Rating: T for mature and sensitive subject matters.
Timeline: 10 years post Revolution, a few weeks post Fate Train Transfer
Notable "Mysteries" Covered: Nemuro Hall, Child Broiler, Million Swords, Fate Train, Shadow Girls, Invisible People
Summary (or rather, Excerpt): “The revolution succeeded; it crumbled afterwards only because those whose lives got revolutionized did not follow up on the revolutionary success,” said the Bride, her words setting their closed hearts aflame. “This time, will you help us help you?”
After what seems like an eternity of non-fic writing, I have again written something in tribute of this timeless shoujo anime classic. This is a work dedicated to the passionate, wonderful people at In the Rose Garden (fic thread here), which even now remains the coolest place for Utena fans to hang out online.
Other sites hosting this fic includes:
http://gorgeousshutin.livejournal.com/
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8086621/1/Seinen_Kakumei_Utena
http://archiveofourown.org/works/432468/chapters/732392
Seinen Kakumei Utena
Utena and Penguindrum characters belong to their various owners.
WARNING: Parts of this work contain depictions of transphobia, controversial shoujo fantasy trans situation that in no way reflects real life trans people, and misogynic magic attack leading to forced masculinization
Part Six: Prince, Interrupted – Main III
The moment his soul sword touched the
joined blades, against which the swarm of flying, adversarial swords were
hammering violently against, Saionji Kyouichi immediately understood the reason
behind Anthy and Chida-san’s strained expression – one that Tenjou’s friend
Wakaba (a spectacularly brave woman whom he shall forever in his mind associate
with Joan of Arc) now also displayed.
It was agony.
Agony, like the ones from getting blow-beaten by his
father’s merciless kendo bokken, exploded across his hand despite none of the
Swords of Hate even touching him.
“It’s like . . . fire’s burning where I’m holding the
hilt,” wheezed Wakaba, who nonetheless kept a firm grip on her soul sword with
both hands, its sharp tip now repeated impacted by the hate-filled sword
points.
“The Swords of Hate inflict phantom pain,” explained
Chida-san, her once orderly short-fringe now ruffled from the wild winds swept
up by the crashing blades, “vivid impressions of hurt even when the body is
actually unharmed. Even with these soul
swords largely buffering its effects, remnants of the faux discomfort still can
impact our psyche.”
“If this is what the Swords feels like ‘buffered’,
then Utena-sempai really is incredible for staying coherent even after a decade
under their effects,” said Miki, wincing in apparent ache as he kept his sword
up with the rest of those raised.
“How it must have been like for Utena, especially in
those seven years before Himemiya found her,” murmured Juri, looking strained
and regretful but still upholding her perfect fencer’s stance. “Back then, If
only I had -”
“Juri,” drenched in sweat, Shiori-san held the taller
woman’s gaze and shook her head (all the while still holding up her own soul
sword); the latter’s moodiness lightened, as she affectionately ruffled the
smaller-woman’s maroon-haired head.
“Different people will sense different kinds of agony
– usually the kind they fear the most – from the Swords,” said Anthy, rich
serpentine long locks flaring as she now emitted an ethereal glow that Saionji
knew was already largely soothing everyone’s senses, “but it’s all in the
mind. And, the more people there are to
shoulder the pain together, the less painful it will be for everyone.”
“Just where is my Oni-sama?” demanded a
red-faced Nanami, who strained to uphold both soul sword and dagger against the
brutal metallic onslaught. “Why isn’t
he here with us when his soul sword is right in your hand?” Beside her, Tsuwabuki was panting like a
beaten puppy as he had a hand holding up one of Nanami’s (the one carrying the
heavier sword), while struggling to hold onto his own blade with the other.
“Kiryuu-sempai entrusted his soul sword to aiding
Utena,” replied Anthy, eyes focused on a red thread of light tied around the
soul sword’s hilt now slowly coming undone.
“he will show up when he chose to.”
“What are those Shadow Girls?” asked Tswabuki,
wincing as he observed the endless stream of swords sailing into the Shadow
Girls’ shadowy depths (still oblivious to the swords, they remained engrossed
in an animated discussion with the featureless Shadow Boys over their story,
all the while being entertained by the apple-juggling acts currently performed
by the penguins (two blue ones numbered “1” and”2”, joined by an unnumbered
black one) hanging around). “I see them
around Ohtori, sometimes even around the University Division . . . they don’t
seem to know that the swords are stabbing them, and they don’t seem to care
about what’s going on even . . .”
“The swords can only hurt those who feel,” murmured
Tokiko, not quite answering all of the boy’s questions. “Without memories, without hearts, those
three are beyond feelings, beyond sadness
. . . beyond joy; they crave stories only out of a base instinct to fill
the void inside; with the enchantment over this sanctuary working to dull
their perceptions, there is little way for them to know . . . or care. ”
Juri turned towards Anthy then. “So these swords –
immortal vengeful ghosts that had been tormenting first you, then Utena, for
all this time, are just going to disappear off into some void, and never to
return?”
“The swords are going into the shadows’ darkness,”
Anthy’s voice sounded distant, faraway, “with the trio attuned to my brother,
theirs is a darkness that leads to the Ends of the World.”
Even apparently pained by the swords, Nanami’s lips
quirked in a vicious smirk. “. . . I
like what I think she’s saying.”
“So do I,” replied Juri, strained expression pensive
still. “But when it comes to beating
the likes of Ohtori Akio, there’s just no way it could’ve been this easy.”
Anthy remained silent through the girls’ exchange;
Saionji had to agree with Juri’s assessment of the situation: if it was this
easy, Anthy would have saved Tenjou and defeated her brother years ago. There would definitely be even tougher
trials ahead, before Tenjou and everyone gathered could truly break free from
the coffins the Ends of the World had locked them into.
“How long is this sword-baiting act gonna take
anyway?” asked Nanami, impatient after a moment of silence. “We can’t keep this up forever.”
“For as long as it needs taking,” replied Anthy,
facing the large-as-ever swarm of swords with creased brows, “this really is
the only answer I can give you at this moment.”
Nanami opened her mouth as if wanting to say something
more, then decided against it as she quietly continued on enduring the
“buffered” pain along with the rest of the grim-faced, wordless group.
Noticing that Wakaba’s upheld soul sword was now
wavering from her depleting strength, Saionji unthinkingly reached out a hand
to support the petite woman’s shaky wrists.
It was only when the young woman turned toward him wide-eyed and
blushing that the brash man realized he might have acted inappropriately.
“Ah, Wakaba-kun . . . pardon me if this seems-”
“O-Oh no . . .” Wakaba quickly turned her face away,
her ears red to the lobes, “thank you, Saionji-sempai.” Despite the pain she had to be under, there
was something bashful about her bearing – something that alarmed Saionji
greatly.
“Wakaba-kun,”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and the girl’s wrists stiffened
in his grasp.
“For what?”
“For what happened in Ohtori . . . for knowing that
you liked me at the time, and still allowed you to, even knowing I could only
hurt you in the end.”
“Why hurt me?” she finally asked after a significant
moment of silence; her face still was turned away. “Is it because someone
special like you will always refuse a nobody like me?”
Saionji inhaled deeply at the young woman’s
misconception. “I’m no one special,
Wakaba-kun; I never was. You see those
scums showing up on the news getting arrested for beating up their wives and
kids, for harassing their girlfriends even after they split? That’s me.”
The others present were noticeably paying attention to his talking, but
he had to speak on. “Touga and I . . .
we’re not capable of being good boyfriends or husbands, not when-”
“Shut up!” Wakaba whirled her head around to glare at
him, showing a wild, uncharacteristic hatred reminiscent of the time when she
forcibly dragged out his soul sword after suffering his cruelty. “You’re just saying these things to push me
away! You’re not attracted to me cause
you think I’m not good enough for you!
You . . .” Her words ceased as he tightened his grip on her narrow,
vulnerable wrists.
“Do you know how I treated Anthy back when she was the
world to me?” he asked, his expression somber to the point of being
ominous. “Were there no rumors at all
about the things I did to her – in front of other people, behind closed doors?”
Out of a corner of his eye, he saw Anthy lowering her head amidst some of the
others’ curious glances; in front of him, the hatred had drained off of
Wakaba’s expression, replaced by numb shock.
“Wakaba-kun, you were the free rabbit that risked the hunter’s wrath to
take his stray hunting dog into your own den; the dog, even while grateful,
still ended up biting you in the end, because biting others, even those he
thought he loved, was his lowly nature.”
“But you’re not that kind of person now . . . are
you?” asked Wakaba, her voice almost childlike in its current vulnerability.
“I don’t know,” replied Saionji, his voice a dull
murmur. “I haven’t really been with any
woman – not even for casual flings – since Ohtori.”
“What’d you mean ‘really been’?”
Knowing that Wakaba still was badly hurt by his past
actions till this very day, Saionji decided that he owed her an honest answer
even on something this personal. “After
leaving Ohtori, there’ve been times when I screw people so I can get things
from them in return.” From his angle,
he saw Nanami clucking her tongue as if exasperated by his stupidity in
revealing this in front of a roomful of (now shocked) people. “I won’t call those ‘real’.” At Wakaba’s wide-eyed expression, he smirked
in self-depreciation. “See? Karma exists after all.”
Wakaba did not laugh, of course; she simply turned
away to again face the many swords’ hateful onslaught, with the singular tear
trailing down her profile the only hint of her inner turmoil. Turning away himself (and calmly noting how
a number of his peers were quickly glancing away), he noticed Miki’s downcast
eyes, and realized that of everyone here taking on the swords, the boy was the
only one to have remained truly “alone” – Kozue, still with them up till
moments ago, was noticeably absent from her twin’s side . . .
It was then that the sound of a delicate, rather
familiar piece of piano music started pealing through the Swords of Hate’s
monotonous droning; startled, everyone turned towards the opposite corner of
the now largely damaged dinning room to see Kozue seated at a pink piano
(occupying a corner that Saionji was facing from where he sat during the
breakfast meet, thus knew to be empty back then), with the ribbon-wearing blue
penguin “Number 3” seated beside her on the matching pink bench; together, they
played a duet on the instrument, with the girl riffing and scatting along the
flowing melody, prior to singing the lyrics:
“Won’t you play for me
Our special melody
And let your fingers dance
On piano keys
“All the birds and bees
Are chasing butterflies
They’re dancing endlessly
In that endless dream we used to hold”
“Kozue . . .” Miki’s expression was one between
bafflement and wonder. Saionji saw that
the boy’s soul sword now had visibly transformed into one that surpassed its
former glory in both design and aura, and knew Kozue was supporting her twin
even as she sang (a song that he now recognized to be The Sunlit Garden with
lyrics).
“The melody you wrote for me
With the wind so cold on our cardboard scene
Won’t you stay with me my one and only”
Even as she sang, Saionji realized how his hand was
hurting a lot less than before.
Glancing around, he saw that he was not alone; the Duelists have all
gotten more relaxed, enough that their attentions were no longer solely on the
hate-filled swords (their once overwhelming onslaught now seemed faraway
somehow), but rather, on Kozue’s startlingly mesmerizing vocals (even though
her piano playing remained amateurish compared to Miki’s).
“Let me sing for you
Our special melody
I’ll be there when you need
Another soul to help you stay afloat
“Maybe we can carry the weight of two
Two hapless fools”
Even with the swords
rushing the points of their blades, everyone was looking at the Kaoru twins
now; at Kozue, who remained seated at the piano with her back to everyone (her
heaving shoulders betrayed how it must had strained her to perform while
enduring the hate-filled swords’ hammering) even after the song was done; at
Miki, glaring at her from behind.
“Why . . .?” asked Miki, in shivery, teary
outrage. “Why here . . . why now,
when I no longer expect anything from you?”
In reply, Kozue slammed both hands down upon the piano’s keys in a blast
of dour notes (it was only then that Saionji noticed the black rose motif
marking the instrument’s side).
“This is not about you,” hissed the girl, her
voice sounding so rasped that Saionji wondered how she ever sang like she just
did. “Can you still not understand that
I can do things for myself, or just for people other than you?” Penguin Number 3 nuzzled itself against her
like a vulnerable child, and Kozue, even while enraged, hugged the cushion-like
creature to her side.
“Kozue!”
“Your Utena-sempai is back; go help already.”
Everyone whirled their heads around to see a visibly
ruffled up – but radiantly aglow – Tenjou Utena standing ahead of them all
holding his (his and Touga’s, actually) soul sword against the still-enormous
swarm of hate-filled blades. Relieved
from the Million’s onslaught, Saioniji immediately felt his own strength
returning, along which much of his pain-dulled wits.
“Tenjou . . . you fool!” He tried going up to Utena,
but found an invisible, impenetrable barrier of sorts having materialized
between them, keeping he and the other Duelists back and away from the action
up front. “You’re not trying to fight
these many swords all on your own, are you?”
“That’s my Onii-sama’s sword you’re using, tomboy!”
yelled Nanami, likewise struggling against the barrier. “You’re really putting all the strain onto
him by ditching our help!”
“Utena!” Anthy
knocked against the barrier like it was a physical wall. “This is too much for you alone to handle,
let us-” Her voice got cut off by Utena’s almost majestic roar, as the latter
abruptly brightened to the point that the entire space was now engulfed in
burning light – one that had a damaging effects on the Swords of Hate,
apparently, as the hateful blades now all were visibly crinkling up like paper
under fire. “Utena . . .”
“Everyone!” cried Utena, as he slashed and dashed
against the now much weakened Swords of Hate, many of which shattered before
they could even bounce off into the shadows, “thanks for helping me come this
far; I can take care of the rest now!
Anthy . . . now that there’s less of these things messing around my
mind, I can finally remember now . . . back then, when the swords were coming
for us, and I asked for your hand, you gave me so much more. . . you gave
me-”
Sounds of metallic hollering – desperate and
hate-filled like the sound of a mob under fire – filled the air, as what
remained of the swords thickened alarmingly all around Utena and her soul sword
– to the point that they were about to cocoon him like they did before; Saionji
figured that the weakened monstrosities were now trying to use their sheer
numbers to bring down the powered-up Duelist before he could destroy them.
No way in hell he was gonna let that happen – not
after the pains everyone already went through trying to save the wench’s
pink-haired rear end.
“Anthy!” He called out to the dark-featured woman
(former obsession, current coffin-breaking instrument). “Can you make Utena
drop the barrier thing?” Anthy did not
seem to have heard him, so focused was she in trying to manually pry through
the barrier with her bare, glowing hands.
“Utena!” Juri,
who had since stepped forward, was already slamming her sword against the
barrier to resounding effects. Miki,
right beside the tall woman, did likewise.
“Stop blocking us out! Let us in
so we can help you!” When their powerful blades combined still did null damage against the barrier, even Saionji had to resign himself to the fact that there really was no way for them to reach the sword-occupied Duelist.
“Utena-sama!” Wakaba cried with tears of agitation
streaking her face; behind her, Shiori and Tsuwabuki both looked as worried as
they were helpless. “Open up please!”
A rumbling sound, not unlike that of a plane’s engine,
rose in volume against the sounds of clanging swords and metallic curses, as
Utena’s power-shout then blasted over all other lesser noises:
“ . . . you gave me LIGHT!”
A brilliant aura erupted against the wall of hate
swords amidst the sound of a grand explosion, crushing a good number of them
while repelling the rest backwards and away.
In the middle of the sacred-seeming radiance stood Utena with his sword
raised skywards; hair flying, shirt opened, muscled chest alit with splendor,
the self-proclaimed “stupid girl who thought she could become a prince” now
looked the quintessence of princehood.
“Eternity,
Shining Things, the Power of Miracles, the Power to Revolutionize the World,
the Light of the World that used to slumber within you, that everyone fought
for, up till we finally met at the ends of our world . . . is now MINE!” Thus proclaimed the triumphant being of
light, who now was agilely going after all the hate-filled swords darting all
around, smashing their brittle lengths with savage grace in front of the
stunned group. “I have it NOW!”
“ . . .
awesome!” Tsuwabuki exclaimed in boyish admiration. “Sempai is a machine!”
“So this
is the Light of the World we were shown on our way here . . . ” Shiori pondered
out loud from where she was perched flushed-faced behind Juri, who manoeuvred
her soul sword forward experimentally.
“The barrier
is down.”
“Utena-sempai
is probably too into chasing after the swords to keep it up still,” commented
Miki, sounding not exactly relieved.
“Then powerful
as Utena has become, he still do leave openings,” Juri’s exquisite face now was
shadowy with grimness. “I don’t like
this at all.”
“Well, long as
the tomboy can keep this up,” gestured a heaving Nanami at Utena’s
dramatic sword-smashing act, “then the parasite swords should all be
exterminated fairly soon . . . ” eyes widening as if abruptly realizing
something, she whirled towards Anthy.
“He can keep this up, right?”
“I do not know.”
Eyes wide with genuine, almost childlike awe as she watched the glorious
entity that Utena had now become, Anthy looked even younger than what Saionji
remembered her to be like at Ohtori.
“The Light of the World had slumbered within me for as long as history,
but as the sword-pinned Rose Bride, I could access only but small scraps of its
power – and that was already more than enough to keep up the projections you
all saw at Ohtori. What Utena is
showing us here . . . this is far beyond even what I’ve seen from the Rose
Prince back when he was in full flower!
I know neither the vastness nor scope of the Light’s full might; I don’t
know . . .”
“ . . . why
didn’t I realize it before?” Utena spoke on even as he went about chasing the
Swords of Hate as an agile dolphin after a frantic fish shoal. “Getting sent to the hospital with my I.D.s
and my parents’ savings right after I got skewered, having the fees all
miraculously paid for on their records when they discharged me, easily going
from one job to another even though I don’t even got a high school diploma,
getting infected and sick from treatments at those cheap clinics but always
recovering enough to go on . . .”
It was at
hearing those words that Saionji abruptly realized how he was no
longer repulsed by the masculine traits the ex-female now displayed; nobody was
anymore – not even Miki and Tsuwabuki, who threw up at seeing the trans man
only earlier this morning – as gender distinctions had no meaning for someone
so absolutely, brilliantly, glorious: their undisputed, princely, Victor.
Whoring ways notwithstanding, Touga did turn out to
have excellent taste after all.
“. . . never
attracting attention moving from one place to the next despite looking and
acting weird . . . Anthy, how could I’ve pulled off any of that, if not for your
Light protecting me all along?”
“Utena . . .”
Anthy seemed to be at a loss for words; everyone else was too, seeing how the
Victor had performed the impossible-seeming feat of cornering all the
hate-filled swords into one cluttered, shivering mass, which he now was pushing
towards the void of the Shadow Girls (blissfully unaware of the dramatic battle
wrecking havoc in the now largely ruined dinning room, they now shared donuts
and tea with the Shadow Boys, served by the high-intelligence penguins moving
freely in and out of the wall) with his duo-strength soul sword, powered by the
Light.
“Anthy,” Utena strained to get the words out (the
beaten swords, while much weakened, still possessed the mighty strength of
numbers), “I finally understand now . .
. life is a fairytale, with dragons and ogres all waiting to come battle
us at every turn of the page; the symbols and metaphors we’ve come across so
far are all representations of what’s really out here in the world.” Even while engaged in a supernatural battle
against vengeful deceased, his rasped voice now was soft and gentle. “So it’s alright now, you can be a witch
when the needy needs magic, I can be a princess when the weary needs
tenderness, and we can both go from being one thing to the next – princes who
help the poor, knights who slay the evil – and there’s no need to get
pigeonholed by just one role or another - we can be anything that we want to be
at any moment, so long as this allows us to help each other to go on living!” The swords, now being pushed to close
proximity of the oblivious Shadow Girls, started getting sucked into their dark
void in large droves; Tsuwabuki and Wakaba, teary-faced both, let out joyous
cheers while hugging each other like excited fans at a major game (Saionji
noted how the two had completely forgotten the fact that they were adults of
opposite genders pressing against each other chest to chest).
“Almost there now . . . ” Chida-san, having cautiously
stepped up with soul sword in hand, looked poised to help should things went
wrong at the last possible minute. “You
can do this, Tenjou-san!” Seeing how a
determined-looking Juri had since followed the older woman’s lead, Saionji quickly
stepped up himself, while gesturing for Miki and Nanami to follow suit.
“Everyone . . .” Utena trailed off briefly as he took
a deep breath, before looking directly at Saionji as he continued pushing their
enemies into the shadow’s dark void, “Saionji-sempai, especially, this is the
day . . . I get out of the coffin called Role!”
Meeting the piercing eyes of the one who went
from being the fellow victim from his childhood, the rival from his teens, to
the awesome godling that he now became, Saionji found his own heart
overflowing with passion as he watched Utena push the remaining swords away
into the darkness. At long last, the
girl trapped in her coffin now had struggled out of its deathly confines
(albeit ending up a girl no more); with the revolutionary precedence set,
maybe, just maybe everyone here would have a chance of getting out of their
coffins too –even a wretched deadbeat like himself, even a complete mess like
what Touga had become since; maybe they could all-
“Is it really going to be that easy?”
The sardonic, hyper-masculine drawl –
one that Saionji recognized even after all these years – startled Utena into
almost dropping his soul sword, against which there were no longer anything for
him to push nor battle against. The
Shadow Girls –having since absorbed all the Swords of Hate – now were motionless
like artfully shaped holes upon the dinning room wall (with the Shadow Boys
looking upon them with much uncertainty); within the still confines of their
dark “void”, one could vaguely made out what appeared to be a very wide
interior space cradling a modest-sized office desk like a too-large shell
around a too-tiny yolk; behind the desk sat a familiar-looking man, facing the
entire lot of them with his back straight, his dark hands clasped, and his
sensuously curved lips curled in condescending mirth.
“Brother,” Anthy hissed the word from underneath her
breath, like it was the most malicious of curses; Saionji, for his part, swore
out loud.
Even after the battle against the hateful million,
after the triumphant return of their born again Victor and Prince, everyone
still found themselves facing their ultimate Adversary – who, on top of looking
agelessly handsome, appeared disturbingly unscathed even after
all the swords they had sent his way.
Juri was (unfortunately) right: when it came to beating
the likes of Ohtori Akio, there was just no way it could have been this easy.
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