Chapter 6 - The Relationships of the Gods, Part Two

The Relationships of the Gods, Part Two[/b]
 
*~*~*~*~*~
 
   It only took Nijiiro about a minute to get over the idea that he had just received his first kiss from a VG Senshi he had saved from a crowd of sharks. However, it took him another three to wrestle his mind away from the sweetness of Jin’s skin, and what he wanted to do with—
   He only got his mind away when the bruises on his ribs twinged furiously, snapping him out of his trance. Quickly he laid his hands on his sides—wincing at the pain even this light touch fired up—and breathed a “Healing Rain” into his bruises.
   Rainbow light flashed over Nijiiro’s bruises, making his shirt glow and easing the difficulty of breathing. Nijiiro removed his hands, and let out a quiet sigh of relief when nothing hurt.
   Naoki. Oh, crud. He had left Naoki alone in the middle of the street, without even a word about what he was doing. Where was he? Had he left without him?
   Nijiiro darted out to the alley entrance and looked around. The VG ring had returned to the street—the VG crowd had dissolved almost entirely, very disgruntled at the sudden disappearance of its loser but wildly spraying about the news that Fujisaki Shuji and Ii Nijiiro were—
   “Nijiiro!”
   Naoki was running to him, weaving through a few lingering girls.
   “Nijiiro, what the hell happened?” Naoki demanded, coming to a stop at the edge of the alley. “All these people...I heard that...”
   “I had to get Shuji out of the crowd,” Nijiiro said, feeling very stupid. “He...I mean, you saw! He was going to get carried away[/i] by one of those people waiting for him! I had to do something[/i]!”
   A very strange expression came over Naoki’s face.
   “What?!”
   “Is Shuji your boyfriend?” Naoki asked.
   Nijiiro groaned. “No, but I know that’s what people’ll think now. I really wish there’d been another way to get him out of there, but I couldn’t think of one, so—”
   “You made people believe you were his boyfriend just so they wouldn’t do anything to him?” Naoki asked, his voice carefully blank.
   “Well, yeah. I mean, it’ll blow over, and nobody should have to face something like that after their first loss.”
   Naoki’s face seemed to turn to stone.
   Nijiiro could have kicked himself. “Oh God, that happened to you, didn’t it?”
   “I—” Naoki swallowed. “It doesn’t matter. But…God, Nijiiro, why didn’t I meet you sooner?”
   Nijiiro went scarlet. “What?! No, I—it’s not that big of a—I’m not—other people would—”
   “You’re the first person I’ve ever met in this city who gives a damn about people you don’t even know, without having sex in mind,” Naoki said. “It is a big deal.”
   Nijiiro could feel blood rushing to his face, and worse, he could feel the stab of hypocrisy slicing through him again. “It’s—I’m—I’m really not that—”
   “Forget it,” Naoki interrupted, going red himself. “I’m sorry I embarrassed you—I just—forget it.”
   Guilt burned Nijiiro like acid. Naoki thought he was some kind of innocent paragon, somebody pure and good and untainted. When his thoughts, his feelings towards almost every single man he—
   “Forget what?” said a soft, sweet voice.
   The first thing Nijiiro thought was that there was a girl behind him. Even though his mind noted the fact that the voice was pitched too low to be a girl’s, it was so sweet and melodic that Nijiiro had already formed a picture of her in his mind before he had turned around—an inch or two shorter than Naoki, with long, honey-colored hair and almond eyes, skin the richest, lightest cream.
   He couldn’t have been more wrong if he had tried. The boy standing behind him looked only about Nijiiro’s age, passing his[/i] height—and Nijiiro was awfully short—by just two inches. His hair was short, black, and sticking up in every direction—his eyes were almond-shaped, but black as pitch, like his hair. The finishing blow, however, was his skin, which was the darkest shade Asian skin-color goes without looking African. It was a tan any person would die for.
   “Never mind,” the boy said, looking rather fixedly at Nijiiro. “Ii Nijiiro-san, I request a VG challenge.”
   His voice was so smooth that Nijiiro almost missed the telltale deliberation to the words, the pauses used by any person unfamiliar with speaking Japanese. He was so busy trying to reconcile this reality of the speaker with his preconception of the voice that all he could do was repeat, rather idiotically, “VG challenge?”
   “Yes,” the boy said. “I am Yen Sying.”
   Now Nijiiro realized the reason for the pauses. This kid was from China.
   “I have come to Japan to enter the nationals, and wish to challenge you,” Sying said. “I must battle three Japanese VG Senshi before I may enter, and I have heard much about you since I came here.”
   “You couldn’t enter the Chinese nationals?” Naoki asked.
   Sying looked blankly at Naoki.
   “There are no Chinese nationals,” Nijiiro murmured. “They refused to reintegrate VG when Jahana Reimi-sama opened the tournament to men.”
   “Oh. Sorry,” Naoki said, flushing. “I didn’t...I’m new to VG.”
   “Ah.” Sying nodded once. “I understand.” Jet eyes returned to Nijiiro. “As I have stated, I wish to challenge you, Ii-san.”
   Nijiiro had just opened his mouth to accept when he was suddenly and completely seized by utter, ice-cold panic. His bruises. If Sying landed just one hit on his sides, there went his Healing Rain. There was no way he could renew it in a battle. Even if Sying let him, that would be broadcasting his injuries to the world. And if he lost—which he would if Sying hit him at all—then he’d have to strip and show the bruises to the world anyway. He couldn’t do that this close to the nationals. Given just a few more days of continuous Healing Rains, the bruises might start to go down before the nationals. Might.[/i] A VG match at this time would ruin that hope—and with it, Nijiiro’s chances of winning the nationals.
   But turning Sying down would ruin his reputation forever.
   “I...” Nijiiro fought for words, but he had none. “I...um...I...”
   “Nijiiro,” Naoki interrupted.
   Both Sying and Nijiiro looked at Naoki, confusion showing plainly on their faces.
   “Please allow me to challenge you instead, Yen-san,” Naoki said formally.
   Sying blinked. “I’m sorry?”
   “Like I said, I’m new to VG. I’ve only battled three times in my life, and the last was over a month ago. I need practice, and I’d like to show Nijiiro how I fight. It would be a great honor to me if you would fight me.”
   Sying gazed at Naoki, sizing him up. Naoki was tall, but his muscle was hidden in the bags of old jeans and overlarge Ii shirts—his face looked too beautiful to be ferocious, and his shining hair hardly added toughness to his image. Nijiiro held his breath, hoping with all his might.
   Finally Sying nodded. “Very well. I will challenge you instead...?”
   “VG Senshi Hayami Naoki,” Naoki said, taking his VG card out of his pocket.
   “VG Senshi Yen Sying,” Sying said, sliding his own out of the back pocket of his jeans. “May the best man win.”
   “Yes,” Naoki said, clicking the corners of his card.
 
 
   The last few stragglers from the Shuji-versus-Reijiro match were quick to charge back at the promise of another VG match...between another[/i] two new VG Senshi! Luck was in the air. Nijiiro, offering up thanks to God that Fuma’s jeans were so huge, paused to log a prayer that Naoki would win. If he lost and had to strip—Nijiiro had a feeling that if Naoki never had to strip again in his life, it would be too soon.
   Sying leapt over the boundaries into the VG ring with a dancer’s agility and began to stretch, rolling every muscle beneath his black muscle-T. Naoki removed his jacket and passed it to Nijiiro without a word, revealing his arms, lean muscles crisscrossed with pearl scars. The crowd roared.
   Nijiiro disappeared backwards into people, choosing a spot just next to of a group of drooling girls that had an excellent view of the VG ring without being recorded by the cameras switching on at the traffic lights. Being caught watching this match so soon after the Shuji-Reijiro one...
   ...might not be such a bad idea. Nijiiro moved forward.
   “I will do my best not to injure you,” Sying said kindly.
   “Likewise,” Naoki assured him. “Are you ready?”
   “Yes.”
   And Sying disappeared.
   The crowd practically exploded. This had never been done. Where had he gone? What was he doing? And how the hell had he done it?!
   Naoki looked no less confused than the rest of the crowd, but the confusion was wiped from his face when something[/i] slammed into his cheek so hard that it sent him flying. He hit the ground hard, and from his new, closer vantage-point, Nijiiro could see blood trickling from Naoki’s mouth.
   It was like a light suddenly clicked on in Nijiiro’s head. Sying had turned himself invisible. How he had done it, Nijiiro had no idea. Presumably by using his chi, but invisibility was supposed to be impossible by any means. Even the top producers of technology—even the Jahana Corporation—had been unable to crack the secret of invisibility.
   But that didn’t change the fact that something had hit Naoki, and that something could not be seen. It had to be Sying. Invisible.
   The same conclusion came to dozens of people in the crowd at almost the same time—and it came to Naoki as well. He got back to his feet, facing away from where he had been struck from, and with sudden, dizzying speed, let out a crushing 360-degree roundhouse.
   Something hit the ground with a sound remarkably similar to that made by Naoki when he had fallen, and Sying reappeared out of nowhere, clutching his stomach, where Naoki’s kick had presumably landed.
   Now the entire crowd understood what had happened. Shouts, screams, and arguments sprang up like wildfire everywhere—in fact, it became impossible to tell what Naoki and Sying were saying to each other. Nijiiro strained, but although he could see their mouths moving, he couldn’t hear them.
   Then Naoki leapt at Sying. Nijiiro screamed encouragement, but Sying blinked out while Naoki was in midair. Naoki hit the ground and rolled, ending up crouched on the ground, searching frantically for an opponent he could not see.
   Something came down on Naoki’s back and smashed him down to the floor of the arena. Before Naoki could move, something hit him in the side again, flipping him over onto his back. Sying materialized, in midair, both of his feet heading straight down for Naoki’s vulnerable balls.
   Naoki snapped his legs apart as far as they could possibly go, wincing at the pain that cramped through his muscles. But Sying landed, missing Naoki by mere centimeters. Naoki scissored his legs around Sying’s and tried to knock him over—Sying let himself fall backwards, slapped his palms down behind him, and backflipped, escaping Naoki’s scissor-hold.
   “Hey!”
   Nijiiro snapped out of the near-trance that came over him while he watched VG matches and spun around. His mouth fell open.
   The same ripped tank top. The same faded jeans. The same long, pine-green hair. The same black eyes, dark even against his dark skin.
   The man who had saved Nijiiro from the punks in the alleyway was standing right behind him.
 
 
   “It’s you!” Nijiiro said with surprise. “What are you doing here?”
   “Never mind,” the young man said hastily. “Just tell me...is Hayami Naoki up there, in that arena?”
   Nijiiro opened his mouth, then paused. Something in those black eyes was putting Nijiiro on his guard. Something was...
   “Why?” Nijiiro asked slowly.
   “I...want to know.” Ghosts were haunting the region behind those eyes. “It is, isn’t it?”
   “Who are you?” Nijiiro demanded.
   “Katsura Setsuna,” the young man said, barely focusing on Nijiiro now. “Oh, God...it is...but...how did he...?”
   “Katsura-san!” Nijiiro said loudly. “How do you know Naoki-kun?!”
   With an effort, it seemed, Setsuna dragged his attention back to Nijiiro. Black eyes met (currently) green ones—Setsuna seemed to be debating with himself, and then he turned his eyes back to the arena.
   “KATSURA-SAN!!” Nijiiro said even more loudly. “Answer me!”
   Setsuna ripped his eyes away again and gave Nijiiro a slow, steady gaze. There was no coldness in his eyes, but nor was there even a smidgen of warmth. It was a dangerous, calculating stare.
   “Don’t tell him I was here,” he said finally.
   A sudden yelp from Naoki and a great “Oooh!![/i]” from the crowd snatched Nijiiro’s attention back to the VG ring. Sying had slammed Naoki to the ground between his legs, the zipper on his jeans only about an inch away from Naoki’s face.
   Nijiiro only looked away for a second, but by the time he looked back, Setsuna had disappeared.
 
 
   Nijiiro could have kicked himself. Again. He, of all people, knew how fast one could disappear into a crowd of this size, especially if one put one’s mind to it. Yet he had given Tall, Dark, and Handsome—Setsuna, that is—a sterling chance to get away without answering his questions.
   Well, he’d just have to ask Naoki who Setsuna was after the VG match was over. Assuming that Naoki knew who he was. Maybe Setsuna was stalking him, or something.
   Then the crowd roared again, and Nijiiro swung his attention back to the VG ring. Sying had[/i] had Naoki trapped in his schoolboy pin—but finally, and probably with a great deal of effort, Naoki had managed to flip both himself and Sying, slamming Sying against the ground hard enough that his legs loosened. Naoki slid out and away.
   As Sying blinked out again, getting ready to launch his next invisible assault, Naoki tackled the space he had been in. Sying had had time to turn invisible, but none to move—Naoki landed on top of him. For one bizarre second, Naoki was sitting apparently on midair—then Sying flashed back into sight, elbowed Naoki in the stomach, and pushed forward, slamming him[/i] against the ground with Sying lying on top of him.
   Naoki brought his legs together, arresting Sying’s knee between them as he tried to knee up and hit Naoki in a delicate area. The red-headed VG senshi pushed on Sying’s chest, giving himself a split second of breathing space, and wriggled sharply out of the way, so that Sying’s shoulders hit the floor. Then Naoki grabbed onto Sying’s hip, pulled with all his strength, and slid out from underneath him yet again, ending up on Sying’s back, Sying pressed against the ground.
   Sying kicked his legs up and managed to hit Naoki in the hollow of his collarbone. Naoki gasped, and loosened his grip—Sying pulled his arms out from underneath Naoki, reached behind his head, and grabbed Naoki by the shoulders of his shirt. Sying pulled, but fell short at pulling himself completely out from under Naoki. Naoki’s shirt ripped.
   Naoki kneed Sying in the side, but Sying moved forward from his pull just as he did so. Naoki’s knee hit Sying’s hip. Sying released Naoki’s shirt with one hand, twisted his waist at an inhuman angle, and brought his elbow down on Naoki’s spine. Naoki yelped, and Sying finally made it out from underneath him. There was a long, loud rip[/i], and Naoki’s shirt—which Sying had still been holding onto with his other hand—came away with the Chinese senshi.
   The crowd went berserk. Naoki tried to push himself up, but Sying got to his feet first—Nijiiro noticed, irrelevantly, that his jeans were taking a beating from all of this tight wriggling, and were sliding rather badly—and kicked him in the side, rolling him painfully chest-up. Not bothering to pull up his jeans, Sying jumped on Naoki’s throat, slamming him into another schoolboy pin, this one substantially less decorous considering that his jeans had lost about an inch in cover. More importantly, this time Sying had his legs doubled back, locking Naoki’s arms to the ground and eliminating the possibility of Naoki flipping him the way he had done before.
   But Sying had reckoned without Naoki’s legs, which weren’t just there for show. Naoki swung his legs up, got his knees around Sying’s neck, and brought them back down, bending Sying over backwards on Naoki’s body. Quickly, before Sying could use his own legs, Naoki bent his arms up at the elbows and grabbed Sying’s thighs.
   Now, however, they seemed to be at an impasse, spread across each other, each one’s head trapped by the other’s legs. The crowd loved it, especially with Naoki’s shirt in ripped ruins on the ground and Sying’s jeans slipping precariously down the maroon boxers he was wearing underneath.
   Finally, both VG senshi made their move at the same time. Sying twisted his hands into claws and dug them viciously just beneath Naoki’s ribs on either side, just as Naoki thrust his hands between Sying’s legs and snapped them sharply apart into his inner thighs.
   They both reacted at the same time as well. Sying yelped as Naoki forced his legs painfully far apart, releasing Naoki’s head—Naoki yelped as Sying’s digging fingers made his legs spasm, releasing Sying’s as well. Sying collapsed onto Naoki, then rolled swiftly off and tried to get some distance. Naoki, realizing this, rolled over himself and brought his foot down on the nape of Sying’s neck.
   Sying collapsed.
   Naoki got to his feet and shook his hair out of his face. Bare, beautiful chest heaving with exertion, he—and the crowd—looked towards the scoreboard.
   BEEP BEEP BLIP BEEP...LEVEL 3
   The crowd roared, half with pleasure, half with annoyance. Sure, stripping down to underwear was great and all—but it was Level 1 and 2 victories that got people’s adrenaline pumping.
   Sying lay on the ring, breathing hard for a while, then managed to get to his feet. Naoki watched him warily, not sure what would happen now.
   “An excellent fight,” Sying said, smiling slightly. “You were joking about being out of practice, were you not? I should not have fallen for it.”
   “No, I actually am out of practice,” Naoki admitted. “If I was ever in.”
   “In that case, I ask that you warn me when you are in practice,” Sying said, rolling his shoulder muscles painfully. “I will surely receive a Level 1 loss on that occasion.”
   “Sorry,” Naoki muttered.
   “I am a VG Senshi. I am used to the exposure of my body.” Sying looked out at the crowd and kicked off his shoes. “Tearing off your shirt was an accident. I apologize.” He unbuttoned his pants, letting them slide to the ground on their own, and then gave Naoki a sudden, teasing, unexpected grin. “Although it was highly pleasurable as well.”
   Leaving his maroon boxers alone, Sying peeled off his black muscle-T and—
   “Nijiiro!!”
   Nijiiro jumped with a squeak and almost fell over. Exceedingly familiar arms grabbed him, saving him from ending up supine on the ground, and instead sent him stumbling into the back of a man in front of him. The man turned around and snarled at Nijiiro.
   Jin pulled Nijiiro up and told the man where to stick it. Looking huffy, the man returned his attention to the VG match.
   “Jin![/i]” Nijiiro said in a very small scream. “What are you doing here?![/i]”
   “I was worried about you,” Jin snapped.
   Nijiiro felt something warm in his stomach, but whatever it was, it lit his temper as well. “I told you–”
   “Shut up,” Jin said. “Look, I realized something. You said you didn’t WANT me to worry about you. Not that you didn’t NEED me to.”
   Nijiiro had to pause a second to remember when he had said anything of the sort. Then he did, and he felt ready to smack Jin for splitting hairs. “I don’t NEED you to either!”
   “I think you do,” Jin said.
   He grabbed Nijiiro and pulled him close enough to stare into his eyes. Nijiiro went frantically red, remembering what Shuji had done at this same distance, but Jin did just exactly what he was at a distance for—stare into Nijiiro’s eyes.
   “Your eyes are blue, turning gold around the edges,” Jin said. “And it’s dark blue. You’re scared of something, Nijiiro. I could’ve told that even without checking your eyes.”
   “That’s my business,” Nijiiro snarled, shoving Jin away from him and stomping on that insidious little voice that was trying to whisper advice to him. “Certainly none of yours.”
   “NIJI–” Jin only just toned his roar down at the last second. Many curious eyes turned his way regardless. “Did it even occur to you maybe I want[/i] it to be my business?!”
   “We don’t always get what we want.”
   “Don’t give me clichéd crap like that. You gotta have realized...” He stopped, gulped, then shot out the next words like a bullet. “You gotta have realized why I keep following you, by now.”
   “Because you’re trying to get revenge, you immature little–”
   Nijiiro’s voice died in his throat. He was looking at Jin’s eyes, dark brown, fixated unblinking and unmoving upon his—Nijiiro’s—face, and just as suddenly as he had realized that Sying was invisible, he realized the real reason Jin kept following him. Nijiiro hid underneath a smokescreen of tricks and jokes—Jin hid in a shell of anger and pretended revenge. But what they were hiding was exactly the same thing.
   Nijiiro shook his head. “No. You’re playing with me. You’re trying to—to–”
   Jin’s face froze. “What?![/i]”
   “You can’t—”
   “Nijiiro, I thought you hated me, and you only[/i] hated me, and if you hated me I knew I had no chance, so I pretended that I didn’t want[/i] a chance at all,” Jin said in a rush. “I was mean, I was obnoxious, I was everything I thought would push us apart and keep you away. But rivalry just made us stay together more often, even if it was just to try and prove which of us was the stronger. I thought, well, now he’s gotta[/i] hate me; I’ve become[/i] everything he hates, to him. But when you look at me and your eyes go gold, I have to wonder if they’re going gold for the same reason they go gold when you look at Yano Tsuyosa. And then I think about it, and I realize it doesn’t matter if they are or not. I’m through playing, I’m through hiding, and I’m through lying. I—”
   Time seemed to freeze.
   The two words Jin was about to speak burned through Nijiiro like a comet. For one glorious, euphoric moment, Nijiiro wanted to hear those words—wanted them more than food, more than water, more than air. He knew what Jin was about to say. He knew it. He wanted it. He needed[/i] it. The simple knowledge[/i] of the words buoyed him up through the clouds, far away, out into the stars—a galaxy, a whole galaxy, a galaxy of people and places and things and Jin had chosen him. Nijiiro.
   Needed.
   The stars around Nijiiro plunged into darkness, and through Nijiiro burned a brighter comet, a comet which seared through every inch of Nijiiro with a numb, chilling fire. His feelings for Setsuna when he had been saved by him in the alley. His feelings for Naoki in the Ariyake Coliseum. His feelings just now, when Shuji had kissed him. His feelings for Jin, when he had had him writhing beneath his fingers.
   All the same.
   Dirty.[/i]
   Sick.[/i]
   Damned.[/i]
   Evil.[/i]
   Gay.[/i]
   “NOOOO!!!”[/i][/b]
   Time shattered back into reality like falling glass. Nijiiro only realized he had screamed aloud when he saw Jin stop, an “l” just falling from his lips.
   “Stop it!” Nijiiro screamed. “You don’t—you can’t—I don’t want to hear it! Don’t burden me with your feelings!”
   Jin’s face blazed red. “Burden[/i] you?!”
   Every fiber of Nijiiro’s body shrieked at once, an attempt, a vain attempt to stop the words falling out into the empty air like slashing knives. “I’m in love. I’m already in love. I don’t want—”
   “With Yano Tsuyosa[/i]!!” Jin erupted. “Don’t you dare[/i] try to push me away because of a man who doesn’t even know you—”
   “No![/i] I...I have a boyfriend!![/i]”
   People were staring now, distracted even from the post-VG stripping by Nijiiro’s voice, but Nijiiro didn’t—couldn’t—see them. All he saw was Jin’s face, every drop of blood draining away from it, until he looked like a corpse.
   “You don’t,” Jin said softly.
   It wasn’t a statement. It wasn’t even a question. It was the pleading of a boy who is seeing his future fall to his feet in pieces, the pleading that begs for someone to tell him that it’s not true, that it’s all some terrible mistake and that that future is still hanging there, full and bright as the moon...
   “Oh, yes I do,” Nijiiro said coldly, coldly because his body had frozen, and if it hadn’t he would have fallen to pieces as well, just like the future he knew had his image even now. “Just wait til tomorrow and you’ll hear all about it.”
   “You can’t,” Jin said. “You can’t have—you’re gonna fake it, as soon as I leave. By tomorrow.”
   His voice was so calm.
   “Oh, I am, am I?” Nijiiro said, even more coldly, to crystallize the tears trying to fill his eyes. “I’m not going out with Fujisaki Shuji, then? I’m just going to fake watching his first VG match ten minutes ago? I’m going to put my image in all the footage of the match, watching him, going up to him afterwards...”
   “You can’t,” Jin repeated, and now there was a catch in his voice. “I would have known it if you were going out with—”
   Something in Nijiiro snapped.
   “You didn’t even know I joined VG until a month[/i] afterwards!” Nijiiro screamed. “You don’t know anything[/i] about me!! Just because I played pranks on you in elementary school you think you know[/i] me?! I hate[/i] you! Why don’t you know that[/i], huh?! And you—you—love[/i] me?! You’re—you’re—” Nijiiro felt the words sever his heart as surely as he knew they severed Jin’s, “—disgusting!!![/i]”
   Jin’s face lost every trace of color it had as these words struck him like lightning. Then he boiled suddenly red, the angry, searing red of lava.
   “F***[/i] you, then!!![/i]” Jin yelled at the top of his lungs, his voice breaking.
   Jin whirled around and blindly shoved his chi ahead of him. A golden tornado exploded up, knocking people violently out of the way—Jin ran through it as if it wasn’t there, and disappeared.
 
*   *   *
 
   Naoki found Nijiiro after most of the crowd had drained away, after Sying’s strip-tease was over and the few people curious about the row between the two VG senshi in the crowd had left. He came jogging up, wearing his ripped shirt as best he could, although it had been torn through the entire right side and was only barely better than nothing.
   “Hey, Nijiiro!” Naoki called. “I won![/i] Can you believe it?! How’d you like it, huh? Was I any good?”
   Nijiiro didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer.
   “How much of it did you see?” Naoki inquired. “I saw that Jin showed up again, but I don’t know when. You guys started shouting pretty loudly. What did he say?”
   It was all he could do just to keep breathing.
   “Are you okay?” Naoki asked, proud happiness fading from his face, to be replaced by puzzled concern. “What did he say to you?”
   Maybe he should stop. Breathing, that is. It couldn’t feel any worse than he did now.
   Naoki’s face was turning stormy. “Did he insult you? Call you something? Did he challenge you to VG again?”
   “Naoki,” Nijiiro said, because he had to say something. “Who’s Katsura Setsuna?”
 
 
   Naoki’s reaction was beyond what even Nijiiro had expected. He physically recoiled a step from Nijiiro, heaving a deep, painful, sudden breath like that of a dying man. Like the breath Nijiiro had taken after he had screamed no[/i].
   “Katsura what?”
   “Setsuna.”
   Naoki stared at Nijiiro, then suddenly, uncontrollably it seemed, shivered. “Why do you—how do you—”
   “He was here,” Nijiiro said. “Just now.”
   Naoki stared at Nijiiro, and Nijiiro couldn’t keep his mind on himself and Jin. Later he would have to think about it, have to come to grips with what he had just done, but later—not now. Naoki looked just as bad as he had when he had come face-to-face with Tsuyosa in the Ariyake Coliseum.
   “Naoki, who is he?” Nijiiro asked. “He helped me out against a bunch of morons in an alley the day I met you.”
   “No,” Naoki whispered.
   “He knows you,” Nijiiro continued inexorably. “I know[/i] he knows you. He was watching your match like nothing else in the world mattered...”
   “No!” Naoki whispered.
   “Did he go to Cream as well?” Nijiiro demanded. “Is-”
   “No!!” Naoki broke in desperately. “He never went there! I never saw him there! He—he—” Naoki sucked in air with desperate need. “Nijiiro, if you ever see him again, don’t talk to him.[/i] Don’t have anything[/i] to do with him. Don’t talk, don’t listen, and definitely[/i] don’t become friends with him. S—Se—he’s dangerous!”
   It did not escape even Nijiiro’s notice that Naoki couldn’t seem to bring himself to say Setsuna’s name.
   “But who is he?” Nijiiro asked.
   For a long time, Naoki didn’t say anything. Nijiiro stared at him, wondering if maybe he had pushed too far. Whoever Setsuna was, he wasn’t somebody Naoki remembered with any fondness. Could he be—but no—
   “Come on,” Naoki said finally, his voice harsh as a crow’s. “It’s getting late.”
   Nijiiro realized then that he had definitely pushed too far. He bowed his head, letting pacific-blue streams fall around his face, and silently fell in step beside Naoki, heading back along the sidewalk towards the Ii house.
      *  *  *
That Same Evening, in a hotel not far from Ariyake Coliseum...[/b]
 
   Kasumi fell back onto the bed with a sigh of pure relief and happiness. “Whew![/i] For a minute there, I thought we were gonna be found out!”
   “The Master got me into VG twelve years ago,” Chiho said. “I somehow doubt he would have problems making us fake VG cards this time around.”
   The older ninja was searching the room methodically, examining every nook and cranny, while her young cousin remained supine upon the bed.
   “Why did he make us cards, instead of just signing us up?” Kasumi asked, studying the ceiling, which had a crack in it that looked just like her old goldfish.
   “They’re not just VG cards, you know,” Chiho said, shoving the bedside table away from the wall to check behind it. “They’re also communicators, so we can always contact the Master or each other; cameras, in case we find any evidence that’s not easily stealable; decoders, if we run into electronically locked doors; voice recorders, if we need them; and a miniature word program, so we can take notes on them as well. And look at yours closely.”
   Already amazed, Kasumi sat up, dragged her “VG card” out of her pocket, and stared at it with the intensity of a laser beam. “...What am I looking for?”
   Chiho sighed and moved the table back into place. “How reflective it is. It can double as a mirror. And it’s made out of titanium, not plastic and silicon like most VG cards, so it’s extremely durable. Not that you’d want to try and stop a shuriken with it, of course.”
   “Wow,” Kasumi breathed. “That’s amazing! All that, in one little card!”
   “That’s including[/i] all the stuff normal VG cards have, like the pulse emitter and the long-distance alarm system.” Chiho got up on her own bed and began tapping the ceiling. “And of course, the Master had to make sure that all of our information was programmed into them just the way it would be by the Jahana Corporation, including all the stats for our nonexistent restaurant, and firewall it exactly the same. While[/i] making sure that none of the extra features could be picked up by the VG computers.”
   “Cool,”[/i] Kasumi breathed. Then she noticed Chiho’s business with the ceiling. “What are you doing?”
   “Checking to make sure there aren’t any bugs or anything here,” Chiho replied.
   “Bugs? So what if there are? Just stomp on `em.”
   “Bugs, as in, mechanical listening devices,” Chiho clarified.
   “Oh.” Kasumi pondered that. “Why would there be bugs in a hotel room?”
   “Not a[/i] hotel room,” Chiho said. “Our[/i] hotel room. If anybody has a suspicion of what we’re doing and plants a bug here, it could mean the end of our cover.”
   “Oh.” Kasumi pondered that as well. “Does[/i] anybody?”
   “I doubt it.” Chiho fell into a sitting position on her bed with a whoosh[/i]. “But I’m checking anyways.”
   “I see.” Kasumi’s eyes glittered with zealous idolization. “Chiho-san, you’re so cool!”
   Chiho stared at Kasumi, one eyebrow raised. “Uh-huh. Let’s just get ready for bed. We’ve got three VG matches to win before the week’s out if we want to make it into the nationals.”
 
*   *   *
Still that same evening, on the Iis’ street...[/b]
 
   Naoki and Nijiiro hadn’t spoken to each other the entire walk back to the Iis’ house. The confrontation with Jin and the mystery of Setsuna hung between the two of them like a veil of ice-linked snowflakes, preventing anything that might possibly have sprouted into a conversation from coming from either one of them.
   In the time it had taken them to reach the Iis’ street, the sun—perhaps chilled by the wintry wall that had sprung up between them—had hurried its way down behind the horizon. All about them, lights clicked on in houses, throwing the two boys’ separate shadows across the street and sidewalk. The light danced around the shadows, trying to entice them to dance, to play, to warm up even a bit—but their shadows were dark with the cold between them, and refused to play the light’s game.
   The Ii house didn’t look any different from any of the other houses on the street—well, except for the rustling fake-dead grass, and the incomplete periwinkle paint, and the garden of pinwheels still resolutely tickety-tickety-tickety[/i]ing away beneath Nijiiro’s window. But even aside from all that, there was now something different about it.
   Something that came in the air, floating on the breeze like a fragrant rope.
   The scent of blueberries and batter.
   Nijiiro froze as that unique, special scent brushed his nose. It could mean only one thing—one person.
   Naoki nearly jumped out of his skin as Nijiiro broke into a rocketing run, screaming at the top of his lungs. The rainbow-haired boy flung open the front door, and the aroma of blueberry hit him full in the face like a hammer. Not even bothering to take off his shoes, Nijiiro raced through the living room into the kitchen.
   “KAEDE-OBA!!!!!!!!!”[/i][/b] Nijiiro shrieked.
   Everybody[/i] was in the kitchen, squashed together like anchovies in a can. Himeko was over in the corner, trying unsuccessfully to hide happiness behind her usual witchly expression. Chihiro was there, clad in her black nightgown, actually willingly inside the building instead of out on the roof recording the stars. There, Ietsuna, wearing a closed shirt for once in his life; Hikaru, slashing the air madly with a spatula; Maki, actually looking happy. And in front of the stove, carefully and delicately flipping mounds upon mounds of sweet-scented blueberry pancakes—her specialty and favorite, the food which was only made when she was home from the hospital—was Nijiiro’s Aunt Kaede.
   Kaede was Kaoru’s twin sister, and you could tell. They shared the same heart-shaped face, the same long, beautiful fingers, the same enviable slimness that had never yet departed from them. But Kaede was frailer than Kaoru, her bones painfully visible beneath her skin, her complexion so white as to be nearly transparent, her hair prematurely grey and fine as a bird’s feathers. Kaede had been born very sick, with both anemia and multiple sclerosis—although her sclerosis was mild, and in all forty-two years of her life had not advanced much, her anemia was severe, and the combination of the two conspired to keep her in a dangerously ill state that made it unsafe for her to be home for too long at a time. Even a simple flu could be dangerous for Kaede. And yet, she never spent any more time at the hospital than she could get out of—despite the danger, she preferred to be home, where she could see all of her nieces and nephews and listen to their stories and make them blueberry pancakes.
   Kaede turned to Nijiiro with a fragile smile as bright as a Christmas tree.
   “Nijiiro-kun! My champion VG Senshi! How are you?”
   “I’m...” Nijiiro twinged, both from his bruises and from guilt at lying, but thrust both twinges aside and hugged Kaede carefully. “...fine! How’re you?”
   “Over the dratted pneumonia, at last,” Kaede said, squeezing Nijiiro with all the strength of her glass-like arms. “Oh, Nijiiro...let me look at you! I didn’t see you last time...you couldn’t visit, you were sick...”
   “I know,” Nijiiro said, feeling the ice in his heart submerge beneath the warmth of Kaede’s love as she studied every detail of him, his long rainbow hair, his eyes—at their brightest, glowing brown—his slender body, loving it all unconditionally.
   “But you haven’t seen who else is here!” Kaede added, patting Nijiiro’s shoulder and pointing into the mass of Iis. “Look!”
   Nijiiro looked—and screamed again, even louder. A tall, handsome young man—not as tall as Fuma, but still at least two heads taller than Nijiiro—was standing next to Ayaka, who was, after all, his mother as well.
   “AshootEI!!!!” Nijiiro flew at his brother and jumped, grabbing him around the neck. “You’re here[/i]!! What are you doing[/i] here?! You’re at college[/i]!!”
   “I’m on vacation,” Ashootei said, far too used to Nijiiro’s exuberant and rather violent greetings to even stumble beneath his onslaught. “We get the next week off, because of the VG tournament, so I took time off work and drove back to watch you.”
   “Me?”[/i] Nijiiro squeaked, really and honestly surprised. “That far, just because of me?[/i]”
   “Of course!” Ashootei put his arms around Nijiiro and squeezed as hard as he could. “I have to watch my little brother win us ten million dollars, don’t I?”
   “OW!” Nijiiro yelped.
   “Oh, sorry!” Ashootei let go, looking ashamed. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
   “Don’t...worry about it,” Nijiiro gasped, letting go of Ashootei, feeling dizzy from a thousand little arrows of pain shooting through his ribs. Healing Rain...gotta get away and re-Rain myself...[/i]
   “And Nijiiro!” Ayaka interrupted, bursting with motherly pride, waving a wooden spoon like a flag. “Oh, Nijiiro! Ashootei has a girlfriend[/i] now!”
   Nijiiro forgot the pain. “You do[/i]?”
   “Mom,” Ashootei muttered, his ears going red. “It’s not that big of a deal...”
   “What on earth do you mean?!” Ayaka demanded, smacking Ashootei’s arm with her spoon. “It’s marvelous news! Simply marvelous! Tell Nijiiro her name.” Ayaka whirled on Nijiiro before Ashootei could say anything. “Her name is Tatsumiya Fujiko, and she’s a chemistry major! She’s in Ashootei’s calculus class—she’s nothing short of brilliant—and—”
   “Mom, she’s Ashootei’s girlfriend!” Yuna broke in. “Let him[/i] tell Nijiiro about her!”
   “Oh?” Ashootei was looking at the door, his ears still red, but returning to normal. “Who’s he?”
   Naoki was standing in the kitchen doorway, blushing uncomfortably down most of his still-bare chest. He had his ripped shirt wrapped around himself as best he could, but it wasn’t helping much. Looking at him, Nijiiro felt again guilty, this time for leaving Naoki completely in the dark in the excitement of knowing Kaede was back.
   “Oh, um,” Nijiiro said, dragging his brother forward through the crowd towards his friend. “Ashootei, Kaede-oba, this is Hayami Naoki-kun.”
   “Naoki-kun?” Kaede left her pancakes and made her way over to Naoki, clutching the counters for support. She studied him with clear brown eyes. “Are you, by chance, Nijiiro’s boyfriend?”
   “No,” Naoki said.
   “I see.” Kaede chuckled. “I expect you’re tired of hearing that by now.”
   “Um...” Naoki hedged.
   “I’m sure Nijiiro will have a boyfriend soon, though,” Kaede went on, much to Nijiiro’s chagrin. “Perhaps that one nice boy you were spending so much time with—Jin, wasn’t it?”
   Any reply Nijiiro could have made to this—and there weren’t many he thought he could have said with a normal face—was interrupted by Kaoru, Maki, Ashootei, Yue, Daisuke, Eichi, Shirai, Haruna, Hikaru, Ietsuna, Fuma, Shiho, Yuna, Hiroji, Kaii, Azumamaro, and even Ayaka all letting out a great “HA![/b]” of laughter.
   “Nice boy?!” Maki hooted, although whether she was laughing at Jin being called nice or the idea that any[/i] boy could be nice wasn’t clear.
   “He was a raving lunatic and an idiot to boot!” Shiho said succinctly.
   “I threw rocks at him when he was hanging around to ambush Nijiiro last week!” Haruna volunteered.
   “He hates[/i] Nijiiro!” Ietsuna added.
   And Ayaka, who was usually a very kind, sweet woman, added with uncharacteristic vehemence, “He tried to come over here and fight[/i] poor Nijiiro in second grade! I laid him out flat with a frying pan for even thinking[/i] of it!”
   “Oh, yeah,” Yuna said. “That was funny[/i].”
   “Don’t forget just a few days ago, when he tried to challenge Nijiiro to VG and Chihiro killed him!” Yue put in.
   “Yum,” Chihiro said.
   “That Jin-boy is in VG now?” Kaede asked.
   “Yes,[/i][/b]” said most of the Iis at once—all, in fact, except Ashootei and Nijiiro.
   “And Naoki-kun is as well,” Hikaru said. “Is that why your shirt’s all ripped, Naoki-kun? You didn’t lose, did you?”
   “Yeah, I VG-ed, but no, I didn’t lose,” Naoki said, looking awkward. “It ripped, in the fight.”
   “Ah,” Hikaru said wisely, nodding her head as though she attended to hundreds of VG Senshi with shirts ripped from winning every day. “I can sew it up for you.”
   Hiroji and Shiho both blanched.
   “Who would like pancakes?” Kaede intervened.
   “Ooh, pancakes!” Hikaru exclaimed, completely forgetting about sewing up Naoki’s shirt, charging to the stove with spatula waving. Hiroji and Shiho both sighed with relief.
   “Last time Hikaru sewed something up,” Shiho muttered to Naoki, “she managed to sew two of Niou’s fingers and three of her own to it. We had to take them to the hospital.”
   “She made Niou hold it while she sewed,” Hiroji explained. He shivered. “Hikaru and needles just should not[/i] mix.”
   “C’mon, I’ll get you another one of Fuma’s shirts,” Shiho said, reaching for the shirt. “I’ll fix this—”
   Hiroji knocked Shiho’s hands away. “I’ll[/i] fix it!”
   Shiho stared at Hiroji, then shrugged. “All right, fine. You fix it then. I’m not so hard up for sewing jobs that I need another one. Zuma-kun—Azumamaro—ripped his jeans at the knees yesterday,” she added to Naoki. “Again[/i]. C’mon, Naoki-kun.”
   Nijiiro saw Naoki, Shiho, and Hiroji leave the kitchen, and despite his hunger for blueberry pancakes, he saw his chance for a Rain.
   “Sorry, Ashu,” Nijiiro said, using Ashootei’s nickname, “but I’m gonna help Shiho and Naoki-kun...”
   “With what?” Ashootei asked.
   “Shirt problems,” Nijiiro said, ducking away, through clamor and chaos, to and out the door.
 
 
   However, Nijiiro had made one fatal assumption—that Hiroji was leaving the room in order to follow Shiho and Naoki. Meaning that when Nijiiro slipped into the room he, Shiho, Hiroji, and Haruna shared, expecting to be able to quickly pull off a Healing Rain and then return to the pancakes, he was scared by Hiroji almost as much as he scared Hiroji.
   Both boys only barely stifled screams. “Hiroji!![/i]”
   “Nijiiro!![/i]”
   “What are you doing here?!”
   “What are you[/i] doing here?!”
   “I asked first!”
   “I was here[/i] first!”
   Nijiiro was about to pull the older-sibling-and-therefore-one-who-calls-the-shots card on Hiroji when he noticed something, something so uncharacteristic of his brother/ sister/ sibling that he completely lost track of the argument. “Hiroji...Hiroji, are you crying[/i]?”
   “NO!![/i]” Hiroji expostulated, and scrubbed his sleeve over his eyes. “I...something flew into my eye!”
   “Oh, yeah, I’ve never heard that[/i] one before. Come on, Hiro-chan, seriously! What’s wrong?”
   “It’s nothing,” Hiroji muttered. “Nothing. Nothing[/i].”
   Casting bruises and caution to the winds, Nijiiro flung his arms around his brother’s shoulders. “Yes it is. I’m your brother. Your gay[/i] brother. I can tell.”
   Hiroji let his head fall onto Nijiiro’s chest, but the rest of him remained distant, rigid, upright. Cold.
   Cold as though he had just been frozen, because if he hadn’t he would have fallen to pieces.
   The knowledge of common loss struck Nijiiro’s heart. “Hiro...oh, God, Hiro. You’re in love, aren’t you.”
   It wasn’t a question, and Hiroji knew it wasn’t. He dissolved into Nijiiro’s embrace, letting tears come—bitter, hopeless tears. The tears of somebody who has realized that their love has no future.
   “Oh, Hiro-chan,” Nijiiro whispered, stroking Hiroji’s long brown tresses. “Hiro-chan...Hiro-chan, who is it?”
   “He’s gay too, isn’t he?” Hiroji sobbed into Nijiiro’s shirt.
   “What? Who?” But Nijiiro had a sinking suspicion that he already knew who.
   “Hayami Naoki-kun.” Hiroji’s breath caught in the middle of his name. “He is, isn’t he?”
   “I...”
   “I know he is. I knew he was when you walked in the door with him. I thought, ‘Wow, he’s so beautiful...but he’s gotta be gay, oh well.’ But I got to...talking to him...and I...he’s so...nice[/i]. Why is he so nice? He makes me feel like a woman, like a real woman, like Shiho or Chihiro or Kaede-oba, in body[/i], not just in spirit. Like when he’s there, I just know that I am[/i] a woman, except I’m not. I’m not[/i].”
   “Hiro...” Nijiiro started, not sure what to say, but Hiroji was still talking, words destroyed by sobs.
   “Isn’t it easier that way? Shouldn’t it be easier that way? Wouldn’t you think...but it’s not, it’s worse, because Nijiiro...” Hiroji pulled back to look into Nijiiro’s eyes, his own flooded with tears. “I can’t be a man. Do you see it? He wants a man, he needs[/i] one, and I can’t be[/i] one for him. I can’t...I don’t know how I’ve even stayed this way for thirteen years...this isn’t me, Nijiiro, it’s not—”
   Without finishing his sentence, Hiroji suddenly clawed blindly at his arms, his chest, his face, scouring bloody trails across his skin.
   “I can’t stand this!” Hiroji cried, blood and tears mixing on his face to pour redness down his cheeks. “I can’t be[/i] like this anymore! I want to die—I am dying—I can feel this body dying[/i] all around me...!!”
   “HIROJI!!” Nijiiro screamed, neither knowing nor caring if anybody heard him. “Hiroji, stop it!!”
   Hiroji stopped, his arms falling limply to his sides, nails stained red. Suddenly he looked small and desolate and lost, a little girl lost in a desert which was flaying the skin from her bones. Bloodied tears rolled down his face and stained the white front of his dress.
   For Nijiiro’s part, he wasn’t sure what to do or say, except he had to do something[/i], before Hiroji began to tear at his skin again. Never in all Nijiiro’s life had he seen Hiroji lose control so badly. Hiroji was always bright, cheerful, happy-go-lucky and just a little bit flirty. He wanted to be a girl, he crossdressed as a girl, but he was always Hiroji, and just fine with it. This wild, terrible, intense loathing of the body he had had the misfortune to be born in was...was...Nijiiro had never realized the depth of Hiroji’s hatred for himself.
   “Nijiiro,” Hiroji whispered, heartache echoing in every syllable. “Do you know what it’s like to know that you can’t let yourself love him? Maybe not Naoki, but any other him? Because you know you can’t be what he needs?”
   Jin’s face, every drop of blood draining away from it until he looked like a corpse.
   “Yes,” Nijiiro said dully. “Oh yes. I know what it’s like.”
   Almost together, both siblings drew in a shaking breath.
   “I couldn’t tell him,” Hiroji said. “I can’t tell him.”
   “Believe me, I know.”
   “You [/i]can’t tell him.”
   “I’ll die first,” Nijiiro said vehemently.
   “Nobody[/i],” Hiroji whispered, seizing Nijiiro’s arm with his bloody fingers. “You can’t tell anybody[/i].”
   “I won’t.” An insane boldness came out in Nijiiro. “And you can’t tell anybody that I’m...that I feel that way...about Jin.”
   Hiroji’s mouth fell open.
   “Jin?”[/i] he gasped. “Suzuki[/i] Jin? The Jin you hate[/i]? The Jin I beat up[/i] in third grade[/i]?!”
   “Shhh!” Nijiiro grabbed Hiroji’s hands. “Quiet!”[/i]
   “I can’t believe it!” Hiroji whispered. “That[/i] Jin?!”
   “I...” Nijiiro blushed furiously. “Yes. That[/i] Jin.”
   “Really?! But...what’s...why can’t you tell him?”
   Nijiiro looked at Hiroji’s face—a last few blood-soaked tears streaking his cheeks, his eyes so clear and sad and curious and pure—and felt tears coming to his own eyes.
   “Hiroji,” Nijiiro said brokenly, “he—everybody—thinks I’m so pure, so innocent, so untainted by the stuff other people do. He thinks I’m pure, I know[/i] he does, I can see it when I look at him, and Hiro-chan, I’m not. I think so many things that...I love[/i] Jin, I know I do, and I still...Naoki, he...Hiro-chan, I like Naoki so much, as a friend[/i], and I don’t want to do anything to hurt him any worse than he’s been hurt already, but I look at him and—”
   “Nijiiro, you’re the best person I know,” Hiroji said fiercely. “And Naoki’s so hot, you wouldn’t be normal[/i] if you didn’t—”
   “But it’s not just Naoki,” Nijiiro whispered wretchedly. “It’s anybody[/i]. It can just be somebody I’m walking past in the street—and I want them, without even knowing[/i] them at all, not knowing a thing[/i] about them except—” Nijiiro shook his head again, harder this time. “What am I doing? This is about you...Hiro-chan...”
   Hiroji hugged Nijiiro, pressing his wet cheek against the side of Nijiiro’s neck, where he used to fall asleep when he was little. “Oh, God...Nijiiro, our family is so screwed up...”
   Nijiiro managed a short, humorless laugh. “Don’t I know it.”
   “Look at the bright side,” Hiroji murmured. “When we’re all dead and damned and thrown in Hell, we’ll be able to throw the biggest literally God-damned party Hell has ever seen.”
   Nijiiro involuntarily laughed. “Shiho and Fuma locked to each other in one corner, Mom and Natsumi kicking all the cooks out of Hell’s Kitchen so Kaede-oba can make blueberry pancakes...”
   “Chihiro throwing a fit because she can’t see the stars,” Hiroji added. “I bet Satan’d cut a hole in the top of Hell just for her.”
   “Satan? Psh. Chihiro’ll scare the Hell out of him. She’ll become Satan herself and use him as a dishwasher.”
   “And you’ll be there with Jin, and it won’t matter how dirty you are, or think you are, because it’ll be HELL!”
   Nijiiro let out a sobbing laugh. “And by that time, Hiroji, you’ll be a girl. I promise. Even if I have to VG every year for the rest of my life.”
   “You really hate it, don’t you?” Hiroji asked quietly.
   Taken aback, Nijiiro quickly shook his head—but not quickly enough.
   “You do,” Hiroji said, still very quietly, and he snuggled down closer against Nijiiro. “I know you do.”
   Hiroji’s knee dug into Nijiiro’s side.
   Nijiiro jumped and yelped. Hiroji, startled, let go of Nijiiro.
   “Ni...? What...the...?”
   Before Nijiiro could move away, before he could stop him, Hiroji grabbed the hem of his older brother’s shirt and flipped it up. Nijiiro slammed it down, but as with his headshake, he was too slow. The lurid black of bruises shone dully like the backs of swarming cockroaches, for the split second before Nijiiro had it covered with fabric again.
   “What...was...that?!” Hiroji exploded.
   “Nothing!”
   “Oh yeah, and I’ve[/i] never heard that[/i] one before. That’s why you’ve been wincing so much lately! That’s why...that’s...Nijiiro, when did this happen?! We would have seen the match if it was VG!”
   “It didn’t...it’s not...”
   “Somebody didn’t...” The light of battle was gleaming in Hiroji’s eye now. “Somebody didn’t beat you up for being gay, did they?!”
   “No![/i] Not because—” And just as the words left his mouth, Nijiiro realized what he had said and could have kicked himself.
   “So somebody DID beat you up!!” Hiroji exploded. “Who was it? When was it? God, Nijiiro, why didn’t you tell[/i] us about it?! I know Mom would’ve—”
   “NO!!”[/i] Nijiiro jumped up, ready to grab his brother if he tried to leave the room. “Hiroji, you can’t tell ANYBODY!! Anybody at all! Please! They won’t want me to VG, and I have to, for all of us! I’ve gotta win this, or else Kaede-oba...Kaede-oba...”
   Nijiiro struggled against the hateful truth, and looking at him, Hiroji fell silent.
   “Kaede-oba will die if you don’t win VG, won’t she?” Hiroji said finally, in a strange voice quite unlike his own.
   Nijiiro let out his breath in a long, shaking, nodding sigh, even as his mind soundly berated him. Kaede’s fragile and breaking life was a topic not usually discussed with the younger Iis—in fact, aside from Nijiiro, the only ones who knew about it were Ashootei, Maki, Fuma, Shiho, and Shirai. Hiroji was only thirteen, too young to know that his favorite aunt was walking the knife’s edge along death, and too inundated by the disaster of his traitorous body to have to deal with such knowledge. But at the same time...
   “She’s much worse than Mom and Kaoru-oba tell us, isn’t she?” Hiroji said, still in that same, strange voice.
   “Oh yes,” Nijiiro said quietly.
   “And you have to compete for her, don’t you?”
   “Yes.”
   Hiroji paused, then remarked almost inaudibly, “She’s much worse off than either one of us, isn’t she?”
   Nijiiro let out a breath like knives in his lungs. “Yes.”
 

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