Nearing the end of the hundred days, Nozomi sets aside time for a celebration.
No, it's more like a funeral. But she has friends now who won't let her mourn alone.
(Friends who understand, if she's to let herself be selfish).
No one knew the exact date, but that didn’t stop Nozomi from conducting her yearly ritual with a cupcake, a candle, and silence. Normally she’d use a photo of her mother, to give the scene a somewhat less (or more—probably more) depressing tone, but she didn’t have access to one. It didn’t matter. It was the right time and place to do this even without a physical reminder.
This wasn’t for Nozomi, after all.
Mrs. Kirifuji had left this mortal plane a long time ago. That never once stopped Nozomi from dedicating a day to thinking about her. Even on the verge of humanity’s victory—something her mother would be very happy to hear.
Even if the mere word victory stained Nozomi’s teeth like bacteria eating away at bone, relentlessly, a tugging guilt that burrowed deep and ached the second you brushed against it. Nozomi didn’t want to lament, though. She wasn’t the one who should be pitied. A soldier she may be, adjusted to a tune so similar to these living weapons that she fit in with hardly anyone noticing, Nozomi made the choice to join them.
It just didn’t feel right, even if some might assure her otherwise. At least she managed to make friends and bring some warmth into their lives. Though if everything went south, this would be the last day she spent in front of empty air with a crumbling cupcake.
Her hands trembled as she held the dessert.
If she took a bite, that’d be that. Her mom’s spirit would be at peace—no amount of birthday rituals would ever reach her again. Nozomi wasn’t sure she believed in ghosts in the first place, but the idea of losing something, fictitious or otherwise made her pause. A shudder ran through her—the treat topped out of her hands, flew into the air, a beautiful, perfect curve aimed towards…
“Yoink.”
Yugamu caught it before it hit the ground. “You’re up early, Kirifuji.”
“Ah… Omokage.” Nozomi smiled, relaxing. “It’s—never too early for training?”
He sighed, smile disappearing as he pulled into the seat across from her. Nozomi winced from her choice of words. As if anything about her activities screamed training, unless you counted resisting the temptation of sugar as such.
“Then mind if I lend a hand? It’s a real drag, being an early riser and waiting around for everyone else to get up. You and Mojiro are the only ones I expect to have a normal sleep schedule.”
Nozomi smiled. “I beat you here, didn’t I? That has to count for something.”
He put the cupcake between them. “So,” he said, arms crossed, “what’s the occasion?”
“Ah…
“My mother.”
Yugumu’s gaze locked onto Nozomi.
“I think—I’m not sure, but before I left, the day was coming up, so… I think today’s her birthday. And it might be the last time I get to celebrate under these circumstances, so I thought…”
Nozomi ducked her head down. A wave of guilt washed over her. She had a real family, a real life she lived—who was she, to tell Yugamu about it like it was nothing? Oh, I’m celebrating my dead mother’s birthday! She may have killed herself because she couldn’t be the one to save humanity, but at least she was there long enough to load her daughter up with alien blood!
She shook her head, hands buried in her lap. Yugamu leaned forward, and—
Put a hand on her shoulder, giving Nozomi a small pat before pulling back.
“Mind if I leave her some wishes too?”
“Um…” Nozomi’s brain went blank. “I’m not sure. Because—well, there’s no reason not to, but…”
Nozomi felt Yugamu’s gaze lock onto her, as if he were trying to decipher a story in every twitch of her expression. She sighed. “It’s… a lot I’m trying to come to terms with. You know—my mother’s the reason I’m here. She made me who I am.”
“So.” Yugamu hummed. “Is the cupcake poisoned? Are you sending a message to her ghost?”
“No!…My feelings about her might be complicated now, but this is more of a send off. One last—the very, very last…”
As the words left Nozomi’s mouth, she froze again. A deer in the headlights of an uncertain future. Content to roll on her belly and accept whatever happens, if it means she can expect the pain.
Nozomi Kirifuji had never been good at saying goodbye.
And as she reached for the ghost of her mother one last time, she hesitated to ready herself and pull back.
“Well, it’s just one more thing we’ll have to let go of.”
Yugamu’s words tore Nozomi away from her ghosts. “What?”
“You know. None of what we know is real,” he points at himself, “so when we get back to the satellite, I’ve been thinking of what I’m gonna do with myself. Five year plans are a real drag, y’know? I’d rather avoid all the hassle if I can.
“So, how about this?”
Yugamu brushed the cupcake off the table. The frosting crumpled with a big, messy splat, like bloody flesh hitting the ground. “When we’re done with this, we’ll figure out a little ritual for ourselves to let go of all the things and people we don’t want weighing us down anymore. Today doesn’t have to be the last day. There’s still plenty of time to think about it.”
“I…”
Nozomi tensed. Still the idea scared her, but knowing she won’t have to confront the unknown of an ‘after’ right now provided a seed of comfort.
She’d read about this once. In one of the many books her peers wouldn’t dare to touch. In stories about war and the people who fought in them, the soldiers who so bravely raised their weapons (killing not those who wronged them but those who had suffered from being wronged since birth, destroying homes for money, all sorts of ‘brave’ reasons like that) would come home changed. They’d have a hollow look in their eyes. They’d jump at the littlest noises. They’d find themselves unable to control their emotions, lashing out against those they once loved.
They’d lose parts of themselves, haunted by the emptiness carved into them. For a brave cause, a noble cause!
A noble cause like defending—no, taking a planet from savage invaders. They’d come back, twisted and hateful and unable to fit into the delicate mold of society.
The Special Defense Unit would return; humanity would welcome them with open arms. Humanity promised them (humanity, something Nozomi was a part of, and yet—) anything they desired.
Maybe Nozomi would get a dog.
Maybe she’d ask for her mother back.
She tried not to sob, thinking that. Maybe there’d already been an emptiness inside of her, and it drove her to follow the SDU to this planet and to take up a gun and to shoot, to kill, to die for whatever cause was promised to her.
Still.
Nozomi didn’t want a world her friends couldn’t find a place in. If she struggled, fine, so be it, that’d be her part to play, but she’d move Futurum and the satellite if it meant those she loved could take comfort in their survival, however selfish it was.
“I’d love that. Is there anything you want to let go of, too?”
Yugamu tensed. He’d been leaning back in his seat, but Nozomi’s question had him sitting up properly again. “A little. I’ve told you about my family business, right? Both the business and the business, if you get what I mean.”
“Um, yes. I imagine you’re not planning on continuing it.”
Yugamu laughed. Nozomi did, too.
“There’s a lot of other stuff on my mind I’d love to throw out,” Yugamu tapped a finger against his temple, “but a big mental cleaning’ll be good for the both of us, huh?”
“It would be appreciated. If you all don’t mind having me—”
“Hey.”
The cold edge in Yugamu’s tone brought the conversation to a halt. The sticky stench of sugar ill-fit the frigid mood as Yugamu kicked himself away from the table, moving to get behind Nozomi.
“You don’t gotta be touchy about this. Sure, you’re human, your personhood’s—realistically speaking—the most real out of all of ours. But don’t think you’re rubbing it in my face by talking about yourself. I’m not about that life.
“…Besides…”
Yugamu put both hands on her shoulders. Most would’ve been afraid that he was up to something, but not Nozomi. Because she’s known him from the start, that under each pointed phrase was a gentle hand looking for something to busy themselves with. Research, assurance, anything that gave him a sense of usefulness outside of killing. “When you fought for us, that was pretty cool. Among us Second to Last folks, it’s just you, me, and Mojiro. I could’ve sat around and watched you die, but that would be real lame, wouldn’t it? We gotta look out for each other.”
A lump formed in Nozomi’s throat, and she put one of her hands over Yugamu’s. “It’d be real unfair to outcast you now,” Yugamu continued. “How much’ve me and Mojiro got in common, anyways?”
“I know you remember her wrestling stories better than anyone else,” Nozomi said.
“Says you. Compared to the expert, I’m just a sad second fiddle.”
Nozomi laughed freely, this time. Yugamu returned to his seat, and from there, a heated debate began as the two quizzed each other to see who remembered the most about Mojiro’s colourful wrestling history (to the best of their flawed recollections, anyways).
An hour passed before they knew it, and only then did someone else dare to enter the cafeteria. The pair turned to greet the newcomer—
“Am I up early for once?” Eito’s cheerful tilt filled the air. “You both sound delighted. What’s the occasion?”
“Oh, birthday parties, promises for after this’s over, and wrestling,” Yugamu replied. “Wanna join us?”
“I’d love to, but I’m afraid to say I’ve never been to or had a birthday party in my life. Or, in this case, my fake life? Though I doubt the Exodus Project threw birthday parties for their ex—”
A discarded object had been forgotten. One crucial bit of scenery which flashed into Nozomi’s memories just as Eito took one too many steps forward. He walked into the spilled cupcake, and it upended his sense of gravity and sent him down, tumbling, cracking his shades and his nose as he sprawled all over the ground.
“Aotsuki!?” Nozomi jumped out of her seat and ran to his side. “Are you okay? Please, look at me! How many fingers am I holding up!?”
Eito groaned, and raised his head. “I can’t see, but I’m going to guess two.”
Nozomi held up three. She used those three fingers to cradle her head in her hands, cursing herself for being so stupid. Luckily, though, she wouldn’t hold that title for long.
“Am I hearing a pile driver?”
Moko dashed into the room, and upon seeing Eito in a heap, let out a battle cry and leapt into the air. A somersault later, she landed on top of him, Eito emitting a pathetic wheeze before giving up on life underneath Moko.
“Moko!” Nozomi cried. “We’re not—!”
Before either Nozomi or Yugamu could try to get control over the situation, a cacophony of poppers and noise makers filled the entryway—Takumi, Gaku and Kako stuffed anywhere from two to five of said party favors in their hands and mouths as they ran into the room, surrounding Nozomi.
Kako spit hers out and smiled. “We heard it’s your birthday! Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Uh…”
“I mean, that’s what you were talking about with Omokage, right?” Gaku said, glancing between the two (more Nozomi than Yugamu). “The second I passed by and heard about the birthday party, I ran to get everything together! Party on the roof in an hour?”
“…Her mom’s b-day, actually,” Yugamu said. The trio deflated, while Moko began to flex over Eito’s unconscious body.
But even in this disastrous moment, Nozomi couldn’t help but smile. She’d spent this day the same way many times before. Besides a picture, stuck in the past, offering favors and pleas which were never answered, keeping her mother alive through dreams.
Now, though, she could put it aside.
Nozomi could dream a happy dream—where her friends were by her side. For however long it lasted.
If even for a moment.