Ergon V

* * *

As expected, that day brought nothing new or encouraging in Kazuto's life. The subjects of the first period included modern history, English, mathematics, and civic education. Mastery of the English language was one of his specialties, boosted by his family roots given his great-grandfather, an American who had fought in the Second World War and decided to move to Japan, marveled at the culture of those who were once his enemies. He was also good in mathematics, although he found citizenship courses to be limited in terms of fostering political participation. Even if he also had his doubts about the objectivity of some recent historiographical texts, he was fascinated by the current topic or study: the process of independence of the Ryukyu Islands, formerly known as Okinawa Ward, just before the start of the Second Korean War.

Kazuto spent his lunch break time eating along Raisuke in his classroom, while Nozomi went down to the cafeteria with her female friends. One of the advantages of having his friend's grace was that his parents had a family ramen shop. They used to prepare an additional bento for him, although Kazuto tended to discard the garnish of vegetables in favor of meat or fish. The brief second period included health and computer classes. The latter took place in one of the two specialized laboratories the school had. Kazuto devoted half of his time there learning and the other half playing either Sudoku, Puyo Puyo (a kind of Japanese variant of Tetris) or online poker along some of his classmates. He also exchanged funny internet images with Raisuke, along with others of less appropriate content.

Normally, once regular school hours were over, Kazuto would go to the memorial hall on the bas.e.m.e.nt level, which posed as a gymnasium for club activities in the afternoon, so both he and Raisuke would conduct Kendo practice matches.

But he did not feel like it on that day.

Kazuto decided he would skip such affairs, favoring his increasingly fervent d.e.s.i.r.e to get away from everything over his fascination with martial arts. The philosophy, the discipline, the attention to detail and the passion for competition. The paths to strengthen the human spirit and satisfy that need for self-improvement. Not even that seemed to be enough for him at the time. Outside of his particular Karate training with Raisuke's father and Nozomi's practical judo lessons, wielding an inanimate object to turn it an extension of oneself had been a fascinating experience for him for a long time. His own brother was a brown belt in kenjutsu and an expert in the art of footwork, probably related to his dancing skills that helped him winning ladies in nightclubs. Kendo, after all, was a sort of derivation of the Ittō-ryū school, in particular, one of the old styles prior to the Meiji restoration that introduced the concept of full contact duels to the discipline.

But none of that would occupy his mind that afternoon.

Before leaving the facilities, Kazuto took a few minutes to enjoy the light southbound autumn breeze from the balcony on the second floor overlooking the outdoor court. He glanced at the sky, the sun getting low as the shade of the western school building hovered partially over the small cement field, surrounded by the remaining structure to the north, a kinder garden to the east and a fence to the south that faced the street. A soft hissing sound demanded his attention, coming from the bow shooting range that was placed over the court. A young woman wearing a white, short-sleeved top along with dark blue, wide-legged pleated trousers was holding a bamboo bow with her left hand, her petite body further diminished by the size of her weapon.

It was Saori Yoshimura.

She drew the string back as far as she could with the glove on her right hand as she lifted her elbow, then took a few moments to aim at her objective—until she released the arrow. Her shot was formidable; she hit the small yellow circle in the center of the target. Beside her was her twin brother Hayato performing the exact same procedure with equal success, along with many other kyūjutsu practitioners. It was then that Kazuto noticed that both brothers had, like him, a stature above the average, especially Hayato, who was the tallest student of his class. How curious.

"Don't tell me you're going to miss the team's practice just to stalk the Ice Princess?" said the familiar voice of his best friend. He sounded a little agitated.

"No, that would be your specialty," Kazuto replied, then turned to Raisuke, who looked dejected. He had already put on most of the required protective gear parts that composed the kendōgu (or Kendo equipment), with the exception of the mitten-like gloves known as kote. If he had to take a guess, he would say his friend ran out of the courtroom in a rush while looking for him. That same day, the kendo club shared activities with its judo counterpart. Before carrying out their own activities, both Kazuto and Raisuke used to sit in a row of the retractable bleachers to gaze at Nozomi as she made several students bite the dust while teaching one or two how to do so. "I'm just going to visit my brother in the hospital," he added. "Say goodbye to Nozomi for me, would you?"

"Why don't you do it yourself? You know it's not the first time you skip them and she's worried. She doesn't tell you because she's busy with her part-time job and her pre-university courses, unlike you."

Kazuto paid no attention to his words. Without doing as much as looking him in his eyes, he held onto his briefcase and headed back to the cafeteria, ready to leave his school. He was in no mood for arguments. Had he turned around to meet his friend's gaze, he would have realized Raisuke was genuinely concerned about him. He knew perfectly well his friends were not quite happy with his recent attitude toward his own life. However, he dared not to confront them about it. He preferred to keep his own affairs private to avoid unnecessary arguments while remaining locked in his own prison. For in his isolation he found the peace he so desperately needed at the time.

* * *

Long after returning home and having a snack, Kazuto decided to visit his brother. He was resting in the Keio University Hospital. It was located in the Shinanomachi district within the Shinjuku ward, and it had become the focus of media attention throughout that day. The whisper of the nightfall was upon its main entrance, the lights inside the rooms along with the diverse wards providing some clarity for the dozens of cameramen, journalists, their respective stations' vans and, of course, the usual onlookers who had nothing better to do with their lives. They were all looking forward to getting hold of the latest developments around the consequences of the previous night's chase.

Kazuto made an effort to push through the thick crowd, none of them displaying even the slightest sign of interest in his presence. Maybe if he was a celebrity, a politician, a sportsman, or a one-hit-wonder personality who had broken into the media for something banal and inconsequential—for example, running down the Shibuya Crossing in b.a.r.e skin—he'd have had the opportunity to be requested by those men and women who dedicated their lives to the world of journalism. The very idea made Kazuto shudder and laugh at the same time. Why would someone want to be in the middle of the public eye, its privacy reduced to nothingness itself while turning into a victim of the opinions of countless idiots who had no idea at all of what one's life was? After all, the young Sugiyama would never think of pursuing such a lifestyle. He had always been a calm person who would settle for little in order to avoid such trivial occurrences. At any rate, carrying out such an ill-advised act would be an anecdote worthy of sharing with friends and future generations. Or at least that's how Yoshiro would see it, whose recent life could be summarized in a series of reckless acts. How many times had he ended up on a stretcher as a result of his 'professional behavior'? Kazuto lost count of it a long time ago, but the important thing was that his brother had lived through to tell it.

As Kazuto made it to the entrance gate, he met rows of parked cars and a significant reduction of people to dodge. Once inside, he turned to the receptionist for her to keep a record of his visit and, after a polite nod plus a brief trip in elevator, he accessed the fourth floor where his brother was resting. To say that he was doing such a thing was, in a certain way, a technicality. The corridors of the ward where Yoshiro was, illuminated by lemon-colored light panels that bounced off the cream-colored walls and wood-like floors, were packed with nurses. They went in and out of rooms where those who had been injured during the chase were, their relatives either standing still or moving around in circles with some concern. Since the hospital was owned by Cytek, the company had opened the doors of its facilities to anyone who had been afflicted by the incident. Such considerate souls. To think they'd taken the trouble of denying the leaks scandal and their involvement with the Sentinel initiative at the time.

Kazuto walked to his brother's room door, coming across two police officers standing guard. He peered out the ajar door as a series of men dressed in suits were asking Yoshiro a few questions. After a few seconds, they nodded at Yoshiro amiably as if they were apologizing for the inconveniences and then left the room. As they strode past Kazuto, he could not help but notice the man who preceded them. He was bald, well along in years and had both a mustache and a padlock beard that framed a hard mouth. But what struck Kazuto the most was his severe and eerie gaze, his pale green eyes burning with purpose and commitment. What interest could such a man have with what had happened to his brother? Kazuto sensed it would be better not to know.

As he went inside the room, the youngest of the Sugiyama ran into his older brother lying in a bed in solitary, the backrest fixed at an obtuse angle. White sheets were covering his body, also connected to several tubes that provided him with serum and other nutrients he required given his delicate condition. A cast spread across his right hand and forearm, fastened to his shoulder by a sling. As expected, it was difficult for him to observe Yoshiro in that state. He looked as weak as if a simple breeze could take him away like a leaf trapped in a stream. That image contrasted with that of the high-spirited young man who was always fumbling to get ahead. The skin on his face seemed pale, enclosed by a greasy, unkempt dark hair. His amber eyes were narrowed, exhausted, accompanied by sharp eye bags beneath them. There was also a cannula sticking out from the exact place on his neck in which the surgical procedure had been performed; he would surely have to keep it there for quite some time. Kazuto rested his eyes on the leather seat in one of the corners of the room but chose to move towards the small window in front of it so that he ended up standing beside his brother.

Yoshiro worked his choppy and hoarse voice and urged himself a smile. "How's school?"

"Everyone talked about what happened last night," Kazuto replied without much enthusiasm. "I can't believe you've gone that far. We might as well not be having this conversation."

"But we are."

There he was, once again. Had he not realized what he was doing to his younger brother? Could he not understand every time Kazuto received a call from the police station or from a hospital, it might as well be the last? That was what Kazuto could not stand, the uncertainty of not knowing whether his brother would be unable to return one day, regardless of the fortune he'd enjoyed so far. One could not just tempt destiny. One day, it was going to knock on his door and collect its debt.

Kazuto shook his head, then turned his attention to the television screen located at the top of one of the corners of the room. In front of the panels full of LED lights, the bald man who minutes before had left that very same room was now answering questions from the dozens of reporters Kazuto came across as he entered the hospital. Their questions overlapped one another, as did the camera flashes and the microphones desperate to capture his words no matter how insignificant they were. At that moment, Kazuto wondered where that fancy old notion of 'silence, hospital' had gone.

"What about those men who were questioning you before?" Kazuto asked. Maybe Yoshiro knew who they were.

"Cytek," he croaked. "They asked me about the men who attacked me and his prosthesis."

"Your brother is lucky," said a female voice. Both Sugiyama brothers shifted their gaze towards a young nurse who was entering the room. She wore the typical white uniform and grabbed hold of a medical chart stock with her left arm, a stethoscope encircling her neck. "Considering the pressure he received on his neck, his trachea should have been completely destroyed." As she began taking notes in her chart, Kazuto gazed at the deep purple bruises around his brother's throat, where the prosthesis' fingers had pressed. "Unfortunately, we can't say the same about his wrist..."

Kazuto laid his eyes on the cast that covered his right wrist for a moment. "Well, at least you won't be in the field for a while."

"So it seems," his brother said, the grimace of a smile in his face turning into a wince of pain. "I'm sure they'll keep me locked in a dark room filling paperwork until I get Parkinson."

"I have already lost count of the number of times your brother has been in this hospital," said the nurse, a hint of sweetness and honest concern in her voice. "Although this time he got us all worried. Anyway, he's practically family."

A very different smile was drawn on Yoshiro's face, full of not so honorable intentions. "Something more wouldn't hurt either..."

The nurse blushed, then shook her head as if the man in front of her were hopeless. Yet, a tiny little smile spread across her face. Was it because she was happy that Yoshiro was still the same as usual or because she found his attitude amusing? "Don't get any weird ideas about it," she said bluntly, bowing her head as if reproving though Kazuto would swear her voice betrayed the expression on her face in some measure.

As she withdrew from the room, Kazuto was left stunned. His brother was relentless when it came to beautiful women. Or not so beautiful women. Or simply women. "Well, she's pretty," was all he could come up with.

"I guess," Yoshiro said in response. "At least you don't have to babysit me like when I was with the whole swimmer's shoulder thing." His brother had participated in his school's swimming team back in the day, winning multiple intercollegiate competitions. Unfortunately, he was forced to abandon a professional career by repeated injuries around that very same matter. Although most of those cases were related to poor stroking techniques, Yoshiro's case had to do with overtraining and unnecessary intensity while practicing, something one might come to expect from a person like him. Since his parents were busy with their duties, Kazuto had taken a preponderant role in his care. But while Yoshiro showed some improvements over time, he was never able to achieve competitive times again.

Kazuto chuckled at the memory as he focused his attention once again on the TV screen. He gazed at the bald man as he hurried off the journalists with the help of a few bodyguards who, however intimidating they seemed given their broad shoulders and the evident overdeveloped musculature under their suits, could not quite overshadow their employer's presence. The man avoided the tide of microphones and cameras that tried to drown him in their deepest basins thanks to the fence his bodyguards had mounted around him, then jumped to the back of a limousine eager to elude the always watchful eye of the media. He ought to be an important figure given the efforts of the reporters to get a word out of him even once the limousine slipped away from their reach. Who could he be?

Almost in forthright response to his inquiry, the news program decided at once to clear out his identity. The kanjis that prevailed over the headlines dictated the bald man was Kentaro Tsujimoto, the president of Cytek. At that moment, Kazuto could not understand how he had never taken the trouble to identify the person in charge of the most famous company in the world. He was not just an average Joe one would come across on the street due to a simple coincidence. "He's Cytek's president?" he said, still astonished at his own ignorance.

"Must be something big if he personally visits a police officer, huh?" Yoshiro said.

"You mean, about the one-handed man?" Kazuto looked back at the bruises on his brother's neck. It could not be the work of a regular commercial prosthesis; it ought to be something far more dangerous. Still, Kazuto could not put his finger on why such a busy and important man would visit his brother himself. "He could have sent another man in his place, not to raise suspicion," he assumed.

"From what I hear from some acquaintances in the department, it seems it's a serious matter." Yoshiro took a pause and cleared his throat, struggling against his scruffy voice. It seemed he was growing exhausted just by the effort of speaking. "Maybe he wanted to hear himself what happened, not the version of someone he can't fully trust."

The youngest of the Sugiyama found himself deep in thought, all of a sudden. Would all that have anything to do with the scandal of the military prototypes in which Cytek was involved? While they had insisted on drawing away any kind of credibility from those doc.u.ments, there had been strong rumors that the leaks were the work of Amateratsu, the terrorist organization that had been causing havoc in the nation in recent months. Still, what was clear for Kazuto, was that something was terribly wrong with the whole situation, from the role of the multimillion-dollar energy company to the striking and mind-boggling recovery of his brother.

As the young man kept seeking some clarity among such strange events, the female nurse set foot in the room once again. "How much longer will he stay here?" Kazuto asked her.

"One more day," she answered. "His recovery is remarkable. Given the severity of the injury, he would normally use that cannula for the rest of his life, but he'll be free of it in just a couple of hours." She spoke as if she couldn't believe her own words "It's something miraculous, really."

"There is no such thing as miracles."

Kazuto's response left everyone in the room speechless. The nurse stared at him in disbelief, thinking for sure he was an ungrateful person given his brother's good fortune. But Kazuto would not take such luck for granted. He was certain there was something far less fantastic behind it, something alarming.

Yoshiro did not dare to hide his annoyance over his younger brother's words. "Again with that negative attitude. How much longer are you going to keep acting like this? The world didn't end just because our parents died!"

"After all this, you really want to lecture me?" Kazuto questioned him. Yoshiro had little moral authority to treat him like that given his own actions.

"I'm your older brother. It's kind of my duty."

"No, it's not. Don't act like you were my father. "

"If I don't do it, nobody else will. I don't want you to waste your studies, much less your life."

It was not as if Kazuto did not know his brother had rejected that benefit to favor him, perhaps more concerned for the future of his younger brother than that of his own. "If that's why you are worried, then you don't have to. I won't throw away the scholarship you were denied."

Yoshiro clenched his fists and shook his head. "It was I who refused, who thought your future was more important than mine," he snorted and then coughed a little, his following words taking a nuance of seriousness not very common in him. "Look, I don't blame you for having what I didn't, but for wasting it. Life is too short, Kazuto. We're too young to wail about everything. We have to try to find our place in the world, whatever it is."

"That comes from someone who seems to want to kill himself every chance he gets," Kazuto grumbled sharply, failing to keep the frustration out of his voice.

"Okay, I admit I'm not the best example, but at least I try to live somehow. I'm not getting drunk until puking as I did at first," he remarked, then paused as he felt a tickle in his throat. "When you grow old, you will end up regretting not having enjoyed your youth. You have to live, Kazuto."

"You mean 'survive'." Kazuto chuckled at the words. He could not believe what he was hearing. "People struggle to get what they want in an unequal world where their life can be defined at birth regardless of their decisions. War, poverty, misery. Who wants to live in such an immutable and unfair world?"

His brother sighed in response. "Forget for a second about those shitty rationalizations of yours and stop feeling sorry for yourself!" Kazuto felt the blood freeze all over his body as his muscles tightened. His brother's words had been as powerful as they were unexpected. "Everything's not over because our parents died. You think the world is a mess? Then stop talking about it and do something for the love of god!"

The youngest of the Sugiyama felt a lump in his throat. Tears were coming to his eyes, blurring his vision. He could not understand why, but he felt what his brother had said was having some kind of effect on him. He gazed down at the floor, lost in his own thoughts. Was it possible that his vision of the world was, in fact, misled? Had he allowed the death of his parents to affect him in such a way his mind was now closed to any other possibility? He had always thought Yoshiro acted the way he did because he had been born like that. But now, the way he had raised it, it sounded as if it had been a choice he had made on his own.

He had no way of knowing, but at that moment, his brother was looking at the sky getting dark on the other side of the room's window, his eyes shimmering as if he were witnessing something mystical far beyond the celestial sphere. He did know the words that followed were directed toward him. He could also hear the upbeat tone in his voice. "All we have left is to pursue the future. It's not like it's just going to knock on our door one day, you know?"