own wish. “Yeah, partner. Let’s go.”
