-Ren Fujii's POV
"If only time could just stop."
It was impossible to truly determine the single greatest moment of your life until you were looking back on things from your deathbed, of course.
But I was sure everyone had wished for something similar at least once.
It was only human to wish for fun times to continue; to want to relive a moment of glory.
It felt only human to wish to hang on the here and now.
Even should its brilliance eventually fade, that still beat losing it. The known was comforting; the unknown, terrifying.
Everyone must've experienced this sort of anxiety before.
Especially students like me.
It was hardly unusual to experience this sort of feeling.
After all, we were at the part of our lives where we had to start thinking about college, getting a job, and just the future in general. We were in the uneasy transition period between childhood and adulthood, so it felt only natural we'd start obsessing with the mundane.
One could call it "living for the moment." A kind of escapism that arose when you didn't have both feet on the ground.
For better or worse, it was the sort of "infection" that didn't really do anyone any harm. You could just write it off as another facet of youth.
But I didn't want to ever get over this particular strain of measles myself.
After all, my life up to this point had been more than comfortable.
It might have been a boring, commonplace one, but I was fine with it continuing that way forever.
If time flew when you were having fun, then the solution was simply not to have fun in the first place.
It was best to steer away from the unknown and stick to the default path.
Who knew what sort of trouble you might encounter on the road less traveled by?
I was enamored enough of my current environment to actually entertain—more than just entertain, in fact—ridiculous notions like that.
To turn one's back on the unknown and seek only the known—you could describe it as playing game while looking at a walkthrough.
That was my—Ren Fujii's—way of life. Always had been, and hopefully always would be.
I figured that I could keep my internal sense of time set on "slow" if I kept up this line of thinking.
Stopping time was completely impossible, after all.
So you could consider this philosophy of mine to be a kind of compromise. The closest possible realistic approach.
I thought that I understood.
That nothing lasted forever.
That something being finite meant that its end could come at any time.
"Okay, so try to imagine your life as a novel."
Up until the day where he had to go and say that.
"Hell, think of it as a manga or a game, whatever. The point is that it's a narrative in first-person. Pretend you're the protagonist of that story."
A story that continues from the cradle to the grave. An epic saga that details each and every event and person that comes into your life, from the minute to the monumental. Think of life as something like that, he said.
"Now ask yourself this: is the novel of yours even worth reading? As the protagonist, are you an interesting, worthwhile character?"
As far back I could remember, Shirou had a habit of suddenly going on and on about shit that didn't make sense like this. Most of the time, it was just to try a rise out of me.
"I'm not worried about whether or not your grammar's dicey or if your vocab is crap. Just if you've got some sort of bite, or spectacle that'll make people give a shit about your story. If you've got something to make it stand out within its genre. There's no point in living the sort of life that anyone could live. You might as well just not fucking bother if you're gonna go through the motions of a 'genre' that anyone's capable of pulling off. Don't get me wrong. Fucking around with your friends, joining a club, snagging a few girls along the way, ain't nothing wrong with that sort of thing. You just can't call it unique. Kids our age throughout Japan are experiencing all that shit as we speak. I'm not just trying to hate on what's popular or anything. I'm just sayin', that stuff is popular because its path of least resistance. Like, maybe it only looks like life gives you branching paths, when it's really just a straight line."
In other words: what if we're not choosing, but instead being made to choose?
"This country has a hard-on for the greatest common denominator, right? The nail that sticks out get hammered down. Genius is misunderstood. Idiocy is shunned. Bullying ain't cool. Whatever the hell you want. 'Course, all that shit is just applying what I'm talkin' about to real life. How do I put it—I keep havin', whaddya call it... Déjà vu, that's it. Y'know, the feeling I've done all this before. It ain't fun. Nothin' feels fresh. It's like I've read this "story" before... So I'd your help."
With what?
"With manipulating variables."
And what was that supposed...
"I guess it might be hard for ya to understand. After all, you love boredom, don't ya? Knowing everything in advance. You just wanna keep goin' around in circles until the day you die. You're a piece of work, my friend. If I had to describe your role in my story, you'd be, like, this trickster sort of archetype."
I could have said the same about him myself.
Shirou was the sort of guy who was impossible to read, impossible to get handle on.
He certainly wasn't the type of character who should have been appearing in my story.
So why did it sometimes feels like he was a central figure in it?
If we were going with the whole novel analogy, Shirou was a misprint.
"And if I get rid of you, maybe my story will head in a different direction. C'mon, don't look at me like that. You get what I'm saying, don't you? You and me, we were dealt a shitty hand in life. It's nothing short of a god-damned miracle that we're enjoying a happy school life today. Which is why I've been giving this whole 'normal' thing a shot. But the déjà vu just won't stop. It's crushin' my spirit. Sometimes I just wanna cry. So, call me a coward if you want, but I'm checking out. I can't take this shit anymore. Life's short. I just wanna chance to give all the options a shot before I reach the ending. Life might look like a straight line, but I just know there's gotta be another route somewhere. I just wanna find it. Even if it just leads me straight off a cliff—"
If it's something new, then it's worth checking out either way.
"So, like, why not try cutting my ties with you right here and now."
I had gotten sick of that grin on his face long ago.
It was the sort of expression that seemed to say he had nary a care in the world. Fitting, really.
That was how I knew that nothing I said would get through to him.
Not like I knew what he was going on about in the first place, really.
But one thing was for certain, Shirou's "genre" or whatever was about to diverge completely from my own.
"Come back and haunt me if you kick the bucket. I ain't seen a ghost yet, y'know."
So I was prepared for what came next.
Fists fight normally can't go too far.
After all, you'd be using your actual hands and feets as weapons. If they got fucked up, you were done.
It only made sense to call it a draw when you ran out of ammo, so to speak.
But Shirou and I were a little too stupid to let something like that stop us.
You couldn't even really call it a "fight." We were both just trying to obliterate each other, plain and simple.
There was enough blood pouring down my face to make it seem like I was viewing the world through a red veil.
We smacked each other around so much that our hands themselves broke. We even had bones poking out of our skin. But we just kept at it.
My eardrums had shattered long ago—I was lost in a world of noise and violence.
My shoulder had dislocated itself. My chin was split in two. My ribs were bent and broken, piercing various internal organs for good measure.
Here I was hacking up blood like it was going out of style, but Shirou seemed to be having the time of his life. I couldn't focus on anything but the way he exploded with laughter.
Why did it end up like this?
Why did he need to take it this far?
"Like I said, you wouldn't understand even if I told ya. But if you stay in this city..."
I couldn't remember what he said after that, no matter how hard I tried.
All I knew was that we continued brutalizing each other until our bodies ceased to function.
It wasn't a matter of one of us deciding to surrender or passing out or whatever.
We just quite literally ran out of batteries. We had both taken too much abuse to keep our bodies going with sheer willpower alone.
It was no laughing matter. Our battered bodies were just lying there on the rooftop, drowning in a pool of out own blood. We probably would have died if no one had found us. But what did Shirou say?
"That sure was fun, huh?"
Seriously, how the fuck could he act like that was just some sort of game?
Listen to me, dumbass.
"If you ever wanna come at me, I'm ready and willing."
Don't act like you've triumphed over me, like you've gone on the next level or whatever.
Me, come at you? Give me s fucking break. You're the one who needs to crawl out of the gutter and come at me, shithead.
...
...
...
...
...
Left cheekbones, upper jawbone, lower jawbone, right eye fundus, nasal bones—all varying degrees of fractured. Left collarbone—completely fractured. Upper left carpus and middle-left hand bones—completely fractured.
Right shoulder—dislocated. Right ulna, metacarpus, and carpal bones—completely fractured. Ribs #3 and 4 of the right ribcage—completely fractured. Ribs #5 and 6 of the ribcage—compound fractures.
Ribs #4-6 of the left ribcage—completely fractured. Ribs #7 and #8 of the left ribcage—compound fractures.
Right femur—partially fractured. Right tibia, left fibula, both metatarsals—completely fractured. Not to mention all the various sprains, bruises, cuts, and lacerations. In total, I had damaged 48 distinct locations.
If you listed it out like that, it sounded like I got in a fight with a dump truck or something. I was surprised I even made it to the hospital in one piece.
To be honest, though, I would have been okay with dying.
It wasn't that I had no regrets. I had just kind of reached this zen state. Like, if I was going to die, so be it.
Maybe it would be better to say that I just stopped caring.
That fight had been enough excitement for one lifetime. I lost the will to do anything, barely paying attention to the world around me.
I stopped giving a shit about myself either way.
Despite my rather unhealthy mental state, my body recovered quickly enough to shock even the doctors attending me. More than a little ironic.
Honestly, there was a part of me that wanted to laze around in that hospital a little longer, but I supposed there simply weren't enough beds to keep someone fully recovered lying around forever. The hospital staff told me that I needed to get out of there if I was well enough to be walking around.
I really had no choice in the matter. I wasn't a fan of idea of someone who actually needed care being turned away because of my selfishness. It was for the best that I complied with the staff's request.
Regardless of my feelings, the world would keep on turning. They said that time stopped for no man, after all.
No turning back. What was done... Was done.
Right now, the important thing was thinking about what would come next.
It didn't matter whether or not I was capable of doing it. I had to face the fact that it was necessary, period.
That was the only way I would ever be able to move forward.
So I decided to walk out of there with a smile on my face, one way or another.
"..."
I headed back to my room to pick up my things after taking care of the check-out procedure.
Of course, the only real personal effects I had brought with me were some changes of clothes and an MD player. I had spent two months in this hospital room, but I figured cleaning it up would probably only take around five minutes.
It ended up taking ten, but, hey, same difference.
The extra five were a result of having to clean up all the junk that Kasumi brought in while visiting. There were various comics, novels, and even adult magazines (I seriously don't know what she was thinking with this) scattered all over the place; more than a dozen in total.
Rather than dealing with them myself, I decided to just send them all back to her place.
"Okay then, take care, guys. No, she's still at school. She'd just cause a ruckus if she dropped by, so I'm getting out before she can get here... Really? Why would you want to do that...?"
The other patients in the same room made sure to get in a few last lighthearted jabs. I was never good at dealing with situations like this—I doubt anyone would call me the sociable type—but thanks to Kasumi, the other patients would often strike up conversations with me.
It would be awkward to just ignore them completely, after all. My responses were always half-assed, but they didn't seem to mind.
Hospital generally had a gloomy atmosphere about them, so it was only natural that someone cheery like Kasumi would draw attention.
"I'll make sure to tell her to consider becoming a nurse in the future."
I took my bag and turned to leave.
But at that moment—
"...Huh? 'What about Shirou?'"
Shirou, being just as messed up as I was, had also been taken to this hospital. The bastard disappeared completely three days after his surgery and hadn't been seen since.
"I don't know. It's no business of mine where he is or what he's doing."
Yeah, exactly. What Shirou was up to was none of my business. I needed to stop worrying about his bullshit.
"Bye."
I stepped out of the hospital room, putting it all behind me once and for all.
...
...
...
...
…
It had been a months since I had last been outside of the hospital. The vast blue sky spread out invitingly above me. In the two months I had been hospitalized, autumn had turned to winter. I suddenly became curious as to whether they were already putting up Christmas decorations downtown.
"...Well, it's not like it's out of the way."
I decided it might be fun to experience my own version of the whole Rip Van Winkle experience.
I needed a change of pace from the dull scenery I had been stuck staring at from the hospital window anyway.
Maybe this would help me get back into the swings of things.
"...Or so I thought."
Unfortunately... Even downtown, there was but the barest trace of the Christmas spirit I had been expecting. It made me realize again just how laid back Suwahara City really was.
Suwahara City was built around the time of WW2. Despite being an isolated location, it was nevertheless fairly prosperous thanks to efforts on the part of the big shots in charge of the place.
What Suwahara lacked in history and tradition, it made up for in tourist attractions—there were any number of facilities to draw in crowds with, such as an amusement park that was famous nation wide. You could call it a small town success story.
"Of course, I only moved there two years ago myself, so I wasn't really one to talk."
I was definitely fan of the landscape and general atmosphere of the city, though. It seemed like a hectic place at first glance, but things moved slower in Suwahara than one might think. Once you got used to it, it was as relaxing as a baby's cradle.
Of course, most people would tell you the exact opposite—that Suwahara was a lively place with a bustling atmosphere, but I know a few other people who agreed with my assessment, such as Himuro and Shirou.
It wasn't like you could really say that either line of thinking was "right" or "wrong," though, and I didn't feel like trying to argue with people who disagreed. Live and let live, I guess.
Anyway, my first foray into the city in two months didn't end up changing my impression of it much.
"Guess I'll just head home."
In the end, I just came to the boring conclusion that it was the same city as ever.
Right as I was about to head back—
"Reeeen!"
A piercing wail akin to the shrieking of a banshee rang out from behind me. So much for enjoying a quiet afternoon.
"Reeeen! I know you can hear me! Heeey, c'mon! Don't Ignore me! I know it's you! Look over here! Yes, I'm talking to you! Ren Fujiiiii!"
"..."
It was at times like this that I questioned why I was even friends with this girl.
In the first place, who would consider it a good idea to start yelling someone's name in the middle of the street like that?
"Dude, keep it down a bit."
"Congratulations on being discharged! So? How y'feeling? You doing good? It doesn't hurt anymore, does it? What is that look supposed to mean? Something wrong?"
"..."
I had wanted nothing more than to tell her that yes, I was in a great deal of pain just now, as she had just walloped me something good on the shoulder. But I settled just giving her a dirty look.
This was Kasumi Ayase, my childhood friend of the same age. She was the head of the kendo club at our school. As you can probably tell by this incident, she was... Rambunctious enough to have competed at the national level several times.
And here she was giving me the same wide smile as usual. I supposed this sort of upbeat attitude was one of her strengths.
"What're you even doing here?"
"What, you got a problem with it?"
"No, just that it feels unnatural, that's all."
It was the middle of day. Why wasn't she at school?
"You skipping?"
"Heheheh, well, kinda."
"Why?"
"Why do you think?"
Hell if I knew. I threw up my hands.
"Cause I wanted to see you as soon as possible, that's why!"
"…"
"I missed you!"
"…"
"I. MISSED. YOU!"
"That's nice."
I was so glad to see that her stupidity was in full form again today.
"You trying to get held back a year?"
"It's okay, I've missed a lot less days than you have, after all."
She said as she violently slapped me on the back. It hurt like a bitch.
"Well, anyway, all that aside, whaddya think you're doing, going home all by yourself? Did you forget that I said I'd come pick you up?"
"I didn't, it's just..."
I wasn't exactly expecting her to skip school just to come pick me up, and it would have been a pain in the ass to wait around that long.
I tried to explain my line of thinking, but Kasumi wasn't having any of it.
"Were you planning to call me later or something?"
Definitely not.
"Wait, what was your phone number again?"
"Gah, this is why you're such a pain in the ass! Huh? What's that? You can't use a cellphone? What era are you from again? Is there really someone out there who doesn't know how to check their call history?"
"Rude. I do know how to do that much, thank you."
"Then hand it over, you jerk."
Kasumi snatched away my phone and began to tap away at lightning speed.
"Okay, now I'm at the top of your contacts list, got it? I'll be pissed if you delete it. Actually, I'll beat the crap outta you."
"Don't say that with a smile... By the way, what's this 'Venus of Love' refer to?"
"Little. Old. Me."
"Well, I'll just change it to 'Crazed Berserker' for now."
"Don't! And besides, 'Crazed Berserker' is just redundant! It's like saying 'my headache hurts!""
"Yeah, well, I really wanted to emphasize it. Besides, if you want to call yourself Venus, you could try acting a little more girlish for once."
"Whose fault do you think it is that I'm acting so bitchy, pretty boy? Shouldn't you be, like, grabbing my hand with all your might and saying 'Thank you Kasumi, you're my angel' I dunno, at least a few words of gratitude couldn't hurt, y'know?! Hey, I'm talking to you! Who do you think you are, anyway!? All of a sudden I hear you're in the hospital, so I come in every day because I'm worried sick of you. But you're just staring off into the distance with your head in the clouds the whole time! And then you have the nerve to just leave the hospital by yourself and go loafing around? Are you serious? Get motivated! You want a piece of me, bitch!?"
"I don't think motivated is the issue here."
Kasumi seriously needed to cool it before she popped a vein. She was the one acting unreasonable here.
Maybe she would calm down a bit if I actually did the whole "my angel" thing, but I really did not feel like going through with that.
"While I'm at it, youre—"
However, I did have the thing to shut her up.
"So you know, I had all the stuff you brought into my hospital room sent back home."
"Wait, what?"
"Well, not like I could just throw them away, right? So I sent them back to the owner. That was the sensible thing to do, wasn't it?"
"Hold... Hold on a sec. You mean all of them?"
"Yeah, all of them."
The comics, the books, and, of course, the magazines full of naked ladies.
"Um, er, wait a minute... By 'home', where exactly are you referring to?"
"Your mom's place."
"No way! Y-Your kidding, right?"
"You know that I suck at telling jokes."
"You serious?"
"Dead."
It would be a sad day indeed for Mrs. Ayase once she received thank package and learned what exactly her daughter had been buying.
"Y-Y-Y-Y... You scumbag! I felt like I was going to die from embarrassment just buying that stuff!"
"Then don't buy it."
"But, uh, hey... Did you, uh... Get some use out of 'em?"
"..."
Now that she mentioned it, the other patients in the room with me had been big fans of those magazines.
They didn't pester me while they were "occupied" with them, so I guess you could say I got use out of them after all.
"More or less, yeah."
"No way, you serious? I had no idea you were that kind of guy!"
"Define 'that kind of guy'."
"Hey, tell me which issues and what pages were the most helpful! Come on, just say it!"
"...I was lying, you idiot."
"Aw, you're so cute when you get embarrassed! Well, it's no business of mine what you're into. Anyway, I bet you're glad that all your wounds finally healed up. Especially right here."
She said, poking my cheeks with her thumb.
"You were covered in bandages all the way up until yesterday, so I assumed you'd have a scar or two."
"Oh, yeah."
Shirou had been wearing armor rings during our fight, so my cheeks were cut up to hell and back when I first entered the hospital.
I didn't really care if it left scars or not myself, but Kasumi got so worked up over it while I was recovering that I kept my face covered with bandages just so she would shut up about it.
Case in point...
"You've got such a pretty face. It'd be a total waste if it got all scarred up!"
There were few things I disliked more than being told that my face looked "pretty."
Back when I was a kid I used to get mistaken for a girl all the time.
Unpleasant memories, to say the least.
And even as a teenager, it still happened from time to time, despite the fact that I was hardly short or anything.
Scouts trying to recruit (female) models had called out to me on the street on more than one occasion. Definitely the kind of thing that dealt a blow to your pride as a man.
I decided to let Kasumi have a piece of my mind.
"Did you skip school just so you could tell me that?"
"What, you mean 'congratulations on getting discharged'?"
"Yeah. If you don't have anything else important, I'm going home."
"Oh geez, do you have to be so blunt? Totally not cute. If you wanna have some fun, all you gotta do is say so."
"Huh? What are you talking about?"
"What do you think? I'm asking if you'd like to go on a date while we're out here."
"Hell no."
"That was fast. W-Well, whatever. Not like I wanted to go on one, anyway. It's fine. I'll just be on my way. It's no skin off my back."
I wasn't sure I understood what was going on inside Kasumi's head at that moment, but that was probably for the best.
"But, you know, if Rea bitches at you later, know that it's totally your fault, okay?"
"What?"
Why bring up Himuro here?
"What's Himuro got to do with this?"
"W-Well, she ordered me to go on a date with you..."
"..."
The hell? What on earth was she thinking?
"And you agreed to that?"
"W-Well, I mean... I was scared of what she'd do if I said no."
I wouldn't describe Himuro as "scary."
I mean, she was the type that was a little hard to get a handle on, but still...
"A date, huh..."
"You don't want to?"
"It's not that, it's just..."
Just that I didn't know where we'd even go. Like, just going to the amusement park with Kasumi didn't feel like anything special.
"I'm not made of money or anything, you know?"
"Me neither."
I was about to tell her that we should just forget about it, but Kasumi suddenly started fishing around in her bag.
"But we don't need to worry about money. Rea's always on top of stuff like this."
She finally pulled something out.
"Two tickets. It's all been arranged, see?"
Himuro had provided us with tickets to the local museum. Not exactly what you'd expect a teenager to pick.
So did this mean that the whole date thing was already set in stone?
"C'mon, let's get going!"
It would seem the answer was yes.
"You never struck me as the type to be interested in the arts."
The museum was located away from the main streets. While we were on our way, I asked Kasumi something that had been on my mind.
It wasn't a huge museum or anything, but it was fancy sort of place that frequently held exhibitions for paintings, ceramics, and the like. It didn't seem very Kasumi to me.
"You saying it doesn't suit me?"
"I wonder about that. Just saying that it might fit Himuro better."
"Um, y'know, it kinda seems like you're calling me unproductive. Can't say I like that."
"So have you ever produced anything?"
"I can cook."
Was that really so special? No that I was one to talk, cooking and me went together about as well as oil and water.
"Well, putting aside your cooking for the time being, what sort of exhibit are we seeing, exactly?"
"Can't you read?"
Kasumi flashed the tickets at me, a wicked gleam in her eye.
Frankly, the text on the tickets was printed so large that it would have been impossible not to notice, but...
"Remind me, just in case."
I was still holding out hope that I was just seeing things—because if I wasn't, then it meant we were straight our on way to a gala featuring an assortment of objects I was not interested in seeing.
Unfortunately...
"It's the Blades of the World Exhibit!"
My hopes were thoroughly crushed.
This was no way to treat someone who just got out of the hospital.
Eventually, we reached the museum, though Kasumi had to basically fight me tooth and nail the rest of the way there. I'd spare you the details of her dragging me around the place after we got there. I'd prefer not to remember.
And so...
"Hey, c'mon, how long are you gonna keep spacing out over there?"
Kasumi muttered in exaggeration while looking at a Nepalese knife known as a khukuri. I couldn't help having sour look on my face—the mere sight of these kinds of blades had made me nauseous for as long as I could remember.
Why did she take me here in the first place? She knew full well I wasn't good with sharp objects.
"How pathetic can you get? It's not like they bite, y'know. Why do you hate them so much?"
"Well, I..."
Her tone was genuinely curious. Unfortunately, this wasn't something I had a clear answer for.
"Well, do you have a reason for hating caterpillars?"
"Huh? I think they're cute. There's something just lovable about them."
"What about cockroaches?"
"I'd just smashed 'em if I found any."
"Okay, how about snakes?"
"I think it'd feel nice to have one wrapped around you. They're cold-blooded and all."
Wonderful. I suppose I was wrong to expect a "girlish" response out of Kasumi in the first place.
"You say something?"
"Don't worry about it."
Whatever the case, these things just didn't sit well with me. Little Miss Kendo over here might found the blades on display fascinating, but I was definitely not having a good time.
"We've already checked out everything there was to see. Can't we just go home already?"
"Aww, but that's no fun. Aren't we on a date?"
"I can't see how you'd find being on a date with me fun."
"Well, you could make it fun if you fixed that attitude."
She was telling me this?
"Isn't this how I've always acted? Try going easier on someone who literally just got out of the hospital."
"Sheesh, you really are beyond help..."
Kasumi heaved a deep sigh. I was beginning to think that she actually understood, but..
"Then I guess we'll take one more lap around the place and go home."
No, of course she didn't.
And so we ended up taking one more lap around the museum. I did my best to avoid looking directly at any of the blades on display.
I wasn't sure I could really explain exactly why I had this thing against blades, but it wasn't because I felt scared of them.
Maybe they just weren't "compatible" with me.
I didn't want to have anything to do with them, period.
It just felt like mixing Ren Fujii and bladed weapons was a bad idea, like putting ketchup on a donut.
Keeping my distance was the smart move if I wanted to maintain the peace and harmony in my life.
In a way, they almost reminded me of Shirou.
"..."
I shook my head. Reminiscing about that guy was the opposite of a productive activity.
I was on a date(?), after all. Worrying about Kasumi would be a better usage of my time.
Not that I had much confidence in managing that, either, but it would be the polite thing to do.
"Mu..."
"...?"
"Hm? You okay?"
"...Yeah."
I could have sworn I heard something. Was it just my imagi—
"Mu..."
"..."
So I really was hearing a voice coming from somewhere...
"Ren?"
"..."
I strained my ears. The museum was quiet enough that it should have been easy to make out the voice I had heard, assuming it wasn't my imagination.
"...rer..."
It was coming from this direction.
"Wait, hold up! Where are you going?"
I ignored Kasumi and ran off. I wasn't quite sure myself why I felt so compelled like this. There was no clear reason to concern myself over some voice in the distance.
Either way, I found myself drawn to the spot the voice was coming from. Perhaps it would have been more accurate to say I was guided there, even.
I found myself in an obscure corner of the museum, the sort of place you'd never come across if you were just taking the normal route through. Normally, you wouldn't think there would even be an exhibit piece somewhere out of the way like this. And yet there it was.
"A guillotine?"
I was sure everyone had heard of a guillotine, the execution device used for beheadings. This exhibit wasn't an entire guillotine, though—just the blade used for the beheading itself.
The blade before me distinguished itself from the rest of the exhibits by demonstrating a cold simplicity.
There was nothing glamorous or decorative about it. This was a lump of steel designed for the sole purpose of beheading with ruthless efficiency.
You'd likely not find a more suitable tool for its task.
Why was something like this even on display? It was a blade, yes, but it differed from anything else I had seen today on a fundamental level. It might have held historic value, but it wasn't a weapon or implement of some ritual.
More than anything, though, I wanted to know why I had found myself drawn to it.
"Whoa, what's this? I didn't notice it all."
Kasumi had finally caught up with me. She took a glance at the guillotine from over my shoulder.
"Good find, Ren. Uh, what's it called? B-Boys..."
"'Bois de Justice'—the Pillar of Justice. The official name of the guillotine. And so you know, that's French. Also, it mentions Maximilien Robespierre... You've heard of him, right? He was an 18th century politician."
"You mean the one from the Reign of Terror?"
"Yeah. It says this is the one he used."
Robespierre was a key figure during the French Revolution, the man responsible for sending those opposed to the Reign of Terror to the guillotine. Ironically, his end would come by the same device he had employed upon so many of his political opponents and the bourgeoisie.
This was supposed to be from back then?
"It seems kinda fishy to me. Doesn't feel all that authentic."
"Yeah. But having it put down on paper like that kinda gives me the chills."
"You and me both."
Authenticity aside, the idea of putting something like this on display was simply in bad taste to begin with.
How to put it... The whole thing felt too "raw." The object on display here was a tool of execution—nothing more and nothing less. So perhaps it was only natural that...
"How many people do you think this thing killed...?"
...one would find themselves asking that question, precisely because the lack of ornament present in the other exhibits made its nature as an implement of death apparent.
"Try not to think about stuff like that. This isn't the sort of thing you should be gawking at."
"Well, yeah, but aren't you the one who found it in the first place?"
"Is it so surprising that someone would take notice of an unpleasant thing like this?"
Rivers of blood, screams echoing into the distance... All sorts of visions of death ran through my head when looking at this thing.
It wasn't often you found something that so clearly embodied the negative side—the original intent—of a blade.
Given that Robespierre's name was attached to it, it had to have been from the 18th century.
If it really had been used during the French Revolution, it was safe to say that it executed hundreds of people.
Some would actually describe the guillotine as a merciful form of execution. It was designed to sever heads at exactly the right angle and velocity to ensure that criminals met with a swift, painless death.
An instant death delivered at lightning speed; there was a reason some called it merciful. It's easy to get the wrong impression from the rivers of blood and mutilated corpses the guillotine produced, but for someone facing execution it was probably a far preferable to being hanged.
Well, assuming that the victim died before they had a chance to feel the pain of being decapitated, that is.
...I found myself thinking about exactly the sort of thing I had just told Kasumi not to.
"Let's go. To be honest, this thing is making me sick."
"Yeah, you're right. Sorry. Hey, you're looking kinda pale there... You okay?"
"I'm fine. It's not like I'm feeling physically..."
Before I could get the word "ill" out—
"You're... The same."
"...!?"
I heard the voice from earlier again, more clearly than ever.
"You're the same... As him."
Why did I react the way I did?
If only I hadn't paid attention. If only I had ignored it. If only I hadn't looked at it.
If only I hadn't spun around to face that dreaded blade...
I would have never had to hear the cursed words born forth from the ethereal figure standing in front of the guillotine.
How could she have known that? What did she mean, we were the same?
"Since you're both the same, you too will beco... oon."
The girl standing before me had the skin of the purest white. Yet that beauty was irrevocably tarnished by a violent streak of crimson across her neck.
I almost wanted to believe it was some sort of necklace. But no—the jagged pattern was unmistakably the scar that a decapitation would create.
Looking back on things later, I would be able to say that this was where it had all begun.
"Does my present live up to your expectations, Zarathustra?"
And thus we met, brought together by him.