Works completed for Hundred Line Yuri Week (2025...?) Contains spoilers for the entire game!
“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”
Kurara huffed, crossing her arms. Dressed in the cute, frilly date outfit she wasted more time picking out based on what Kyoshika thought was cute than thinking about the actual date ahead of her, she put herself between the door and the aforementioned Kyoshika—clueless, carrying her sword around even after they’d settled on the satellite.
After purging the world of World Death’s invaders, The Exodus Project needed time to cultivate habitable land. The SDU earned first passage to the New Earth…but they’d need to wait a few months.
And in that time—they needed to lay low. They couldn’t see their families yet. The decision brought a fair share of ire, but Kurara’s come to accept her quiet life out of the public eye. It almost felt like something she always wanted. Independence—sort of, funded by the endless coffins of those in power. Not to mention she opted not to live alone, sharing an apartment with all the other Second to Last Defense Academy girls (and Yugamu).
Though they may have earned peace, not all things from that 100 day war came to an end. This little…‘game’, for one. Though whatever it was, Kurara’s feelings about it morphed from determination, maybe even camaraderie with her fellow contestants, to something like a..shallow, torrid disappointment.
What soured her feelings towards it?
Takumi, maybe. That’d be the simple answer. If she fumed with jealousy at the idea of the other girls getting near him, it’d make sense—she wanted him. She wanted something more. Even if all they did was watch movies, delight in simplistic moments of connection and communication, surely there had to be some deeper desire buried there. Eventually, they’d kiss.
They’d become the couple they both wanted to be.
But whenever Takumi went on his dates with Tsubasa, Kurara found she forgot about the game. About Takumi, and everything involving him—the two could drive off and elope somewhere and Kurara would only find herself missing the idle machine talk she engaged Tsubasa with on the regular.
Then again, who else would she watch movies with?
Regardless. She stopped the clueless (more than usual) Kyoshika from leaving for an important reason, a reason which melted at the slightest brush with scrutiny. A reason fueled by the sight of Kyoshika leave with Takumi, leaving for reasons unstated, leaving, leaving—!!
“Somethin’ wrong?”
Kurara stood there for far too long. Kyoshika frowned and patted the top of Kurara’s mask as Moko leaned in, toothbrush shoved in her mouth. “Hmmmm…Kurara, you’re lookin’ cute today! Wait, was today your turn with Sumino, or was it Kyoshika? I don’t remember off the top of my head. Lemme go check—”
“It’s my turn, and that perverted sword freak has nothing to do with it!”
“Sword!?”
“Why’s that the part you focus on!?”
Kyoshika doubled back, pursing her lips. She put a hand to her heart. “Lady Kurara, I wish to request your permission to speak with Sir Sumino for a brief moment! I know today is your turn with him, but this is a matter of utmost importance. I promise it won’t take away from your precious memory-making.”
“Shall you let me pass?”
“…Lady Kurara?”
Something broke. A thin strand both girls balanced on, a shred of reality—a shared idea. They’d made peace with the world they lived in. They constructed a shell, an easy answer, a truth to stick to, cling, construct, correct. Anything falling outside it, correct. Anything daring not to conform—
Correct.
The centerpiece of it all…
Well, Kurara’s family made bombs. They destroyed things. They turned lives to dust so easily, what came out of Kurara’s mouth formed as a result of what she’d been made of—what she’d always be.
“You can’t be the one who takes him!”
…
…
Everything froze. All but Kyoshika. Kurara refused to look at her as the girl stepped back, refused to acknowledge her own words, even—
Even— “Lady—” the pause, “Lady Kurara, I only wished to inform him that I…wish to drop out of our game. That is all. I apologize for…involving myself with him on your day.”
She turned away. “Shall you inform him in my stead? That is all. I trust you to relay my message.
“I hope you find happiness with him.”
No sourness accompanied her words. As Kyoshika stepped out of view, Kurara squeezed her eyes shut. Time drifted, and soon she found herself on the couch, in Moko’s arms.
“There, there,” Moko whispered. “I don’t think Kyoshika’s mad or anything, but try to talk to her later. ‘K, Kurara?…You listening?”
Was she? Not even Kurara knew. She’d snapped at her friend for—for what? That stupid redhead who barely strung a sentence together around Nozomi but treated Kurara like he did anyone else in the SDU? She liked their conversations—never loved them, never looked forward to them as much as the other girls seemed to, but she had her place in their odd quartet.
As a companion happened upon by a dream and with a compulsion; a path to peace painted ahead.
She had to say something. “Of course I’m listening,” Kurara said, and reality fell into place. The dull blabbing of the TV muddled her thoughts with background noise, enough to drag her kicking and screaming back into reality.
Moko smiled and pulled away. If Kurara lost even a fragment more of her image, she would’ve begged Moko to stay.
But—it was for the better this way. She didn’t need to be the one comforted. “Well, I’ll come check on you later. I’m calling Sumino and telling him you’re not feelin’ it today. He could use a break every now and then too.
“…You gotta talk to Kyoshika, though. I didn’t want this game to tear you two apart.”
Moko disappeared from Kurara’s world. Kurara turned to Kyoshika’s door, pulled shut. Nozomi and Yugamu left on some business or other earlier. If Moko went to her room, and Kyoshika hadn’t left—she be in there.
Did she wait for Kurara? Hope for her? Yearn?
Why did Kurara want that? She didn’t deserve it. She yelled at Kyoshika over—a boy. Probably. Of course Sumino had to be the source of it, but the more Kurara rolled it over in her head, the more she wondered.
She hated it. Forcing herself to her feet, she raised a fist and let it linger over Kyoshika’s door. Before she mustered a knock, it flew open, and a hand stole Kurara’s wrist and dragged her inside.
Kyoshika slipped the door shut and put herself between Kurara and the exit, a dangerous reversal of their situation before. Kurara refused to look at her, but as Kyoshika crossed her arms, no pangs of hurt or distress slipped out.
And she’d never been good at pretending. Or was she? Did Kurara know her well enough to tell?
“Lady Kurara, I apologize if the nature of my request brought about any odd assumptions. Rest assured I held no intention to confess to him anything other than my withdrawal.
“But…I’m sure you must be wondering, why?” Kurara imagined a smile—or something of the sort. The big stupid grin Kyoshika donned even in the most inappropriate, dangerous moments. “It’s the kind of complicated tale I’d hate to burden you with. But I’d hate to see your smile gone for so long, so please take it to heart when I say that I bear no ill will towards you, and if I were in your position, would find myself taken by emotion as well.”
“…Okay,” Kurara said. Kyoshika paced about, as if expecting Kurara to leave immediately, but when she lingered (why did she linger?), she stopped.
“Lady Kurara.”
A breath.
“What is World Death? The invaders, I…even now, something troubles me. Why must we live in isolation still? Why must the world not know about us? What is the planet being ‘prepared for’? I know it is not my place to question, but—we destroyed all those evil fiends, did we not?
“But when I remember their words, I cannot help but be plagued by a sense of unease. Now, I have no desire to risk our future over some stray thoughts. You all are the ones the Holy Jumonji Sword wishes to protect, after all.”
Like the idiot she was, Kyoshika unsheathed her sword and held it somewhere out of sight. Kurara almost followed its lead and looked up.
“Right—I shall worry not. I only wish to take advantage of the time we’ve been given. Alongside these reflections came something far more important. This game, and what it’s caused me to learn.
“What is important…Lady Kurara, what is important to you?”
…
“The pain you show—is it because of me?”
Kurara jolted and shook her head. “What—when’d you get the brains to start blabbing about all this!?”
Finally she looked at Kyoshika. When she saw the same, stupid smile as always, something shifted, a weight off her shoulders, a hope rekindled. Kyoshika looked to the side, and with her swift, swordswoman steps, she pulled Kurara’s mask up and planted a swift kiss on the lips.
Though the gesture came with the kind of smoothness Kurara never expected to see from the other girl, just moments after, Kyoshika flared red, and she jumped back with a scream, pointing at Kurara.
“It is!” she yelled. “And now I’ve shown how important you are to me! But—such feelings, aren’t they unbecoming of someone trapped in moral paralysis? Shouldn’t I have waited a few more chapters!?”
“I—I—”
This girl. Kurara stomped, grabbing Kyoshika by the cape and yanking it. “Why are you blabbing about manga!? Ugh…of course you’re important to me, you idiot! You’re so—so!!”
Kyoshika tripped into yet another kiss. Kurara stumbled away, mask ripe and red, letting out a scream as she clutched her head. In solidarity, Kyoshika screamed with her.
Soon they’d come to forget their moments of doubt. The perfect distraction, the mask they kept nailed to the monsters of their guilt. One day, they’d look back at this with the rest of the SDU and laugh. One day, they’d learn the truth of their origins, and regard these fleeting connections as more fragile than the last.
But they’ll never learn it all.
Likely for the better. Likely, for themselves.
Darumi’s name hadn’t budged an inch on the leaderboard. Victory fueled by Mistress’s blood, safety guaranteed by each tear, each missing moment. They’d been partners in this terrible game, so it suited well that Darumi remained alone even after Hiruko’s death. A widow, emptied out.
Though to say she mattered that much to someone she’d known for only so long—someone led by a mysterious agenda Darumi could only hope to grasp?
It just seemed a bit too laughable.
She turned over in her bed. Fixated on each dark and bloody corner of her room, losing herself in it.
Losing herself—
“Amemiya,” Hiruko near-hissed, grabbing Darumi and yanking her behind a piece of rubble before a horde of invaders caught sight of them. “The element of surprise is essential in taking out large groups. Especially if we want to be efficient. Follow my lead; hide when I tell you to, strike when I strike. Are we clear?”
Darumi saluted, knives floating in circles around her like buzzing bees. “Right-o, mistress! Just say the word and I’ll shred everything that stands against you to little yummy pieces!”
“We’re not eating them,” Hiruko said, a flare of disgust accompanying her glare. “Come. They’re distracted.”
Hiruko readied her axe—but she didn’t charge forth half-haphazardly. The invaders turned for only a moment, glancing behind them with a sort of trepidation; did the others notice it?
That these monsters seemed to feel a kind of fear?
Of course Darumi did, though she knew better than to question it further. Some truths bore an ugliness most hid within stories, fiction—all the horrible things she’d seen in eroges reflected a pain originating from the life of the author, whether it be personal or a side effect of the horrific reality they existed in. An imprinted, immutable fact.
Something that pervasive. Or perverted, in some demonstrations. Regardless, she questions less, and as a result enjoyed the carnage ahead with a childish glee most of the others failed to muster.
At least in a killing game, others laid the path ahead. The game-master wielded the guillotine and threw the necks of the weak underfoot. Darumi knew what made victors, and what made losers—she’d been molded for this.
Born for this.
Hiruko said nothing; she dug a heel in and launched herself forward, Darumi hot on her heels and giggling as knives plunged into the soft flesh of invaders. They tore through the first wave and moved onto the next before the creatures had time to scream, a storm of viscera with the two girls at the center. At some point Hiruko’s axe flew above Darumi’s head, inches away, slicing an invader in half on the back-arch. Darumi launched a swarm of knives, dicing up a large teddy bear shaped monster with such precision it landed as a tiny cube pile at Darumi’s feet.
Where a storm raged, now calm ruled. Hiruko let her axe disappear and looked off in another direction. Darumi followed her lead, stepped forward—only for a hand to hand on her head.
The cold, steel-eyed woman smiled. “Good girl,” she said, and for a moment, Darumi truly did feel good.
Did another round pass?
Darumi sighed, fixed to another point. She’d spent a lot of her life like this, one point to another, dark spaces and fleeting safety. She stayed at the top of the rankings—slinking away to check on occasion. Sometimes she’d leave her room and kill a few invaders before crawling back.
It wasn’t the same without Mistress. The one she killed to take this crown into her bloodied hands. She’d offered her life, yes. Darumi didn’t know what it’d earn her.
She sat up, and looked down at her hands.
A bandage hung off the ring finger.
“They can run, but they can’t hide from my blades!” Darumi laughed and laughed, a kid caught in the center of a carnival of carnage. Yet as her knives obeyed her will, some did too well of a job, and in the cacophony of excitement buzzing against her skin, one of her knives veered off course and cut a line down one of her fingers. The pain faded into everything else, though, and Darumi powered through it until all invaders went down.
In silence, she looked down at her hand. Hiruko stormed over and gripped Darumi’s bleeding hand.
“What were you thinking?” she said, a cold ire freezing Darumi to the spot. Instantly her defenses activated.
She made a peace sign with her unbloodied hand. “Oh, this here? It’s an epic battle scar! Or, you know, it’ll heal into one eventually! Made by yours truly.”
Darumi bowed—Hiruko yanked. The other girl stumbled forward as Hiruko pressed down on the wound, and with a grunt she yanked Darumi down onto a piece of rubble. The force kept the excitable girl pinned to place while Hiruko retrieved a first aid kit and administered some care to close the wound.
“Hey! You’re ruining it!” Darumi yanked—but not hard enough to free herself. Even if she could, did she want to?…This was the closest she’d ever been to Hiruko.
And she’d done so by causing the other girl pain.
It’d been as simple as that, all this time. Darumi wrapped her fingers around Hiruko’s, and she sighed.
“If you want to bleed all over something, don’t do it when I’m trying to treat you,” she said, judgment laced with every word as she tightened the bandage. Darumi laughed.
Laughed, and laughed.
“…What happened back there?”
The laughter stopped. “Wha-what?”
“You wouldn’t do that on accident. I’ve seen how you’ve fought before.”
Darumi frowned. “I meaaaan, how long’ve we known each other? C’mon, you know me—I’m a low-scoring student two steps away from being a corpse.”
Her breath hitched. “…Right. It was a simple mistake.”
“But it was kinda cool, right?” Once Hiruko finished patching Darumi up, she threw her arms behind her head and laughed. “I’m reaaaal good at landing a clean cut. You’ve seen how I make those monsters into mincemeat, right?”
The monsters who screamed as they died.
“What’d’ya think a Darumi Sandwich would taste like? Make-up, poison—maybe if I pitched it real good to the mastermind, they’ll make it my punishment if I fall to last place? Yawn, I guess those bees add atmosphere with being little freaky watchers, but we gotta step it up at some point, right?”
“Hey…
“Mistress?”
Hiruko blinked. Some far away veil stole away her attentiveness, blurred the Hiruko Darumi thought she saw into some other entity—one who saw right through her.
But even Hiruko failed at that. Even her.
Even… “It’ll get dark soon,” Hiruko said. “You’re right. You’re good at what you do. But rather than run your mouth and waste our time, how about you ready yourself and prove it?”
The ground shook. Another wave of invaders—the two needed to move in and get the drop before one of the rival factions showed up to steal their points. With a little dither in her steps and a big smile, Darumi followed each click of Hiruko’s heels as they readied their weapons and ducked.
Hiruko reached out. This time, her hand rested on Darumi’s, up until they both dove in to fight.
Darumi held a razor blade to those fingers.
She couldn’t remove the Hiruko in her blood. But she’d scrape off the Hiruko lingering on her skin. She’d put each wasted touch to death, so that she may be reborn. Bandaged, packaged into a broken thing who’d done too much wrong to be fixed.
She started—she removed the bandage. The rest came easy. Even walking to her death against Takumi’s team came easy, with time.
With patience.
With all her twisted heart had to offer.
Nozomi dreamed of a Takumi Sumino covered in blood on the grounds of Second-to-Last Defense Academy. She dreamed of the claws of an invader hovering over his body, of her firing a bullet and shattering its skull of Takumi’s twitching body and tear-filled pitiful eyes, he didn’t want to die yet, he needed to protect a girl he didn’t know, he needed to cradle her fate in his hands a precious jewel locked away, safe from the world, it was his to bear to display to hide away, away, to keep good and pure and untouched, and she’d stare at that jewel see her face reflected ten times over in every fine cut of its artificial surface, he’d be so satisfied with his work and she’d watch, he’d beg—cry, please I can’t lose her! I came here for her! I came here to save her!
Moko’s dead, emptied eyes judged Nozomi as she watched. As she watched. As Takumi died, and Nozomi’s eyes flung open, a thick curtain of sweat stuck to her forehead as she buried her head in her hands and cried.
Thick and sickly, she cried.
It hadn’t been the first time she had that dream. She avoided Takumi since the day they met—the day it all fell apart. Every time she saw him, a fuzz fell over her head, as if someone cradled her, covering her eyes and ears until the scary thing tormenting her went away.
Go away! So you can’t take anything else away from me!
So you can’t take who I am away.
Nozomi threw cold water on her face, the zing pivoting her back to reality by a string of hope and misplaced kindness. He’s done a lot—a lot of wrong, but she couldn’t hold onto resentment. She couldn’t snap at him, or take her emotions out on him, not if it could jeopardize the mission; the innocent people, living day to day, not knowing of the threats looming outside their domed world.
How could she ruin that for them? Over her own petty emotions?
She put a hand to her chest and shut her emotions away. Locked tight, unseen, she stepped out, only to trip into a dark blur.
Two arms caught her—she felt the strength of her savior underneath thick leaver sleeves. Nozomi fumbled to her feet, now eye to eye with Hiruko Shizuhara.
“Watch where you’re going,” she snapped, displeased. “We’re already down in numbers. The last thing we need is to have our healer on standby because she tripped.”
Nozomi bowed. “I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful.”
She shuffled past Hiruko, ready to head down for breakfast, ready to find a table to eat in silence at, ready to push down everything squirming at the limits of her esophagus, those worm-like protrusions desperate to infect Nozomi with a terrible, terrible…
Disease.
Hatred.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and a hand landed on her shoulder. Hiruko sighed.
Nozomi looked up, greeted with an unusual touch of softness as she let Nozomi away from the exit, towards the fence. “Don’t run away. Why don’t we…” her eyes trailed to the sky, “talk?”
Nozomi pursed her lips. She didn’t need to (want to) talk, but— “If you’d like to, Shizuhara.” She smiled and followed Hiruko’s lead, jumping around the fence and landing on the thin strip of concrete separating them from open sky.
A parchment of clouds dotted the bright blue sky. Hiruko folded her hands in her lap as Nozomi, without much thought or reason, reached out to cup the perfect puffs of white in her hands.
Until she remembered where she was, and corrected herself. “Sorry,” she said.
“Enough,” Hiruko said, pushing her glasses back into place. “You’ve done nothing wrong. Normally, these things would be the Team Leader’s responsibility to manage, but—” Nozomi tried to keep calm, but with the way Hiruko squinted, she had a feeling she failed, “—I’m not going to bother. He can do whatever he wants.”
Nozomi squirmed. Something about Hiruko instilled a sense of unease in her. Call it paranoia, but something about her stone cold gaze bored through her—like Nozomi, try as she might, couldn’t hide any secrets from her.
She folded her hands in her lap.
“I…I won’t cause any problems for the mission,” Nozomi said. “I came here to fight for humanity—” ah, “Just like all of you!”
Hiruko nodded. “I know. You don’t need to tell me. I’m well aware of your expertise when it comes to focusing on what’s important.”
“Oh—um…okay?” Nozomi scratched her cheek. There she went again, speaking as if she knew Nozomi for longer than a weak.
A lump formed in her throat. She turned back towards the sky.
“…Is something wrong?” Hiruko said.
“No.”
“Hm.”
“…”
“…I must’ve said too much.”
Nozomi blinked, and looked at Hiruko, a flash of—something, buried there. A deep, indecipherable sadness.
Hiruko closed her eyes and locked it away. “I don’t know you. You don’t know any of us; as the last surviving fighter of Second to Last Defense Academy, it’s up to you to decide how you’ll handle their memories. Keep them to yourself, share them, it’s up to you and what will help the mission.”
What would help yourself. Nozomi thought Hiruko would say that, but she stopped there, and Nozomi nodded in reflex. Of course Hiruko would say that—she cared about the mission, keeping people out of nonsense and focused on the path carved for them. She wouldn’t…she’d speak to Nozomi, but only for the sake of the others.
“I’ll remember that,” Nozomi said, smiling. “Thank you, Shizuhara. Is there…anything else?”
Hiruko paused and shook her head. Still smiling, Nozomi got up, and prepared to jump the fence once more.
One leg up, and— “Wait.”
Hiruko grabbed her hand, calloused fingertips and soft palms. “You’ll start with me.”
“Start…?”
“Telling me about those friends you lost.”
Ah.
Nozomi slumped back into her seat. It took some willpower to keep herself upright over flopping over and falling off the roof, but she imagined the drained bodies of her friends lying down there, and stopped herself.
At least Moko waved. “Um—I could, but…are you sure you want to? I don’t want to force you to listen if you’re busy, or if you have something more important to do.”
Nozomi didn’t know what she expected—but for Hiruko to take her Nozomi’s hand, each finger wrapping against her own, that made Nozomi’s face burn a bright red. Was this what having friends was like?
Well, Moko had always been touchy. So was Kyoshika. And Kurara seemed to like talking an awful lot about Nozomi’s appearance, so—this made sense. This was normal girl friendship, the kind of thing she never experienced before.
Yes. She knew what to do.
“A…huh?” Nozomi said, trying and failing to exert that same determination on the outside. Hiruko laughed, refusing to let go.
“If I keep you here, you won’t try to flee again,” Hiruko said, a wolfish smile sending a shock through Nozomi, “will you?”
“Ah—” Nozomi bit her tongue. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t planning to. There’s just so much to say, but if you really won’t mind at all…”
Then she had no choice.
Right?
Nozomi began to speak. She stretched her wingspan to match the strength of Moko’s hugs, failed to imitate Kurara’s haughty attitude, fell short of depicting the depths of Kyoshika’s heroism, tip-toed around Yugamu’s perverted tendencies.
She couldn’t do justice to their living, breathing selves. She couldn’t bring them back. But sharing Hiruko’s warmth as they talked, hours passing, the sun moving tick by tick to remind them of this ephemeral moment, it felt like she shared a part of their lingering life with this other girl.
Nozomi’s stomach gurgled mid-story, and she blushed. “Oh, I still haven’t eaten.”
“Then, I can—” Hiruko said, moving to get up. Nozomi saw her chance and grabbed Hiruko’s hand.
“Now it’s my turn,” she said, giggling, “may we get lunch together?”
Hiruko blinked. Whether or not she noticed it, Nozomi delighted in the small blush she revealed. “…There’s no reason not to,” she said, and with a tug, for a brief 100 days, Hiruko let herself be sucked into Nozomi’s world.
“There you are, Kurara~.”
The sing-song tone of voice caught Kurara off guard. She wouldn’t—well, couldn’t say she knew Nozomi decently enough to know she’d never speak like that, but something about it made her hair stand up.
Then again, it couldn’t be Nozomi’s fault. Weird stuff kept happening. Everyone, especially if your name started with a G, trapped themselves in a cage of paranoia against a killer stalking the schools. A real, terrifying threat, far more tangible than any ghost, curse or demon.
Nozomi wasn’t a a killer, though. She was just a normal girl.
And she was Kurara’s friend.
Kurara looked up from her work. Nozomi rested against the door frame of the metal shop, waving. She seemed half-asleep, or at the very least out of it; her carefree demeanor seemed unfitting given the circumstances.
As if she realized this, she straightened herself, clasping her hands behind her back. “Sorry. Did I scare you?”
Kurara pushed aside her materials, and with the delicate care required of an in-progress bomb, locked her project away before turning to address Nozomi. “Hmph, nothing scares me. I was just…surprised.”
“I’m surprising?” Nozomi tilted her head. “Thank you. You know, it’s starting to get late. It’s no good to be out and about while a dangerous killer is on the loose.”
Softening at the concern, Kurara crossed her arms. “Worrying about an Oosuzuki? There’s no need. I was just about to finish up and head to sleep. Besides, I doubt anyone’s foolish enough to challenge me in my element.”
“You’d need to set the bombs first before you used them,” Nozomi said, stepping aside. “I don’t know if it’s safe to use explosives in the school, anyhow…”
“Any base of operations worth its salt can withstand a missile or two.”
“Um—is that how this works?”
“That’s how it should! Ugh, if I find a way of contacting my father, I’d have him send ten down. If the school fell, then that’d just mean the Exodus Project didn’t prepare nearly as much as they should have.”
“Please don’t do that.”
“I…” Kurara deflated, touching the base of her mask as if to remind herself it was still there. Nozomi had a way of disarming her without even trying, words guiding her real self out to the point of needing to reorient before each response. “If it makes a peasant like you happy, I have no reason to refuse.”
With her usual huff, Kurara led the way out, Nozomi falling in line at her side (but a little back, enough to say Kurara stood in front), though they went at a slow enough pace for conversation.
“What were you working on?” Nozomi asked.
“Some more bombs for battle. Disarming traps. Extra fences.” Kurara listed each item off. Yugamu made the potions, she made the fences and bombs. Generally, everyone left the pair to their respective duties without feeling obligated to butt in and make their work take longer. A bit like a school project—only one or two people were actually capable of completing the assignment, while the rest rode off the coattails of their efforts.
Fine with her. Kurara’s shoulders bore the weight of her family’s reputation and more—bearing burdens as numerous as each grain of sand on the beach. It was only natural her lessers came to rely on her more than the rest.
Nozomi sped up, weaving around a corner before slowing her pace and slipping next to Kurara again. “I see. You do so much for us—are you sure you don’t want any help?”
Well…
“No,” Kurara said.
“All right, then. But if you ever need a helping hand, please ask me.”
“I’ll consider it.” If she has to—but she wants to… Kurara folded her arms and brought them close as if to give herself a hug, before letting them fall to her side.
“Omokage used to ask me to help with the potions,” Nozomi said. Kurara stopped walking.
“Omo—” She began, but couldn’t bring herself to say his name. Showing weakness, now…she accepted his death. People became empty corpses—corpses people yearned to see a soul in. Something permanent, something lingering, any evidence of an existence however small beyond something as uncertain and quiet as death. But Kurara knew better.
A life killed had no more to say. Nothing left to share—no love, and especially no hatred. If it’d been different, the Oosuzuki family would’ve been long gone. Any organization profiting from death would’ve been torn down by the people they destroyed.
Kurara herself would have a lot to answer for. But the dead said nothing, and so she stayed silent.
She took a breath. “What does Omokage have to do with anything?”
If Nozomi had anything to say about Kurara’s pause, she refused to comment on it, keeping her hand clasped in front of her like some meek, lost child as she leaned against the wall.
They stopped next to a classroom.
“I was just thinking,” she said, “about ghosts.”
“Ghosts aren’t real,” Kurara said. “Don’t tell me you’ve been listening to Maruko’s nonsense.”
Nozomi shook her head. “No—that’s not what I’ve meant. I know they aren’t real. But I thought…it’d be nice if they did. Then maybe—we wouldn’t all be…separate, again.”
Kurara thought of Moko, and nodded. “…Right. That bozo went back in time for what? People still died. Nothing really changed.”
“Even if Sumino tried, it…it’s true,” Nozomi said, wiping her eyes. Kurara reached into her pocket, offering a handkerchief. Nozomi stared at the object as though it were dangerous, frowned, and pushed it back into Kurara’s hands.
“It’s all right, I’m fine,” she said—lied, Kurara thought—“It’s just something I’ve been thinking about. It’d be nice if we could…have something of them left outside of our memories.”
“You can keep wishing, but it won’t change anything. Bodies never have anything to say.”
“…Um, Kurara.”
Nozomi put a hand on Kurara’s shoulder. “When you die,” she said, quiet, slow, “Do you think you’ll change your mind? Will you think your death is the same as everyone else’s?
“Insignificant?
“Silent?”
…Kurara reached to take her mask off. Even without her defenses, though, nothing changed. A stone cold look met Nozomi’s tears. “Yeah. Why would I lie to myself?”
“…Oh, Kurara…”
Nozomi pulled Kurara into a hug—her mask tumbled off to the side as the other girl fumbled to reciprocate.
“I’m sorry,” she said, as she tended to, “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
“I’m fine,” Kurara grumbled. “It’s nothing I’m not used to. Being an Oosuzuki always means being grilled about these kinds of complicated subjects. Only a commoner off the street would struggle—I’ve been practicing since I’ve been able to talk.”
“You’re a hard worker,” Nozomi cooed, then pulled away. She continued forward, though once she crossed the door to the classroom, she threw it open. “But you’re right. Thank you for answering all my strange, strange questions…may I ask you for one more thing?”
Kurara thought to put her mask on again, but opted to leave it against the wall for now. It’d feel weird to throw it on mid conversation—not after everything they’ve talked about. “Go ahead. It’s already late, though, so make it quick.”
“Will you see the stars with me?”
It wasn’t the first time Nozomi asked Kurara that. It’d be the last, though.
No—the last time had already passed, a long time ago. Not that Kurara knew that, as she nodded and followed Nozomi inside the classroom, as they both lingered by the window, trapped by each beautiful light cast from a time long ago.
Millions of years ago, Nozomi once said, those stars shone so bright, they told every planet who could see them that they’re there—that they exist.
Human lives could never shine as bright. Not Nozomi’s, who’d been extinguished before anyone ever found out, nor Kurara’s.
The glint of Nozomi’s scythe caught onto the moonlight. A knock to Kurara’s head sent her to the ground, a slit to the ankle left her bleeding. Nozomi pinned her down, injecting something into Kurara’s neck.
“If you’re wrong, and your soul sees the stars,” Nozomi whispered, “can you tell me what they look like from up there?”
Kurara promised. Of course she would. She and Nozomi were…something special, after all.
A trembling void.
A simmering memory, falling silent.
Nozomi woke up with a headache every morning. A feeling of longing, despite all the blessings in her life. She traced a finger across each wall of the school, each inch of furniture, circles and circles around her room and the empty, featureless ones left behind.
Sirei claimed he had those rooms set aside for future children.
Nozomi closed her eyes and tried not to think about it, stopping in front of one. She expected something there—she expected too much, and moved on.
If it had just been her tormented by this feeling of longing, she might’ve been able to move on. But one morning turned her longing to unease. She had gone down to the cafeteria late—though they had a decent food supply left, come a few months or so they’d need to start relying on crops to survive—to get something to eat before going to tend to the courtyard gardens.
Only Moko remained.
Nozomi shook her head. Only Moko remained… of those who’d come for their morning meal.
“Hello, my friends! Have we all gathered for another day of revelry and training for the sake of our heroic mission?”
“Ugh, just a ‘good morning’ would’ve worked, you dull-brained oaf.”
“But a good morning is not nearly as special as a well thought out greeting!”
“Aw, don’t sweat it, Kyoshika, I love your colorful hellos!”
“Hah, they do bring something special to our day. Speaking of…I thought I heard something real weird coming from your room—”
“Back off you sicko! Pervert!”
Nozomi smiled, watching Kurara launch herself at Yugamu, who only revealed his usual sly smile before Moko stepped in to stop her, all the while Kyoshika watched, confused, halfway between wanting to answer and staying silent, enjoying the scene.
The group stuck together, a glue weaving their bonds tight together, unbreakable—though they’d only known each other longer by a scant few days, sometimes pieces fell into place, left a satisfying click, any attempts to dislodge what so clearly wanted to be together destined to fall to failure.
“C’mon, cool it! We gotta be ready to train after this, so stuff yourself with plenty of meat and get on it! Girls need meat!”
“I think I’ll have a normal breakfast. It fits a normal guy like me,” Yugamu said, smiling wide as he picked a piece of charred mackerel into his mouth.
“And it’s no wonder you’re so weak,” Kurara said, covering her mouth with a barely concealed, coy smile. “Do I need to be the one keeping everyone fed around here?”
Moko grinned, throwing an arm around Kurara’s shoulder. “If you’re whippin’ up some of that delicious curry, mind throwing some beef in there? I’ve been needing a little more protein in my diet.”
A little more.
Just a little more—
“Nozomi!”
Nozomi snapped back to life, met with the sight of burned eggs. She gasped and turned the stove off as Moko jumped in to help her discard the burnt remnants of food. “Hey, girl, what’s going on?”
Concern washed over Nozomi’s back, and she painted on a smile. “Oh... nothing. I just—started daydreaming for a second. It’s a shame, I was really looking forward to…”
Moko waited for Nozomi to continue. When she didn’t, she nudged Nozomi.
“…I wanted to make rolled eggs,” Nozomi said.
“Huh?” Moko glanced in the trash can again. “Why? I thought you didn’t like them.”
Nozomi shook her head. “I thought the same, but… maybe it’s just the changing season, but I’ve had a craving for them. Maybe I’d like them if I tried them, I thought, so I just…”
For some reason, she started to cook. She could’ve used the Ration-o-Matic like everyone else, but she wanted to make a dish with her own two hands. Sirei stressed that they follow decent diets, eating their veggies and the like. He was always so strict about it—to the point where he even grounded Gaku for sneaking one too many snacks and getting sick.
He always panicked when someone got sick. But they were young, they’d be fine. Maybe they were the last hope this planet had, but the weight of that statement never truly nestled onto Nozomi’s shoulders. There was always something about that phrase that pulled an opaque layer of unreality over Nozomi’s eyes.
She couldn’t grasp that phrase, or its importance.
No one could.
Nozomi put her burnt pan to the side and grabbed another one. She had to do this. Something told her she had to.
“Can you—Do you want to—” Nozomi had backed off on her brusque request, turning it into something more conditional before Moko wrapped an arm around Nozomi’s hips.
She laughed, holding onto an increasingly reddened Nozomi. “C’mon, is it so hard to ask for help? Let me give it a shit. I’m the breakfast master, I’ll have you know! Nothing’s more important to an athlete than a good diet!”
“You’re—you don’t have to—”
“Too late!”
Using her strategic position from behind Nozomi, Moko picked her up and put her out of the way so that she’d be able to conquer the kitchen before Nozomi so much as blinked. Moko cracked some eggs open and got to work mixing in some salt and seasonings before prepping herself to face the biggest challenge: rolling the eggs on the pan.
Nozomi remembered relying on her mom to do this. No matter how hard she tried, she could never get each delicate layer of egg to fold in on one another without the egg getting stuck to the pan or tearing the folds all together.
Only her mother, with a deft hand and kind smile, could hope to get close.
Nozomi never stopped reaching anyways.
Her mother had always been so kind. She’d drop everything to be with her daughter. They spent as much time together as possible after her father’s death.
The truth was, Nozomi had always loved rolled eggs. But the memory of them had been too painful knowing she’d never see her mother again, so she refused to pick up the pan until this morning, when she’d been overcome with odd daydreams and a senseless yearning.
Maybe it’d been the will of her mother from beyond the grave.
She closed her eyes, the sing-song voice of her mother echoing in her ears. Her best friend, her closest confidant—she only hoped Mrs. Kirifuji—her mother, looked down upon her daughter with pride.
“Done!”
Moko dropped her prized rolled egg onto a plate, soft steam wafting off of the meal as handed the plate to Nozomi—she tried to refuse, but Moko forced her land, quite literally by forcing the food into Nozomi’s grasp.
“You feeling hungry? ‘Cause now I want some eggs for myself.”
“Then eat these!” Nozomi tried—futile as it was—to hand it back.
Moko shook her head. “Nope! Trust me,” she stole a chance to pinch Nozomi by the waist, “you’ll need it more than me. So, how about it? Ready to watch me go?”
Ah.
Now, this felt familiar. Just right, just real. For a second, Nozomi saw someone else in Moko’s place, and before she could stop herself—
“Of course, mom!”
Moko froze. Nozomi did, too, a wave of disgust and self-loathing crashing into her being. Ah. Ah, oh no—how could she say that!? Why did she—where did that—
At last, Moko’s face cracked—into a smile.
“He he… wanna say that again?” Moko’s face tinged a deep red, while Nozomi ducked her own flustered face down.
“No, no, never again!!” she shouted, Moko’s laughter and Nozomi’s mortification being the sounds to ring in the new day, a gentle song for those lucky enough to hear it.
“Hey, are you scared?”
Tsubasa put down her wrench, turning to a focused Nozomi. A nudge served to further push Nozomi out of her daze, to which she yelped—Tsubasa stumbled back, hands up.
“Sorry, sorry!” she said, putting her hands to her mouth to bite back her vomit. “I… urgh, who am I kidding, neither of us are doing okay.”
Nozomi looked away, chewing her lip. She’d been double checking her Artificial Class Armor, making sure nothing seemed off after Tsubasa did maintenance on it. Normally she wouldn’t hang around the garage like this. She had no technological inclinations, and would only get in Tsubasa’s way if she tried to do anything more than wield a wrench. She only wanted to give the mechanic assurance that she hadn’t broken the artificial armor the day before their fight against V’exhness.
It seemed fine. Of course it would be. Tsubasa’s great at fixing and maintaining their equipment. “It’s fine,” Nozomi said, putting a hand on Tsubasa’s shoulder before giving in and pulling the other girl into a hug. “…It’ll be fine.”
It has to be. Tsubasa relaxed under Nozomi’s grip. Once Nozomi was sure she was okay, she let go, and Tsubasa sighed in relief.
“I know, I’m worrying too much.” Tsubasa pouted, crossing her arms. “But—is it that weird to be freaking out? Everyone’s ready to end this. I don’t want to drag everyone down with me by blacking out the second she shows up.”
“You’re not going to do that. You’ll be fine.”
“Or maybe I’ll puke myself to death before I realize it, or my car’ll stop working ‘cause I’m so nervous, or I won’t be able to reach the gas pedal anymore—”
Nozomi opened her arms again. A quick hug later, and Tsubasa agreed to take a break, collapsing in a chair while Nozomi scooted another one over to join her. Tsubasa threw her head in her hands, Nozomi rubbing circles into the other girl’s back.
“It’s not… weird,” Nozomi said. “We’re all handling this in our own ways. If it’s hard on you, don’t be afraid to say something. We all want to support you. Don’t you remember? You—all of you are family. And I’m your friend. I’d never shame you for being scared.
“In fact, if it helps, you can fight near me, and I’ll heal you as much as I can. I promise.”
“You don’t need to do that.” Tsubasa scrunched her eyes shut, as if putting a part of herself somewhere else to throw all her fears away.
Yet they still clung.
Despite everything, they were a part of her, and she couldn’t let them go no matter how hard she tried.
Nozomi saw it in Tsubasa’s eyes. No amount of platitudes would truly fix anything. Tsubasa couldn’t fight in this condition—as the nearest person available and the de-facto healer of the team, it was her responsibility to help.
But what could she do…? “Um—do you know what’s bothering you the most? Something I could help you with right now? If you can think of something, I promise I’ll do the best I can to fix it.”
It could be something as simple as adjusting the window tint on her car. Or making a delicious meal together. Maybe even a sparring session, to remind Tsubasa of her inner strength.
But—
“I guess…
“I guess I already know why I’m scrambled up inside,” Tsubasa said, a long sigh escaping. “Who wouldn’t be? Knowing what we are, what we’re… about to do…”
Tsubasa covered her mouth again, but this time she didn’t even gag. Nozomi folded her hands over one another, unable to look at Tsubasa anymore. Maybe it was self-important, harboring this guilt despite everything. Despite being a part of this.
Part of… humanity.
Tsubasa deserved someone else to comfort her. Nozomi pursed her lips and pulled her head up. It was the least she could do, appearing strong for Tsubasa. The last thing she deserved was for something as little as Nozomi seeming upset to ruin her mood further.
Still—
Did any of them deserve comfort?
The way the choices were laid out to them, it seemed as though they were choosing an atrocity because they had no choice. But that was just another lie, built on a tower of them which captured everyone inside, a panopticion of justifications looking to stamp out any signs of guilt, reluctance, or god forbid, responsibility.
Any choices they could’ve made to escape this were made for them before they were born. Before anyone had the thought of making lab-grown brainwashed soldiers, with the Exodus project’s refusal to understand someone who was different from them.
Everyone else paid the price. The people of this planet, the SDU, the humans on the satellite kept in the dark.
“I guess I have some regrets.”
Tsubasa’s words silenced Nozomi’s thoughts.
“Like, none of it was real. There’s so much I wanna do—really wanna do, not have sitting in my head as… some illusion. Like, maybe once this is over, I can ask for a real garage, and make whatever I want in it.”
Tsubasa crossed her legs, looking anywhere but at Nozomi. “Maybe I can meet people my age. Fall in love, live normally. Forget I ever had anything to do with this.”
“Kawana…”
“Maybe even—have my first kiss.”
Nozomi’s heart skipped a beat. Tsubasa raised fingers to her lips, before finally turning to face Nozomi.
“Is it wrong? We’re about to kill so many people, but I can’t help but think about what I wanna do. I don’t wanna hurt anyone. I—I just want to… be normal…”
Tsubasa’s hands trembled. Nozomi grabbed them, but that failed to stop the shivers traveling through her body. She just wanted to heal Tsubasa’s fear, not for the sake of some fight, but just to see the other girl smile again.
Because she was her friend.
Nozomi made the first friends she ever had here, she’d die for them, she’d do whatever it took—
Even…
Nozomi’s lips pressed against Tsubasa’s. They stayed like that, the tinge of warmth lingering on Nozomi’s breath even after she pulled away. Tsubasa’s flushed face met Nozomi’s coy, small smile.
“Now, if something happens,” Nozomi said, “you won’t leave behind that regret.”
Maybe Nozomi should’ve felt bad, taking that from her without even asking. But the stunned silence Tsubasa lapsed into soon turned into flustered face hiding, then gagging—and somehow the mood felt a little bit lighter.
Tsubasa took another breath, face shoved close to her sick bag. “I still can’t believe you just—Kirifuji, you’re a real beast, you know that!?”
“I still can’t tell if you’re mad or not—sorry if you are, but I was only trying to help!”
“You sure—urp… you did something, that’s what!”
It was a moment the two would’ve liked to look back on and laugh. Maybe it’d become something more, maybe they’d chalk it up to experimentation and move on. Maybe they would’ve gotten a chance to regret it, maybe they would’ve considered it one of the happiest moments of their lives.
But they were not afforded that.
Nozomi walks away from Last Defense Academy, and runs her fingers against her lips.
She chokes back another sob, walking forever onward, for the sake of these fleeting memories.
It’d been a few days since they’ve settled into their routine at Second to Last Defense Academy. Nozomi had taken to their training like a salmon going upstream, determined to put forth as much effort as possible, to the point of obsession. Anyone could see it except for Nozomi herself. She woke up just a bit earlier than everyone to clean the gym, considering it her morning workout.
Right, she was always the only one there, so early…
So…
Why?
Why did she hear someone crying?
Nozomi froze, hand pressed against the door to the gym. She dared not open it. Not when it risked walking in on someone who’d likely come here for privacy. Was that Kyoshika? No, it didn’t sound like her. The sobs seemed muffled, high-pitched, like an injured fawn’s might sound. A delicate chime, warbles and breaks.
Nothing like Kyoshika’s loud wails. It could’ve been Moko, though Nozomi couldn’t imagine her crying—she had a delicate heart, so they’d probably be soft, hidden sobs, but…
Well, probably not. Probably not Yugamu, either.
That only left—
“Kurara?”
Nozomi opened the door without thinking. Kurara, crying? That thought drove her inside. She was the kind of girl who Nozomi could appreciate spoke her mind, and that was all—she obviously wasn’t a fan of the insults and posturing, but for the sake of the mission, she put up with—
“N… No! Don’t look!”
The most adorable face met Nozomi’s. Doe-eyed, with short blonde hair and face glittering under dew drops of tears. She held a bright green mask torn in half, both parts clutched between small, thin fingers. Everything Kurara tried to hide was out in the open, and Nozomi’s brain screeched to a halt as she tried to process it all.
Finally, one thought won above all. Less than a thought, really—an impulse. Nozomi leapt forth, trapping Kurara in a hug as the other girl flailed under her grasp.
“You’re so cute!!”
“Wh—wha wha wha wha WHAT!?”
“Why do you hide your face? It’s a crime! A crime against the world! C’mon, let me pinch your cheeks!”
Nozomi began to feel feverish from joy, up until Kurara’s squeals brought her back to earth. She let go, and Kurara scuttled away, a fearful animal once captured now running for the nearest safe corner. She’d dropped her mask, leaving Nozomi to pick up the pieces with an apologetic smile.
“Aha. Looks like I got carried away.” Nozomi laughed, though Kurara’s fear didn’t diminish. Nozomi needed to take responsibility for her actions. Still, how could one contain themselves around such an adorable sight!? You’d have to have a heart of ice to ignore the soft blush of Kurara’s cheeks, her blue eyes like little mint candies, as sweet as her…
Ah, she was getting carried away again. Nozomi slapped her own face, eyes screwed shut. Kurara clearly hated being stared at. Nozomi didn’t want to leave her alone, in distress, ripe for the picking of whoever else walked in, so the least she could do was adapt.
Legs crossed, Nozomi cleared her throat. “Um, Kurara?”
“…”
“Kurara?”
“…Um. Nozomi…”
Silence.
“This is what you look like behind the mask.”
Fabric shuffled. Something came close to Nozomi, snatching the fragments of mask from her hands before it ran away again. “Of course! I mean—an Oosuzuki has to have a face everyone will remember.”
“But, you wear a mask.”
“Th—that’s also true! You see, with me, I need… if I want to be as great as the rest of my family, I need two faces that everyone will remember.”
“But isn’t that confusing? Just once is all right.”
“…Not…”
“Huh?”
Kurara said nothing at first. The whimper of a needle piercing fabric punctured the conversation. “It’s not good enough.”
“Um—what’s not good enough?”
“This. What you see, it isn’t good enough.”
Nozomi’s throat grew dry. A string pulled, fabric snapped into place as plastic clunked together. The mask, easy as it broke, wasn’t something cheaply thrown together. Befitting for someone of her status. Assembled, bit by bit, with its plush interior soon encased in a hard protective shell.
It showed her hatred, her sneers, her judgment. Nozomi couldn’t say she liked the Kurara she’d known since they all woke up at this academy. Not that she hated her—she didn’t want to hate anyone, especially the first friends she’s ever made.
But.
But.
“It’s good,” Nozomi said. “I think. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because. An Oosuzuki needs to be strong. Stronger than anyone else in the world. She needs to know her place, and put others in their place.
“I need to be… stronger. I need to be ready. I can’t hide from my duties. I need to be the kind of young woman who they wouldn’t think of leaving behind. Mommy and daddy, they’d be disappointed if you saw me now. All pathetic and sniveling…”
Nozomi’s nails dug into skin.
Kurara’s transparent longing for the unsaid bled through her words, a veil of mourning for the self she had to discard. Nozomi couldn’t stand sitting here, looking away—letting Kurara, this Kurara slip through her grasp. Of course, Kurara wouldn’t want anyone to see her like this! Of course Nozomi would be so selfish as to break Kurara’s boundaries to dust and take everything the girl was into her heart!
Nozomi’s eyes flew open, and she hugged Kurara. The mask fell and broke.
“I think it’s good,” Nozomi murmured into Kurara’s shoulder, pulling away and locking eyes with her. “I think you’re a very good girl, and you have nothing to prove to anyone!”
Maybe her words would mean nothing, in the long run. But the red flush of Kurara’s cheeks, and the tears, and the soft quiver of her lips—if Nozomi got to enjoy that sight all for herself, a sliver of the true Kurara the world tried to kill, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they went one step at a time.
“I… you don’t understand…” Kurara muttered, clinging to Nozomi’s sleeves all the while. “It’s not that simple! You can’t just—say that and… ah, I’m crying again…”
“You stopped crying?”
“Hey!”
Maybe the Oosuzuki Nozomi knew hadn’t been entirely false. Still, Nozomi wouldn’t mind seeing more of Kurara; maybe one day, she’d meet Kurara Oosuzuki in her entirety, when two faces turned and met one another, edges of night and day.