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 its characters belong to its 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 Seven: Prince, Interrupted - Finale
Flanked by his friends and loved ones he stood, gawking stupidly at the
nightmare behind the shadows on the wall, appalled.
“Even if the coffin could
be cleared of its maggots, that doesn’t mean its lock would accordingly open,”
from beyond the space warping “windows” left behind by the inanimate Shadow
Girls, Ohtori Akio sat languidly behind his office desk as he eyed Anthy with a
pity akin to indulgence. “You should’ve known this better than these mayflies,
Sister.”
“Mayflies . . .” bright aura dimming amidst rapidly darkening thoughts
(how faraway did that previous moment of personal triumph seem, now that he
again wallowed in hatred), Tenjou Utena had to consciously control his breath
just to continue looking at the one who robbed away his (her) innocence
and youth; the monster who, even now, was again mocking him –mocking them all –
from afar. “You . . . !”
“Brother,” Anthy, for her
part, eyed her brother like one would an overturned bug that still refused to
die. “I see you’re looking even
smaller now than when I left you.”
Akio’s smirk turned
sharp-edged; nonetheless, the Shadow-Girls-shaped holes started moving anew –
this time merging together into one single, wide oval “space gape” that gave a
better view of the Planetarium-office and the man. “Perspective is certainly an
interesting thing, little sister; it can make the mighty look weak in the eyes
of a beholder; or, in Utena-kun’s case, the wicked looking meek.”
“I never once saw the conniving likes of you as being meek,” snapped
Utena, roughly twisting the verbal jab directed at Anthy back where it came
from. “Don’t talk like you know how I
think!”
“I know everything there is to know about you, Utena-kun, I’m the prince
from your girlhood.” He stressed the word “girlhood” in that knowing, cutting
way the enraged Victor remembered well from their duel. “I’m willing to be your prince now, if you’d
just let me-”
“You’re NOT a prince!” snapped Utena, hating himself for having once
allowed himself (herself) to idolize and love someone so obviously
despicable. “Don’t tarnish the word by
pretending that you’re anything similar to it!
You . . . y-you . . .” Too many words, too many curses came to
his frantic mind all at once: pedophile (but that would again conjuncture up
unpleasant memories of his (her) cruelly stolen virginity), pervert (but that
would tangle Anthy into the unpleasant equation), cheater (but that would
connect him (her) to the sin committed) . . . in the end, only the lamest
accusation managed to come out of his feeble mouth. “. . . sister user!”
“Poor Utena-kun,” Akio’s chiseled face softened with what appeared to be
genuine pity. “even after stealing away
both the Light of the World and the Rose Bride, you still remain in denial as
to what a prince really is.”
Stealing . . .? Utena
almost barked out a reflexive (thus unpolished) retort, but Nanami spoke before
he could.
“Whatever a prince is, he not a grown man who go around screwing
under-aged boys and girls, including his own sister.” Utena would’ve openly approved of the feisty
blonde’s jab, had it not also affected Anthy as well; Anthy who now was still
as ancient statue. Akio, for his part,
displayed a twinkle within his deep-set green eyes.
“Such foul things coming
out of your mouth, Nanami-kun; you might require oral cleaning . . . maybe some
grass chewing again courtesy of my sister’s witchcraft will do the trick?” Eye-wide, Nanami and Tsuwabuki turned
sharply towards Anthy, whose stony gaze remained fixed upon her brother.
“Utena-kun,” Akio returned
his attention towards the seething Victor, and spoke on in educating,
condescending tones, “light cannot shine without darkness; a prince cannot
shine without his witches. You
disapprove of me allowing my sister, the witch, to do the evil that I, by my
nature as a prince, cannot do myself; yet now I see you having my sister lure all
your friends into the lion’s den fighting your fight for you . . . how is that 'better' than what I did with the Rose Bride in my time?”
“Brother,” Anthy’s voice was as a faint wheeze of a slashing whip, “you
ordered me around as your slave to suffer and sin on your behalf; Utena does
her best to keep me and her friends from harm. You’re as different from her as muck is to clouds.” Akio's gaze upon his sister sharpened as a sword's point.
“And through it all, you’ve remained the same like always.”
Utena could only watch on in horrified outrage as the man’s words
impacted Anthy like a knife to the heart – one that turned even her rich dark
complexion pallid, as blood visibly drained off of it; her eyes, once so
piercing, now were wide and glassy.
“Utena-kun,” their enemy pressed on with his hurtful, damnable words,
“it may be that you can be a girl and a boy and all things in between, but my
sister has a far more limited range than you do, I’m afraid; she can only ever
play the witch.” Like a malfunctioning
puppet, Anthy’s head now dropped to hang limply while her entire stance
slackened; Utena gritted his teeth in ever boiling rage.
“Enough already! You’re a
scumbag who’ve used Anthy like you’ve used me and everyone else! She’s-”
“What makes the witch, a witch,” Akio cut her off effortlessly, “is that
she cares only for her prince and nothing about other people – not even
herself.” His smooth voice began to
grow heavy with what sounded like real pain.
“Knowing that we’re linked by blood – that I feel her wounds, her
suffering, with my own body – she still strives to destroy me for your sake,
knowing that-”
“You shut up!” Utena raised her soul sword even while knowing how
useless a gesture it is, that with her intended target so far away. “You’ve made us hurt each other, a-and now,
you’ve reached beyond Ohtori’s boundaries trying to hurt the people outside
too! There’s no way in hell I’m gonna
let you do this to our world!
We’re gonna stop you, and . . . ” He found himself trailing off feebly
at Akio’s deep sigh.
“Me and my sister’s influences have gone beyond Ohtori into your world
since years ago, Utena-kun. How
else could we have met that first time?”
Utena felt the wind knocked out of his chest by his tormentor’s hideous
question; God, for him to bring this up now . . . “. . . I was a kid who just lost my parents, and you took
advantage of my despair, you-”
“Yes, my sister and I both
played our parts to entertain your young, impressionistic mind,” Akio flicked a
stray lock of white hair out of his eye in a rather flippant gesture, “but how
did you think you lost your parents in the first place, Utena-kun?”
“M-My-” so angry was he now, that Utena found himself stuttering, “my
parents passed away from the Kiga Subway Attack and you will not talk
about them! YOU-” It was then that
realization hit him like a ton of bricks (and hitting others too, judging by
their now stunned looks; even the Shadow Boys that Chida-san took in appeared
to be standing in poses of shock). “No . . . it can’t be, no way you could have
. . .” He was shaking so badly under
Akio’s steady gaze by now that his knees were wobbling. “It was Tokyo, nowhere
near Ohtori at all; there were real bombs used and real life terrorists
arrested for the crimes committed!
There’s no way the likes of you-”
“Terrorists are people, and people can be bought and swayed. ” explained Akio with cruel patience, as
Utena helplessly crumbled to his knees from the debilitating trauma – to think
that this was the truth behind the meeting that he (she) had treasured
in his (her) heart for years and on; to think that he (she) had let the event shape
him (her) unto adolescence; to think that the prince from his (her) childhood
was in reality his (her) parents’ murderer; to think that the murderer’s sister
. . . “You’ve gotten so close and friendly to my talented sister in recent
years, surely you must have seen how good she’s at buying and swaying people?”
“You . . .”
“Uh-uh, don’t just direct your hatred at me, save some of it for my
sister too – she was the one to have corresponded with the Kiga Terrorists on
behalf of the Ohtori Clan, which funded the group-”
“LIAR!” Slamming a fist
to the floor, Utena used the rush of pain to push himself back up to his feet
again. “What good will it do you to
kill a train full of people with gas bombs?
Huh? It doesn’t fit with
what you’ve been doing at Ohtori, with the duels and the castle and-” He choked
on his words at seeing the black rose that Akio had produced with a magician’s
deft grace. From behind him, he heard a
faint moaning sound that he recognized to be Anthy’s.
“Ancient creatures died and left naught but fossil fuels, without which
the present energy civilization cannot exist.”
Eyes on Utena (who could not help but breath through his inelegantly
gaping mouth least he thought he would suffocate), the man twirled the rose’s
thorny stem between long, agile fingers, prior to stabbing it sleekly into the
empty vase atop his desk. “This world
demands that every accomplishment be paid for by even greater sacrifice, and
that every pleasure taken be followed by even greater suffering. Once, the witch understood that to live is
to be punished, that the only thing keeping her life bearable was knowledge
that her true prince was sharing her punishments with her; once, the
witch would do anything to ease her prince’s suffering: be it destroying
innocents, or baiting the guilty.” Out
of a corner of his eye, he saw Anthy’s stance sagging a notch further, such
that she now resembled a withered straw doll.
“Had it not been for your parents’ death, would you have grasped at the
ring I offered, and have it shackle you unto the Revolution? Had it not been for my sister’s material
promises, would you so-called friends – who all forgot about you within a
month’s time – be here today?” Utena
thought he glimpsed guilty expressions from all around those gathered; he could
not be sure, so overwhelmed was he by the crushing revelation now getting crammed
down his throat. “Did my sister ever
tell you about her intimate involvement with the terrorist leader and the
group’s senior members? How about the
way she planned out the routes to be affected during the subway attack, one of
which your parents happened to be traveling upon at the time? Did she get to see their final moments, I
wonder? I recall how she was personally
going from train to train supervising the ongoings during the operation;
surely, she must-”
A thin line of red light
flashed by the side of Utena’s face, spearing through the space gape on the
wall and towards Akio, hitting him right squarely upon the red dot on his
forehead. Stumbling to the side upon
numb joints, Utena saw how Chida-san was aiming what appeared to be a spy-movie
laser weapon at their enemy, with the unnumbered black penguin (Esmeralda;
Anthy called it Esmeralda) quickly setting up a blindingly bright light screen
from behind her. From the side,
surrounded by their blue penguins – plus Kozue, who was somehow standing with
them and not the Duelists – the Shadow Boys gawked open-mouthed at what they
saw.
“Ah!” Exclaimed the brown-haired
one (K-taro, if Utena remembered correctly).
“That looks like . . . like . . .” The sentence was then left trailing
off in uncertainty.
“What’d you guys remember?” asked Kozue, leaning down anxiously towards
the kids; the boys gave no reply.
From beyond the hole in the wall, Akio narrowed his eyes at his current
opponent. “Tokiko-kun.”
“Ohtori Akio-san,” donning
a pair of shades she just got handed by Esmeralda, Chida-san kept a steady aim
upon her target, “while it’s indeed
entertaining to listen to you give a skewered version of the Fate Train Project
to hammer the Victor’s conviction, there are matters between us that needs
settling. Shall we pick up where we left
off ten years ago?”
Despite the light glaring from behind the woman, Akio kept his piercing
gaze upon her. “Ten years ago . . . you
mean the time right before Nemuro-kun’s graduation, when you tried attacking me
at my office under the guise of a visit?”
Behind him, the shutters clamped down as teeth of a vast beast, casting
the man under ominous darkness. “Is
this that same laser gun you threatened me with back then? Wait, that was a sling shot with ball
projectiles. Ah, I remember now . . .
you looked so cute wielding the toy while wearing your middle-age disguise –
that’s how you fool the regular people into thinking you’re aging along with
them, right? I must say you look much
lovelier as your true, witch self – is this the face your kind, generous
husband comes home to? Or has
Nemuro-kun since taken his place?”
Chida-san took a step forward; Akio’s back now was straight to the point
of rigidity. “So I suppose this is some
newer, deadlier item than its predecessor?
What does this one do, Tokiko-kun?
Affecting memories? Affecting the soul? I must say you’re one inventive
witch for constantly coming up with such gadgets.”
“I wonder who was the one who so enjoy making witches of women?” asked
the coolly enigmatic woman. “And you
know I’ll do anything to come up with the means to threaten the likes of you,
Akio-san.”
“Indeed . . .” drawled Akio, obviously just buying time, prior to
speaking on. “just like how you stole
the Fate Diary from Tsukiichi-kun back during the Black Rose Research, thus
almost derailing the entire Fate Train Research.” Even with the shades obscuring her eyes, Utena could tell by
Chida-san’s parted lips that the man’s words had hit a nerve.
“Fate . . . Diary?” the blue-haired S-taro murmured in a voice
like one hypnotized; Utena thought she could now vaguely make out facial
features on his darkness cloaked face.
Kozue was squatting down now, urgently asking the boy something, with
the latter slowly shaking his head as if in a daze.
“Were you actually
thinking of using that as leverage against me after you’ve signed my contract,
to make sure I uphold my end of the bargain?” asked Akio of the now
stiff-postured Chida-san. “Such a
distrustful woman . . . did you think you could harness the Diary being the
novice witch you were? Did you think it
could help you save Mamiya-kun? How’d
it feel when your own niece eventually stole the Diary from you thinking it’s
child’s toy, and ended up getting split into two halves as a result-” A slew of
daggers threw past Akio’s face, one of which drawing a shallow cut on his
chiseled cheek; it took Utena a moment to realize that the black penguin
Esmeralda - now looking startlingly vicious – was the one to have thrown the
projectiles through the space gape, and had actually managed to hurt the Ends
of the World.
“Now . . . Tokiko-kun,” producing a napkin, Akio dabbed delicately at
his cut cheek, “if this is still about Mamiya-kun’s whereabouts, my sister
should’ve already told you that she was the one in possession of him up
to right before his disappearance.”
“If the Rose Bride was to
tilt her head a certain way, it was because you commanded her to do so,” stated
Chida-san with a finality that allowed no argument. “My brother’s spirit disappeared within your garden after you’ve
used up his usefulness; do you think I will not come after you, especially now
that you’re no longer protected by your little sister?” At the jab, Akio’s smile broadened to reveal
rows of even, pearly whites.
“Tokiko-kun, sister or no sister . . . a prince shall always have his
bride.”
Then came a flash of
movement in front of Akio’s desk too quick for Utena’s eyes to follow – red
fabrics, platinum green hair, pale skin, metallic glitter – prior to a slew of
swords flying point first their way.
Even as Tokiko fired her shot, the Shadow Boys already were at the wall
“pushing” the space gape shut around the cluttering of sharp sword points, but
not before Utena caught a glimpse of the expressionless, mannequin-like woman
falling backwards and into Akio’s arms.
“Kanae . . . san?”
A sharp gasp prompted
Utena to turn his head around, where Tokiko – whose shades had since fallen off
– was wide-eyed from where she was shielded behind an again human Mikage, who
got impaled by two swords stabbing into his heart and head, respectively;
Esmeralda and the other penguins were standing around watching them worriedly.
“Utena-kun,” Akio’s caustic voice came through the sword-cluttered
gape, “even though I pity your endless
denial, I must applaud you for having harnessed such powerful brides to defend
your reign as the upstart prince. These remaining Swords of Hate, baptized by
the blood of my current bride, had since passed the passage and will
come through to your side . . . if your brides for whatever reason cannot take
them on your behalf, perhaps your groom could do the honors? He really is very good at enduring
impalement for those he loves; yes, mine is the voice of
experience.” Pause, followed by a more
somber tone of voice. “Sister, are you
to share in another’s punishments on top of mine?”
And the cluttered swords
shot seamlessly out from the wall like a hail of arrows.
***
As a man coming from a
kendo background (one who had lived though dangerous times in the past decade
thanks to the Kiryuus) Saionji Kyouichi always prided himself on having quick
reflexes.
Thus, the moment he saw Utena’s sword hand remaining limp even as the
hate swords were extricating themselves further out the wall, the man was
already charging full speed forward to block what he knew would be a quick and
ferocious onslaught.
“Utena-sempai!” A flash of blue
and pink was all Saionji saw as Miki dived by knocking the now seemingly dazed
Utena off to the side and away from the swords now rushing them.
Lunging airborne via his momentum, Saionji executed a kendo blade swish
that ended up smashing most of the oncoming swords, yet still was unable to
stop one from heading straight for his unprotected flank; a flash, a clang, and
even that stray sword got knocked off course by Juri’s (when had she gotten
there?) agilely maneuvered blade; the hate sword, still intact, shot straight
at a stunned Tsuwabuki, who got pushed to the side by Nanami – who, in doing
so, left herself open to the oncoming sword point . . .
“Nanami!” Saionji dashed forward
after the hate sword, wincing as he knew he could not stop it in time-
A splash of liquid metal knocked the hate sword into the wall, violently
breaking its blade; moving along the wall in mecury-like ball droplets, the
liquid metal condensed slug-like back into one boiling mass, prior to rapidly
“flowing” out of the room’s high arc doorway and away. Regaining his footing and gathering his
wits, Saionji turned back towards Utena (still seemingly not quite back on
earth yet), and saw him holding but the hilt-half of his broken soul sword . .
.
Tsuwabuki, who’ve gotten back up and was beside the wide-eyed blonde,
likely came to the same conclusion as he did.
“T-That was . . .”
“Onii-sama . . .” Nanami
breathed out the word, prior to exclaiming it out loud. “Onii-sama!” She then sprinted out of the largely ruined room and (presumably)
after Touga’s highly malleable soul sword, bumping against an old-fashioned tv
set in her hasty exit (which somehow got turned on from the impact, and was
tuned to what seemed like some heavily 3D-graphics-infused music video).
“Nemuro-kun! Hang in
there!” Chida-san was now moving a
human-again Mikage (who looked older than the last Saionji saw him, and
appeared around the age he was in the framed black and white pic that still
hung upon the wall undamaged) up onto a stretcher with help of the penguins
(they might well be the ones to have produced it); Kozue and the Shadow Boys
(the corners of their features now vaguely “illuminated”) quickly got over to
help, and the whole group of them were off and away from the room going who
knew where within the mansion’s enchantment-laced confines. The rest of the Duelists now were left with
their Victor and his Bride: the former having slumped brokenly onto his knees
upon the debris-covered floor, the latter watching him from behind with wary
eyes.
“Utena, you’re the one with the power now.” She took a light step up
towards Utena, who visibly flinched at her sound. “Don’t mind what he said; pull yourself
together, please?” Tremblingly, Utena
got back onto his feet, and spoke without turning around.
“He lied.” It was clear to
all what he was referring to. “Himemiya, tell me he lied.” At again being on family-name basis with
Utena (how the Rose Bride had conditioned him to be sensitive to such things,
thought Saionji numbly), Anthy’s expression was one of tightly controlled
anguish and agony.
“Utena-sa . . . Utena, I was the Rose Bride for a very long time, I’ve
done many things that-” The sight and sound of Utena’s fist slamming against
the wall cut her right off, as her new prince in despair then briskly stormed
off and away from the room, refusing to hear anything more. Green eyes clouding over with thicker
despair than Saionji could ever remembered seeing in them, Anthy raised a
glowing hand in a brief, subtle gesture, and made her listless exit from the
dinning room that now had magically reverted back to its former, damage-free
state. Saionji glanced down upon his
now empty hand, looked around, and realized that everyone’s soul swords had
since disappeared.
Standing dazed in this
again immaculate room (pristine and tidy as if the battle just moments ago – or
even sword-plagued Utena’s rampage - never did happen), it took a while longer
before most in the group could regain their full wits; and by that time, the
questions they had flowed like water from a broken valve.
“ . . . why would Akio-san
make the Ohtori Clan fund a terrorist group?” pondered Miki from where they now
gathered at a corner. “What had the
Kiga Subway Attack got to do with regaining the Power of Revolution, which had
been his objective all along?” His blue eyes narrowed in distrust. “And those penguins hanging around Chida-san
and Kozue . . . could those have a connection to the Kiga Group, which might
have magic users as they’re all Akio-san’s pawns?”
“The Chairman had driven
us all towards the ends of our worlds,” Juri tapped her restless fingertips
against the wall, “and Himemiya said he had made people into fuel with Nemuro
Hall as this human broiler . . . was that the truth behind the rumor of the
building getting burned down with students inside? The subway attack was likely for the same thing too.” Her voice lowered a notch. “The fact that Utena’s parents got killed
in the attack was probably pure random, but it somehow led him to Utena; that
poseur must’ve looked mighty princely to the eyes of an orphaned child, who at
the time would be desperate for-”
“Something eternal to build hopes upon,” murmured Saionji, whose mind
now was clouding over with the old memories that had been pricking at his heart
for a lifetime. “It was the night
before the funeral.” Juri turned
towards him questioningly, but he felt like getting out the story first, prior
to doing further explaining. “Inside
the darkened church, there was an extra coffin beside those holding the newly
dead couple; the lone surviving victim – the young daughter the couple left
behind – was hiding in it, from where she cursed life for not being eternal,
and vowed of never coming out into the sun again . . .”
“Saionji-sempai,” Miki cut in at this point, “you talk like you were
there-”
Clang!
They all turned towards Tsuwabuki, who almost ended up tipping the old
TV off the table it was on.
“Oh, I’m just trying to
turn this thing off,” explained the boy, blushing slightly. “I don’t want this Saionji-sempai wannabe
singing pop in the background while we’ve got important things to discuss.”
The TV, turned on since Nanami’s bumping into it, now showed a music
video featuring a model-chic male idol undulating to the music while singing
some syrupy love song. Saionji glanced
briefly over . . . and found his sight fixed upon the one onscreen.
“Oh, that’s Seen,”
exclaimed Wakaba as she got up to the small TV for a better look, “voted the
Most Princely Idol of the year by our magazine’s polls.” Despite everything that just happened, the
girl still could not help chuckling in light amusement. “I guess he does resemble Saionji-sempai a
little, with the hair and all, though he’s even more slender and pretty-” The
words ceased abruptly (she probably recalled what had transpired while they
faced the Swords of Hate) as she then made a show of trying to help Tsuwabuki
turn off the device. “Where’s the
remote anyway?”
“I think this needs to get manually turned off,” Miki got over to
inspect the old model electronic device, and ended up paying attention to the
idol on screen. “Wow . . . that’s a lot
of work done there.” Tsuwabuki made a
face.
“No kidding . . . that
nose’s so thin he can cut paper with it.”
“Not just the nose . . .
look; there’s this jaw-shaving going on here . . . and his cheeks don’t really
move even when he sings . . .”
“Oh, oh! And that has to be collagen puffing up his upper lip!”
“ . . . don’t you guys recognize him?”
asked Saionji, who had since moved up towards them with Juri. “That’s Kazami Tatsuya, he used to hang
around Tenjou and-”
“WHAT?” Wakaba literally jumped in surprise. “No way!
Tatsuya’s-”
“Wakaba-kun, I’ve worked alongside a journalist from the entertainment
section doing a background-dig article on the guy, believe me when I say that
he is Kazami Tatsuya.” Guessing
what the open-mouthed Wakaba was about to ask, Saionji gave his reply one step
ahead. “The article somehow got banned by the higher ups, and never saw the
light of day; the journalist also got fired from the magazine soon
afterwards. I suppose the Kazami-san’s
backer must be some kind of powerful.”
“Tatsuya is Seen?” Wakaba
watched the one onscreen – now shown idly sticking fork after fork into a blood
red apple – in disbelief. “But Seen
looks nothing like Tatsuya!
Tatsuya was stoop-shouldered-”
“Well . . . stretching procedures can do wonders for the shape,”
supplied Miki, who then pointed at his bared shoulder, “and look - deltoid implants.”
“Tatsuya had this tubular
torso where his three sizes are like the same!
Seen is famous for his model-like wasp waist-”
“Rib removal – see how high-waisted he is compared to the regular guy?”
“And he was no where this leggy, no matter what kind of growth spurt
he’d had afterwards-”
“The risky leg-stretching surgery can do wonders - note how his
lower-legs are even longer than his uppers?”
“That rich, wavy mane from such a flat-haired onion guy . . .”
“Volumizing extensions.”
“ . . . catch me, I faint . . .”
breathed Wakaba, as she collapsed backward and right into a waiting
Shiori, who gently helped her get seated down.
“I think we really need to
focus on what we should do from now on,” she said, understated eyebrows creased
in unease. “Whatever power Utena-san
just showed us . . . he seems to be losing it again. And there’s the issue with Himemiya-san at least partially
responsible for his parents’ death . . . will this rift between them just break
our entire operation apart?” Hands clasped in front, her slim fingers now were
crossed nervously against each other.
“What’s going to happen to us, now that he knows we’re up against him?”
“Well, there ‘s no turning back now,” said Saionji. “We’ve already thrown our first collective
punch. If we disband, the monster
would be coming for us individually.
Remember how he’s been screwing up our lives all along? That’s only going to get worse unless we
stick together to defeat him for good.
It’s possible that Tenjou and Anthy may never again be close after the
bomb that bastard dropped, but with Ohtori Akio as their common enemy, and
ours, I’m our operation will continue.”
Shiori nodded, slight frame vulnerable with uncertainty; Juri came up
from behind her, encasing the smaller woman in a familiar hug.
“We all want to believe that every wrong in the past is forgivable,”
ruminated the woman, not seeing the strained expression of the one in her arms,
“. . . but is it really possible to forgive a past wrong when its effects are
irreversible and will last forever?”
Nobody could reply to that, as gloom thickened over the room like
falling snow.
“About Tatsuya . . .” a dazed-seeming Wakaba’s airy voice put an end to
the wordless moment. “Himemiya said
something like he’s now under her brother’s control . . . but why would the
Chairman have him be an idol?”
On TV, the music video ended, and the now unrecognizably handsome Kazami
Tatsuya was shown to be at some kind of press conference, with countless mic
heads pointing his way (Saionji thought their (unintentional?) placement to
resemble an array of incoming swords), smilingly answering one inane question
after the next. The view then started
panning out . . . which soon got everyone in the room exclaiming in shock.
“What in the world . . . ?”
Tsuwabuki gawked at the screen, at the many reporters and conference
crew surrounding Tatsuya, whom all looked like stylistic toilet gender symbols
milling about in this “crowded” scene.
“Juri,” Shiori’s voice came out shaky, “do you think those are . . .?”
“Stage props,” Juri nodded
grimly as she tightened her arms protectively around the other woman. “This must be how our colleagues at the agency
really look like too; I’d bet anything that either the Chairman or Himemiya can
control them like they’re nothing.”
“But . . . no way!” Wakaba was
now pointing her trembling finger all over the TV screen. “Look at the many fans gathered, and the people
passing by out on the streets! And
there! And there! All the people except for Tatsuya are just
gender symbols!”
“It’s the Light of the World,” stated Saionji, as he knew what he said
to be the truth. “It opened our eyes to
the truth of the world that we couldn’t see before.” Like the stagnated agelessness that is eternity, the horrifying
might of mass hatred, the glory of princely nobility . . .
“So what does that mean?” Miki
was now crawling at his blue hair in growing hysteria. “That everyone in Japan,
maybe even the world, are really just gender symbols? That Akio-san has control
over us all?”
“Not us,” Juri spoke with much certainty, “since we all still see each
other as people; but ours is likely a microscopic minority in this current
world largely controlled by-” A gut-wrenching scream coming from upstairs cut
her right off. Alarmed, everyone raced
up the spiral staircase, and to the white-painted, red-rose-lined washroom door
(one with a big “OUT OF SERVICE” sign pasted on it) now parted slightly, from
beyond which came the sounds of running water, and wrenching, heaving sobs that
Saionji immediately recognized.
“Nanami!” His hand was already on the doorknob. “What’s-”
“Don’t open it!” screeched the hysterical girl. “Don’t let the others come in! Keep them away! Kyouichi, don’t let them see . . .”
Looking behind him,
Saionji saw that Juri was already ushering the rest of the worried group
backwards and away. Giving the woman a
grateful look, Saionji slowly opened the door a bit wider.
“It’s only me,” he assured the girl, sliding in already. “I’m coming in-” And his words ceased the
moment he saw what was inside.
Beyond the deceptively
elegant door was a crude public men’s room – one with an elongated urinal
trough on one side, and a series of partitions on the other – that looked like
it belonged more to an unkempt park than to a Victorian mansion; what left
Saionji stunned (to the point that the washroom door now slipped from his numb
fingers, left unclosed), however, was the fact that he recognized this
place.
“The cabbage field . . .
toilet?”
Indeed it was that
cabbage field, slyly revealed through the small, half-opened window below the
running exhaust fan. Fresh greenery
basking under the bright skies, with the white swarms adrift betraying its
severe butterfly infestation, the field looked exactly the way it did on that
fateful day from his childhood – the day that ended up changing the entire
course of his life thereafter (for better or worse); this really was that same
toilet block built close to the field for people around the area, despite its
run down interior now being impossibly connected to a luxurious mansion’s second
floor . . .
“. . . Onii-sama . . .”
Nanami’s choked voice was
coming from the partition at the very end, right next to the window. Moving upon legs that he could no longer
feel, Saionji then put a numb hand on the partition’s door, and pulled.
The inside of the
partition was covered in the exact same graffiti-scribbles as he remembered
from around that time: the cartoon-ish drawings of private parts, the phone numbers left
by sexual solicitors, the torrid descriptions of obscene acts . . . everything
was identical to what he remembered seeing as a boy having to use the filthy
facility. Hands covering her mouth from
where she huddled-up against a cramped corner, Nanami was glancing tearily down
upon the large porcelain squat toilet . . . or rather, what appeared to be her
brother impossibly superimposed upon the toilet.
Unlike Saionji, who gained
bulk throughout the past decade thanks to his physically demanding job as a
freelance photographer/cameraman, Kiryuu Touga had lost much of his – to the
point that the now willowy, even longer-haired man appeared downright
androgynous; naked torso having molded into the porcelain, but with his
lower-arms and legs sticking out from the mirror-smooth water, he looked like
an exquisite component of an otherwise grotesque art piece. Yet, even with his small, chiseled face
completely submerged, the redhead remained clearly undying, as he stared up at
them with a hazy, harrowing look in his violet eyes; it was a look that the other
man well-remembered from when they first met years ago, as little victims
chancing upon each other under unfortunate circumstances.
Time stood rigid still,
freezing them all as amber over insects; the water flowed on, spiraling downwards into depths unseen.
***
“It's been a long time since we’re together like this.”
They were inside a greenhouse basked under the pallid lights of winter,
with flowers of every imaginable color blooming vibrantly within. Seated at the garden table and chair set
situated amidst the flowery interior were two petite, elegantly garbed
adolescents obviously coming from money: a brown-haired, freckle-faced boy
looking to be on the verge of hitting his growth spurt, currently pouring tea
for a blue-haired, doll-faced girl looking delicate as a fresh vine sprout.
“It’s been a very long time indeed,” the girl held both cup and saucer
up as she sipped her tea like a seasoned lady; downcast eyes, lowered in fans
of lush lashes, betrayed her displeasure.
“Any longer, and even the snow outside the greenhouse would melt.”
Shrugging, the boy then took his own tea with gentlemanly grace. “The snow never melts around these parts
anyway.” A long, pointed silence
ensued, during which the boy eyed the girl steadily over the cup, before
lowering it, and speaking on. “Well . .
. do you have something to discuss with me today? Is it something that cannot be discussed over the phone?”
“You,” the girl put down her tea as she looked the boy in the eye with
the intensity of a much older woman – one likely used to being in a position of
power. “Why have you stopped gracing my dreams lately?” The boy gave her a benignly serene smile –
one that apparently fueled her growing spark. “Your staying here is based on
your having a place in my heart; and don't forget that a woman’s heart can
change at a whim.”
Smile deepening, the boy got up and moved towards the girl with the
sinuous grace of a much older man – one likely used to intimate liaisons with
women. “I'm being good to you, so much that I'm growing a new blue rose that’s
exactly the shade of your hair.”
Leaning over her chair, he waved a pocket-sized copy of “The Little
Prince” in front of her dew-clear eyes, and spoke such that his breath brushed
against her fair cheek. “And look, your
favorite book; I prepared this knowing we’d get to spend time together-”
Ring!
Frowning, the girl produced her cell phone (one marked by a pink rose
motif); seeing the caller id to be “Kanae”, she pressed a button that turned
the device right off, prior to taking the book from the boy to better study its
artfully illustrated cover.
The boy watched all this wearing his faint, unreadable smile. “Say . . . how’re you getting along with the
Acting Chairman these days?”
At that, the girl turned her face away, somewhat defensively. “Who cares about that man.”
“Never mind him then,” eyes soft with empathy, the boy leaned even
closer toward the girl, practically purring in her shell-like ear.
“Ohtori-chan, do you know? If you love a flower that lives on a star, it is
sweet to look at the sky at night. All
the stars are a-bloom with flowers-”
With an abrupt, startling violence, the girl called Ohtori-chan pulled
the boy to herself; the garden chair they were on tipped over, sending the two
sprawling onto a bed of poppies. Still
clumsily entangled, the youngsters started shedding their previous polished
manners along with their well-ironed clothes, leaving crushed red petals
sticking all over their flushed skin and tousled hair.
“. . . you, Chida-kun; you're my one and only prince . . . !”
End Part Seven
Notes:
This is by far the most difficult chapter to write as of yet, that with
the multiple plotlines hinted at throughout the previous chapters (Utena’s Meeting
Her Prince, the Penguindrum Elements, the Nemuro Research, the
Saionji/Touga/Nanami Entanglement) all starting to converge onto each
other. Akio’s (hopefully dramatic)
entrance allows for a number of less-written-about SKU characters (Kanae, Tatsuya,
Mrs. Ohtori, Mamiya) to show up in the story; more will follow in the coming
parts.
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