The War of the Roses

by ebeatrice

Summary:

What is a revolution without its reactionary backlash?

Sometime after Anthy leaves Ohtori Academy, Akio discovers Utena Tenjou in her old dorm. Things only get worse from there.

Chapter 1: Prologue

A hotel porter hurries onto the piazza carrying a phone on a tray. The phone is almost comically old. It is made of brass and porcelain and its handle is an oblong thing, earpiece and mouthpiece held together by a turquoise column.

“There’s a call for you, Miss Himemiya,” says the porter, “they’re really quite insistent.”

Anthy looks up from her breakfast — an espresso and two pastries, one for her and one for Chu-Chu — and chooses to accept the call.

“You’ve found me,” she tells Akio, who waits, impatiently, on the other end of the line.

“Your attempts to mock me backfired,” he gloats. “Your missives lead me right to you.”

Anthy quickly scans the piazza for some sign of her newly estranged brother. Unsurprisingly, the only trace of his presence emanates from the phone itself, its signal originating from Ohtori Academy.

“You’re not here at all,” she says. Coward.

“A groom can't get up and disappear so near his wedding,” he retorts.

At first, his words are a shock to Anthy. But then she remembers — Kanae, a wedding in the spring. It’s mid-April already, and the world outside of Ohtori is mild and sweet, bristling at the promise of warmer days to come.

“So, this is how you’re clinging onto power,” notes Anthy.

Once, she would have held her tongue, or at the very least modulated her words. She might have said how exciting, big brother, her tone sickly-sweet, her meaning not made explicit, but there for Akio to infer. At times, he would catch her meaning quite clearly and oh, how he would rage. There were days when she would coax him on purpose, when she would draw out his anger with her syrupy words, just to prove that she could.

Then there were the days when her provocations went unanswered, ignored — just as Akio ignores her now.

“It’s going to be a beautiful wedding,” he continues, “we’re doing it here on campus. I’m told Kanae’s dress is something to behold. And her bridesmaid. She’s a lovely girl. A princess.”

Anthy raises her espresso to her lips. It’s gone cold.

“Bridesmaid?” she asks.

She can hear Akio smirking through the phone.

“You’ve guessed, haven’t you?” he asks.

“Speak plainly, Big Brother — playing coy never suited you.”

On the table, Chu-Chu has begun to play with the telephone wire, contorting himself within its many loops. Anthy, for her part, has grown stiff. She grips her espresso mug as if it were the edge of a cliff.

“I have what you’ve been looking for,” says Akio, “Utena Tenjou.”

Chapter 2: The Princes(s) in the Tower

He finds her in the haunted dorms. With Anthy gone, they have fallen back into their old state of disrepair, the bedroom the two girls shared nothing but a pile of wood, dust and cloth. Amidst the debris is Utena, curled up in a ball, spasming and feverish. She isn't conscious, nor is she sleeping or in any sort of coma. She's away from this world, overtaken by the sort of pain that blocks everything else out.

Utena, Akio realizes, has become the rose bride.

Well, well.

Gently, he picks her up — bridal style, he notes with a certain satisfaction — and holds her close to him. Like it did with Anthy, the swords’ proximity to the prince calms them. Utena stops shivering and quickly falls into a deep sleep.

Poor Anthy, thinks Akio, Utena was mine all along.

Akio acts carefully in the days that follow. He brings Utena back to the chairman's residence and tucks her into bed. He lets her sleep, and when she wakes, no matter the hour, he goes to her, holding her until the pain of the swords subsides and she falls asleep once more. In her fragile state, she's barely aware of her surroundings. He's almost certain she has no idea who it is she's embracing when she wakes, who is dimming her pain. Even breathing is difficult — she’s wonderfully vulnerable.

It takes weeks, but the day arrives when the cry of shock coming from Utena's room is not one of pain, but of disgust at her surroundings. Akio smiles. His new Rose Bride is finally awake,

Even now, Utena is weak. She may have regained consciousness, but she is in no condition to fight, let alone run away. She makes a run for the elevator, but her steps are laboured and pained. Akio catches her with ease, scooping her up like a newborn kitten.

"Let me go!" she shouts, weakly thrashing against him.

"Don’t be like that," says Akio, pressing her to him, "There — can't you feel it? The thrust of the swords jolting to a stop?”

Utena stops then, and he watches as the understanding rises to her face. For the first time since she's regained consciousness, she isn't in pain. It can be a confusing thing — one Akio intends to use to his full advantage. He loosens his grip on her, and for a moment, she doesn't move away.

Yes, thinks Akio, good girl Utena.

She places a hand on his chest.

Good.

Just like that.

In one brisk movement, Utena tears herself away from him. The convulsions immediately return. Still, she backs away from him.

"Don't touch me," she says. "Don't you ever touch me again!"

Akio smirks. Utena was never difficult with him. He played the game so that she would fall into his arms easily enough when the time came. But things are different now and he finds himself intrigued at the prospect of a challenge, the taming of a shrew.

Utena tries once again to run to the elevator, but Akio is still too fast.

"Enough," he says, "You're in no shape to leave."

He corners her. She’s pinned to the wall, trapped by Akio’s body.

"What do you want with me?" she asks, defiant, "where's Anthy? What have you done with her?"

The mention of Anthy's name causes a flicker of anger to flash across his face. Utena, never the most observant girl, somehow understands everything instantly.

"She's gone?" she asks, "Anthy left you?"

Her eyes are so large, so pure, so expressive. They are a torrent of emotions. Shock, disbelief, but most of all, triumph. It is this last emotion that pushes Akio over the edge. He strikes Utena across the face, sending her tumbling to the floor. From the ground, she clutches her cheek and looks up at him, smiling.

"Anthy left you," she says, triumphant.

In retaliation, Akio drags her to the elevator and seals her in. The swords will impose a harsher punishment than he ever could.

---

When Utena comes to, she’s no longer in the elevator, but she is still in pain. She is in her old bed. Akio is at her side, watching.

"Good, you're up," he says.

He hands her a cup of tea on a tray and a slice of cake. Next to it lies a single white rose in bloom. Utena eyes him suspiciously.

"Oh, don't be like that," he says, "it isn't poisoned."

He embraces her. Pressed against him, the pain dims, then disappears.

"There, that’s it,” he says, “hold tight. Let me comfort you. Poor, suffering girl. Poor little Rose Bride.”

Utena jerks away from his embrace and into a standing position. Shaking, she grabs the cake fork from the tray and aims it at him, her stance that of a duelist.

“Don’t call me that!”

Akio laughs. He extends his arms, bearing his chest and making himself an open target.

"Have at me,” he goads, “perhaps you'll graze my skin with such a weapon."

Utena runs towards him, fork aloft, but her body spasms and she misses, falling violently to the floor. A new, harsher wave of pain crashes over her, worse than the one that greeted her when she first came to. Standing tall, Akio looks down and mocks her.

“It’s no use,” he says, “your body is no longer your own. You are no longer your own. You belong to me.”

Panting, Utena rises from the floor, forcing herself onto her knees. She reaches for the tea tray, it’s pretty slice of cake uneaten, and grabs the white rose next to it. Already, it has begun to wilt. Paying it no mind, she uses its small thorns to piece a small hole in her pyjamas and affix to her chest.

Akio kneels so that their faces are level. He brushes away a stray lock of hair that has fallen over Utena’s face. His expression is a mix of affection and pity that makes her recoil.

“Poor, failed prince,” he says, confiscating Utena’s wilting flower, “you know as well as I do that’s not how this story goes.”

Utena tries to rise to her feet, but this is even more difficult now. Her breathing has become heavy and stilted. A mounting sense of hopelessness washes over her. What is she going to do if she can’t even walk across a room without collapsing? Akio notes her distress and wraps his arms around her. Exhausted, both physically and emotionally, she gives in and lets herself be held. She waits for more taunts, but her captor says nothing. He doesn’t need to: his very silence underscores his victory.

“Akio,” cries Utena, “how did Anthy manage all those years?”

She’s not expecting an answer, but he gives her one anyway.

“She simply grew used to the pain.”

---

Later, Utena is alone. She finds that if she lies very still, she can ignore the pain long enough to think.

She takes the swords in place of the Prince, Akio once said, that is the destiny of the Rose Bride. Earlier, he called her Rose Bride. The thought of it makes her sick. She wants to run, to escape this place, but the pain is still too great. Her body has betrayed her; it is, as Akio said, no longer hers.

She is in her old room, in her old bed. When she gathers the strength to turn her head to the side, Anthy’s old pillow is empty. Utena misses her dearly, and yet she understands that her absence means that Anthy is free. That’s something, at least.

(It’s everything).

Chapter 3: Armistice

Summary:

A routine is established. Plots are uncovered.

In the days that follow, Utena and Akio come to a truce, of sorts. A truce, because the war isn't over. Utena still means to escape her presumed fate and Akio still means to bind her to it. Still, they don't talk about it. Instead, they walk.

At first, they only walk around the residence, circling around the chairman's living room until Utena is too weak to move. Then, the length of the apartment - from bedroom to kitchen and back again. Soon, Utena doesn't need to grasp onto Akio to walk short distances without falling over in pain. It is enough to just walk next to him. More time passes, and they begin to leave the residence, taking longer and longer walks on the grounds of Ohtori Academy. The sunshine feels wonderful on her face, which has not felt it directly for far too long. It is almost restorative. Almost, but not quite.

Grudgingly, Utena has come to accept that she needs Akio, at least for now, as much as she hates it. Being an invalid is antithesis to everything she thought she was. But her body has betrayed her and so she falls back onto her athlete's instincts. She must train to learn to overcome this pain. She must practice and practice until she is good enough to walk without Akio, first for short distances, and then longer, and then past the gates of Ohtori academy, and then, one day, to Anthy.

---

Weeks go by. Utena and Akio’s stalemate remains firmly entrenched. He begins to leave her for longer and longer periods during the day, catching up on the responsibilities he let fall to the wayside when he first discovered her, huddled amongst the debris of her old dorm. Whatever else may have changed these past months, he is still acting chairman for Ohtori Academy and so he must, from time to time, play his part.

The first time he leaves her side is torture for Utena. It isn’t only the pain — though it is searing, like a thousand candle-warmed lances piercing through a thousand bulbous cysts. Akio’s absence brings with it something new: panic. He gave no indication of when he would return; of when she could expect to count on his renewed presence to dim her pain. A terrible fear grips Utena. What if he never returns? What if she never again knows relief?

Akio’s following absences aren’t much different. Alone, with little to indication of when he might return, Utena feels herself growing mad. She hates it — hates how weak she is now, how dependent. When Akio does return from his excursions, it takes all of her willpower not to run towards his embrace. Her knuckles go white from gripping the sofa so tightly. Her lip bleeds from biting. It is a herculean effort, and a pyrrhic victory; Akio laughs at her ministrations before seating himself next to her on the couch, enveloping her in arms and watching with satisfaction as her body grows calm in his embrace.

Then comes the day he announces that he will be off-campus overnight. He will be back in the morning, he promises. It will be the longest amount of time they have been separated yet. Utena balks.

“You can’t possibly go for so long,” she protests, “I need you here!”

The words are formed without thought, without cunning. They come from a place of primal fear and echo across the chairman’s residence — taunting jeers that humiliate Utena a hundred times more than all that has come before.

Akio smiles, pleased at this show of neediness. He has gained some terrain this day, and feels certain that his return tomorrow, he will yet gain more.

---

Over the course of his absences, Utena has developed a routine of sorts to manage the pain. She stretches — her arms, her legs, her whole weary body — and then forces herself to keep moving. She walks laps around the apartment. On especially good days, she runs. Moving like this, without Akio close by, is like swimming against the current. When, finally, her body can take no more of it, she collapses onto something soft and, if she’s lucky, falls into a fitful sleep.

After Akio’s departure, Utena goes through the usual motions. Today, the exercise does more than distract from the pain; it keeps her from dwelling on the shameful words she cried out hours earlier. When, finally, exhaustion overcomes her, the sun has just begun to set over Ohtori Academy. She closes her eyes and hopes that she will sleep until Akio’s return.

Sleep is a strange thing for Utena these days. It is a fugue state; a liminal place. She both is and isn’t herself when she dreams, haunted by visions both centuries old and a few months young. Sometimes, she sees Anthy, but such moments are brief and fleeting. When she wakes from her Anthy-dreams, Utena cries out, but not from the pain of the swords. When Akio asks — and he always does, he is obsessed with her dreams — she lies, greedily keeping the secret of Anthy to herself.

A flicker of Anthy, the back of her, seated at her school desk, dances through Utena’s dream tonight. When she wakes, crying out, there is no reply. Right, she remembers, Akio is not here. In the dark of the night, his absence doesn’t scare her as much as it did in broad sunlight. She tries to return to sleep, but the quiet of the residence without Akio unnerves her. She hadn’t realized how much ambient noise he made as he moved through the space. The thud of his footsteps, the whirr of the projector, the swish of opening and closing doors — how quickly these sounds have once again weaved themselves into the fabric of her life.

She rises from her bed, meaning to repeat her earlier exercises. Maybe she could eat something. Akio mentioned there being leftovers in the fridge. It’s a slow walk to the kitchen and about half way there, Utena gets distracted. In the planetarium, there is a desk she’s never seen before, sitting in front of the projector, and atop it is a squat computer monitor. Intrigued, she changes course.

The computer screen is alight in blue. An email inbox is open. The desk drawers are ajar. Within them are papers of all sorts; Akio’s analog correspondence. There is an answering machine too, plugged into an unknown source of power. It flashes red, alerting the world to its awaiting message. Utena is drawn to its light, and presses play as if in a trance.

Akio? It’s Kanae. I haven’t heard from you in some time and I’m getting worried. The wedding’s only getting closer. Please call me back when you have the chance.

Akio? It’s Kanae again. It’s been weeks. Have I done something wrong, darling?

Akio? Where are you? We’re supposed to be married in less than a month and now you’ve gone and disappeared! Are you alright? Please, please call me back. I’m begging you.

There’s a pause, and then, a new voice.

I shouldn’t have to remind you that your position at this academy is dependent on your marriage to my daughter. Whatever disappearing act, whatever game that you’re playing at — cut it out. Unless, of course, you want to be thrown out on the street.

The machine beeps, signalling the end of this series of messages. Utena turns her attention to the computer. There are five messages waiting for Akio. Five unopened emails. She notes the senders — private eyes, detectives for hire — before opening the messages and reading their contents.

Dear Sir, It is with great regret that I must report being unable to track down your missing sister. If you have any more details to share about her potential whereabouts, I could try again, but your information thus far has been of limited use. Please find my invoice attached.

Mr. Ohtori, Our detectives have been unable to track down your missing sister. Our deepest regrets. Please find our invoice attached.

Dear Mr. Ohtori, We regret that we have not been able to find your sister, or, indeed, any trace of her at all. If there is something you know that you are not sharing with us, please consider changing course. Otherwise, please see our invoice, attached to this message.

Sir, I cannot find any trace of your sister. It’s as if she does not want to be found. Please see my invoice.

The fifth message is a little different. Its sender calls themselves Morning Star Private Eye.

So this is your brilliant plan — bumbling human detectives? Oh how little power you have.

Akio’s opened messages are of less interest. More invoices, more demands for money that haven’t been met. Utena transitions to rifling through Akio’s papers. Here too she finds a surprising amount of bureaucratic dross buried within his desk drawers; contracts and credit notices, unpaid bills, letters of complaint from Academy parents. None of it is of much interest to Utena — that is, until she catches a glimpse of a red wax seal.

It’s funny — the pain lingers as Utena rifles through her captor’s things, but it's taken a backseat to her curiosity. Not so long ago, she used to do the opposite; busy her body with sports and stretching to take her mind off some inward pain. She had forgotten that trick in the past few months and feels like a fool for a moment for not considering it sooner.

She digs out the paper with red wax affixed to it. It’s an envelope, she realizes with a sinking heart. Hands trembling, she breaks the seal to reveal what’s contained within. Instructions. She only needs to glance over them to know what they are for.

Duelists will fight to win the Rose Bride.

It strikes Utena that Akio means her. He’s told her so before, called her by that title once or twice. It’s why he stays so close, and seeks to help her regain her strength. She knows this, and yet there is something about these many envelopes — because there are suddenly dozens of them, all perfectly sealed and lining the bottom of his desk — that makes the whole thing feel more real, more pressing. Akio wants to start the whole twisted process over again and now he means to make her, Utena, its central prize.

---

When Akio returns at mid-morning, Utena has abandoned her childish attempts to resist him and is instead waiting for him in the lobby. As the elevator doors ding! open, she trudges determinedly towards him. She buries herself in his chest, though the effect of her willful submission is less pleasing than he’d imagined. She is less the grateful subject, and more so the recalcitrant child, forced to apologize before being allowed to go out and play.

After a minute or so in his arms, Utena’s tense limbs begin to loosen and her breath stops hitching. There is a sudden rustle of paper. She places a crushed envelope in his hands; its wax seal is broken, its letter unfolded, read and then forced back into place.

“I can’t believe it,” she says, “I can’t believe you’d do this all over again!”

Akio glances over the contents of the letter and laughs.

“These old things,” he says dismissively.

Utena jerks away from him suddenly, surprised.

“Old?” she echoes.

Yes, old. Akio has rewritten the rules of the Rose Crest hundreds of times. They have changed slightly, over the centuries, but their core — a series of duels meant to shape the sword of a truly noble prince — has remained the same. He could tell Utena that now, and watch her eyes water at the indignity of it all; the cruel, manipulative process being repeated through time, but he decides against it. They are living in a new world now. It is time to focus on the future.

“I’m changing things up a little,” he declares. “After all,” he continues, roping his arm around Utena’s small frame and drawing her back towards him, “we have a new Rose Bride.”

She struggles against his grip for a moment, resisting not only her body’s reaction to him, but Akio himself — and failing.

“Oh, Utena,” says Akio, “I have such plans for you.”

Chapter 4: The Bridesmaid

Summary:

Preparations for Akio and Kanae's wedding ramp up.

Notes:

Content Warning for implied SA at the end of the chapter. If you want to skip this bit, the format changes from prose to a script in the last scene.

Evenings in the chairman’s residence have, over the weeks, begun to fall into a similar rhythm. Some might even call it a routine. It goes like this:

Early in the evenings, near five or six, Akio returns from another day of wedding planning. Utena continues to make a fuss at his arrival, waiting for him on the couch instead of greeting him at the door. When he’s feeling playful, Akio will make her wait there for almost half an hour, imagining any number of tasks that need immediate attention. His goal, in doing this, is to elicit sound from Utena — a whimper, a whine, a beg.

He settles in for the evening by finally granting Utena some relief, wrapping his body around her until she declares herself strong enough to break from his embrace. He’s noticed that she’s trying to wean herself off of his comfort, detaching herself from him before her body’s fully calmed. She spends those evenings wincing and fighting off spasms. She’s quiet at this point in the evening, having grown used to the silence of the residence without him during the day.

Dinner follows. Utena cooks, having grown tired of Akio’s limited repertoire as she’s grown stronger these past weeks. He wondered at first if she would attempt to poison his food — it’s the sort thing Anthy might have imparted to her — but he has yet to fall into convulsions or break out into hives following dinner, and so has come to disregard his initial concern. He did experience a bout of nausea after eating some bad fish, but then, so did Utena.

She’s chattier during meals. While she’s hardly regained the cheery countenance and wide-eyed innocence that made her such an enchanting duelist, she’s given up on what Akio assumes was a short-lived vow of silence. She asks about his day and then rolls her eyes at his reports. There’s something charming in this new affect of hers — it’s so very adolescent. Utena regards him with a newfound cynicism that plays at being world-weary, but that lacks the life experience (years, decades, centuries) to back it up. If anything, her raw bitterness only highlights how young and new to the world still is.

Dinner is followed by dishes and lunch prep for the next day. It isn’t as though Utena will need a boxed lunch — she will be, as she has been these past months, largely confined to the residence — but it's a habit of hers. She lingers in the kitchen after that, sometimes fixing herself a cup of tea, and always, always, resisting.

By the end of the night, the pain Utena was able to chase away at the start of the evening has returned. Akio’s mere presence in the residence is no longer enough to dispel the anger of the swords — they demand proximity to the prince. He makes himself available, sitting nimbly on the white couch. Utena knows this, and can see him from the kitchen, but she makes a show of staying away. She walks the length of the residence. She fetches an item from her bedroom. She walks the length of the residence again. Nightly, she struggles, and nightly, she gives in.

She’s curled up against him now; she sits with her feet on the couch, her head resting against his chest, his arm around her shoulders. It’s a lovely picture; domestic. A prince and his princess after a long day of ruling the castle.

---

Akio has news. Kanae has agreed that Utena should act as her bridesmaid in their upcoming wedding.

“You’re really serious about this?” asks Utena, extracting herself from him slightly. It is evening and she has once again given into her mangled body’s demands. “You’re really going to get married?”

Akio chuckles.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Utena can think of any number of answers. The one that springs to the surface is the one that condemns her as well.

“We,” she begins, “that is to say — you’re not really the monogamous type.”

She can’t for the life of her understand why her every word comes out stilted and subtle. She’s no longer some love-struck girl trying to please Akio, so why can’t she say things as they are? Why do even her words fall into the old patterns of habit?

“Kanae won’t mind,” replies Akio assuredly, adding, “or do you still believe that husbands and wives are faithful to one another?”

It’s an upsetting question, one to which there is no right answer. If Utena answers in the affirmative, she’s a silly child, an idealistic prince who still believes in fairy tales — and look where that got her. If she agrees with Akio that marriages are never true, that no one ever loves fully, she’s giving up something else, a part of her, nebulous and vulnerable. She keeps quiet.

“There will be a dress fitting in a few days,” says Akio, a smug smile on his lips. It’s clear he considers himself the victor of their latest skirmish. “I’ll go with you, of course, so you can keep your strength up.”

“It sounds like you’re trying to keep me on a tight leash,” says Utena.

It’s Akio’s turn to quiet. Utena’s come from behind to even out their nightly tally.

---

Dress fittings. Akio’s been banished from the room so that the assembled women and girls might admire Kanae’s wedding gown. Utena winced when she caught her first glimpse of it; a ballgown, white and frothy. She was anticipating something familiar — the dress of the Rose Bride. But when she gets a second look, she sees it isn’t that all. The neckline is different, the material too. Kanae isn’t playing pretend: the dress is real. Her marriage will be too.

Utena’s own dress is pink and made of satin. It’s held together by pins that compensate for the too-much fabric on her slight frame. Perhaps the dress was once meant for someone bigger, someone older; she hasn’t found it in her to ask. Still, this dress, much like Kanae’s, isn’t some handmaiden’s costume. It’s a real bridesmaid’s dress — an artifact of the adult world.

The assembled party — the shop girls, Kanae’s mother and even Utena — coo over the bride-to-be in her mound of a dress, declaring her the prettiest girl in the world. Kanae laps up their praise greedily, anxious to enjoy the rituals of a wedding that nearly didn’t happen. The shop girl takes a few final notes about measurements, while Kanae’s mother declares that she will inform Akio that all is moving along swimmingly, leaving bride and bridesmaid alone in the fitting room.

Kanae is watching her. No, she’s watching her dress; how it moves, how it captures the light. How will it compliment her when she follows it down the aisle, she wonders. How will it show up in her wedding pictures? She’s looking past Utena, utterly preoccupied with the event that will very shortly begin and define her adult life. She hardly hears the other girl call her name.

“Kanae!” snaps Utena, stepping closer, “I need to tell you something. About Akio.”

The mention of her fiance’s name manages to grab Kanae’s attention. She looks Utena straight on and regards her critically, prickly and defensive.

“What could you possibly have to say about him?” she demands.

Utena hesitates. There is so much she could say, so much she needs to warn Kanae about. She’s unsure where to even begin.

“Akio is…”

Evil. Manipulative. Older than he seems. Not as human as he seems. He’s a devil. He’s a man who wouldn’t even try to save his younger sister from her plight.

“That is to say, he…”

Tricked me. Used me. Forced me to duel against the other students here. Made me lose sight of what it was I really wanted. Made me feel capable of hating Anthy, even if it was only for a moment.

“We…” she hesitates, “we betrayed you. Months ago. We kissed in his car.”

Kanae’s slap, when it lands, is surprisingly well-practiced. She pants as Utena reaches for her injured face, her voluminous white dress rising and falling with her haggard breath. Her hand hovers in the air between them, bride and bridesmaid, fiancee and homewrecker, and lingers there — a threat.

“Don’t you lie about him,” she castigates Utena. “Do you think I haven’t noticed the way you cling to him? How dare you! How dare you try to come in between me and my Akio!”

The shock of Kanae’s response renders Utena momentarily mute. How could Kanae think such a thing? Utena means to protect her, to raise the alarm about who her groom really is.

“I’m not lying!” she insists.

Kanae has no interest in listening. Her eyes have glazed over and she’s once again looking past Utena, calling for the shop girl so that they might both be freed from their gowns.

---

INT. CHAIRMAN’S RESIDENCE (COUCH) — EVENING.

AKIO: I had an interesting conversation with Kanae over dinner.

UTENA: Oh, that's where you were?

AKIO: Did you miss me?

UTENA: I didn’t say that.

AKIO: Kanae was worried that you would. Miss me, I mean. She thinks you’re jealous of her.

UTENA: [snorts]. Why would she ever think that?

AKIO: It’s because of something you said to her when you were trying on your dresses, I think.

UTENA: Oh, that. I thought she wouldn’t want to talk about it anymore. She hardly listened to me in the first place. It was like I wasn’t even there.

AKIO: [laughs]. You’re still so naive. Did you really believe that telling the truth would bring a halt to all of this? The adult world doesn’t run on such fairytale logic.

UTENA: What would you know about that? [beat]. Hey! You didn’t have to move so far away.

AKIO: Why did you do it, Utena? Still trying to play the prince? I imagine it’s hard to save others when you can’t even save yourself.

UTENA: I wasn’t trying… I didn’t even share the worst of it. I just thought it was unfair, Kanae going into all that, not knowing.

AKIO: She was happy not knowing. Most people are. You were happy to, before you knew.

UTENA: No I wasn't. Not really. Not with you.

AKIO: You’re lying. I’ll show you. Come here.

UTENA: What?

AKIO: Come here.

END SCENE

Chapter 5: A Stubborn Curse

Summary:

Anthy returns

At the gates of Ohtori Academy, Anthy hesitates.

In the distance, she sees two students approach. It is late in the day and the sun casts a dark orange glow over the walled world before Anthy. She cannot quite make out the girls’ faces, but she recognizes a voice.

“It’ll be fine, Satsuki,” insists Wakaba Shinohara, “I’ve left campus at night plenty of times without getting in trouble.”

“That isn’t the point,” retorts an unknown voice — Satsuki, Anthy presumes, “it’s against the rules to leave campus after dark.”

“No one pays any attention to those rules,” says Wakaba, “they don’t even care.”

It’s an astute observation, and it coaxes an involuntary chuckle on Anthy’s part, revealing her to the schoolgirls, who startle at the sight of a stranger by the gates. Once, Anthy donned their white and turquoise uniform, allowing her to traverse the student body with ease, but now she wears clothes of her choosing, marking her as an outsider.

“I’m sorry miss,” says Satsuki, “but visitors aren’t allowed on campus after dark.”

“It’s quite alright,” says Anthy, taking in Wakaba’s rule-abiding friend. She’s tall, with black hair, grey eyes and a lanky countenance. “The chairman’s expecting me.”

This last utterance brings forth gasps from both girls. Briefly, Anthy wonders if Wakaba remembers meeting her brother. The girl had something of a benign crush on him a while back, much to Utena’s chagrin. She doubts it though — her own magic will have seen to that.

“You must be here for the wedding,” exclaims Satsuki, suddenly ready to overlook the rules. “You’ve arrived early! Guests are only slated to arrive tomorrow morning.”

This does not seem to bother Satsuki much, who blathers on about the wedding preparations. It is to be the most romantic ceremony. And the dress — Satuski has caught a glimpse of it, and it is simply divine! As she talks, Anthy notes a yellow armband affixed to her uniform’s puffed sleeve. Welcome Committee it reads in blocky lettering.

Wakaba, meanwhile, tries to slip away unnoticed, eager to complete her off-campus errand. To her misfortune, she is clumsy in her attempt, paying more attention to her friend’s distracted gaze than her footing. She trips, flailing wildly, and falls flat on her behind.

“I told you it was a bad idea to leave campus at night,” chides Satsuki, surly and triumphant. Then, catching sight of Anthy’s suitcase, she adds, “why don’t make yourself useful and carry our guest’s things instead of scurrying off to the grocery store?”

Anthy notes Satsuki’s use of our, and stores it away for later consideration. In the interim, she braces for a classic Wakaba Shinohara overreaction. In this, she is oddly disappointed. The girl lets out an aggravated huff and then unceremoniously takes the bag from Anthy’s hand.

“You’re lucky I like you so much,” she tells Satsuki, in a tone that loudly suggests the opposite. Turning to Anthy, she says, “I guess you’re staying in the tower?”

Anthy shakes her head.

“The old Eastern dormitory,” she says, “do you know it?”

Wakaba nods and the trio sets off. It is a silent march, as Wakaba fumes, Satsuki preens and Anthy takes the strange scene in. It isn’t long before they find themselves at the foot of Anthy’s chosen lodgings.

“Thank you,” she says, retrieving her bag, her fingers brushing against Wakaba’s as she reaches for the handle, “I can manage from here.”

The girls depart without much fuss, though tension lingers between them. Watching them go, Anthy can’t help but feel a little sorry for Wakaba. Her pity isn’t born of friendship, she thinks. Though they once spent plenty of time together, Wakaba was always Utena’s friend, never hers.

Still, it is a terrible thing to fall so deeply under another person’s influence. Perhaps it isn’t pity that Anthy feels. Perhaps it is a pang of guilt at having not even tried to help.

---

When she left Ohtori Academy, Anthy took her magic with her. The small spells she once cast across the campus are gone now. Though it is dark, the burnt out street lamps no longer light at her coaxing. Though it was once her prison and her home, the door to the chairman’s tower is locked.

She rings the doorbell.

The answer is almost instantaneous. Akio is expecting her. No doubt he’s remained close to the residence these past nights, anxiously awaiting Anthy’s arrival. His wedding will take place the day after tomorrow. Though she does not yet know what her brother is planning, Anthy feels confident in assuming she is to play a role in his marital machinations.

The elevator hurries her up to the penthouse. The door opens and there is Akio, arms crossed and expectant. A vase of pink roses sits mockingly on the table. They’re store bought.

“Welcome home, Anthy.”

Akio has poured himself a glass of brandy. Next to it rests an empty tumbler — an invitation to sit and drink. When she was still the Rose Bride, Anthy tasted alcohol very seldom. It was a rare treat that her brother would scarce permit.

“Where is she?”

The slightest flash of consternation passes over Akio’s brow. It’s subtle, and likely to be missed by most, but Anthy spots it immediately.

“It isn’t a pretty sight.”

Anthy bites her tongue. It’s an old habit, hard to break. 

“I’m hardly expecting rainbows.”

Akio says nothing for a long moment, taking her in anew. Faintly, Anthy wonders if it is her sarcasm that’s startled him, or her abject lack of deference. Then, he cocks his head to his right and sets off without another word.

---

In the bedroom they once shared, Utena sleeps roughly. She is a tightly wound ball of a girl, curled up so tautly that she has made herself small, taking up only half her bed. Her brow is creased; troubled.

“She’s dreaming,” says Akio, “she has the most vivid dreams.”

“I can’t imagine she’d share them with you,” retorts Anthy, relieved, in a way, by his taunt, and the momentary distraction it provides.

“Oh, but she does,” purrs Akio, “we’ve become close, Utena and I.”

He saunters ever closer to the bed, confident and cocky. At its head, he squats so that he and the sleeping girl are level. He places a steady hand on her shoulder. Anthy thinks he does this to rile her up, but his touch seems to soothe Utena. Her twitching slows and then stops. After a minute or so, her tense sleeping body grows languid and lax.

“The swords long for their prince,” says Akio.

When he first made contact, Anthy surmised that Akio alone was incapable of binding Utena to his waning power. Not Utena as Anthy last saw her — clear-eyed, determined and brave. She suspected then that the swords of hatred, her age-long curse, were now players in the drama her brother vaunted. She thought herself ready to see the toll of their handiwork. She was wrong.

“Let her go,” she demands.

Akio heeds her command, theatrically removing his hand. As for the swords, if they hear her, they ignore her entirely. Anthy rushes to Utena’s bedside. At first, she only looks. Utena breathes steadily, her stomach rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. The relief Akio’s touch brought her has yet to fade. Her face is scrunched up and sour. The pain may be lessened, but the nightmares remain.

Utena stirs and turns in her sleep. A stray hair gets caught and clings to her brow. Anthy extends a hand to remove it, but her action is repelled. She tries again, and again, her touch is met by a static shock, repulsed. Anthy turns to her brother, trembling.

“Is this your doing?” she demands — a sharp, stern whisper.

But Akio is as surprised as she is. So much so that he makes no effort to hide it from Anthy. Neither his shock, nor his glee.

Hatred, white hot and visceral, courses through Anthy. It’s not directed at Akio, though it has been in the past. No, tonight her hate is aimed squarely at the many-bladed entity who once taught her what true hate was. If she could, she would set the swords aflame, and have them burn for eternity. How pathetic they are, clinging to their false prince.

It’s been a long time since Anthy has hated the swords so. For years, they were simply part of her curse; an abstract concept that barely needed mention when it came time for her to parse out her loathing — not in the face of yet another impetuous teenage duelist, or Akio at his worst. She learnt to block them out eventually, using small scraps of magic to ward away the pain. It was an imperfect solution, and it never lasted long.

Breaking a curse is a laborious endeavor.

Her memory is a reminder that there is something Anthy can do, even in the face of this stubborn curse. She reaches out to Utena again, letting her hand hover just above the point where it will be repulsed. She closes her eyes, recalls old words that she doesn’t speak aloud, and watches as a shimmer only she can see settles over the girl.

“What have you done?” asks Akio, sensing a shift in the air.

“I’ve lessened her pain,” says Anthy.

“You can do that?”

“Did you believe I spent all those years suffering without relief, Big Brother?” she asks.

Anthy isn’t sure what prompts it — the reveal of a long-kept secret, or the mocking use of a once-prized title — but upon hearing her words, Akio loses all pretense of civility. His face grows hard and he reaches for Anthy’s wrist. She evades his grasp and he growls in frustration. There is a half-drunk glass of water by Utena’s bedside. Akio grabs it and raises it high. He aims for Anthy —

and throws it at the wall.

“Witch,” he swears. The word is dripping with contempt.

The glass has shattered. It sits in a thousand sharp pieces across the bedroom floor. Never one to clean up his messes, Akio retreats from the room. On his way out, he storms past Anthy without the slightest glance.

Anthy lets out a weary sigh. What was left of Utena’s water has pooled into a puddle on the floor. She considers leaving the mess as it is — let Akio face even the slightest of consequences for once — but then Utena stirs in bed and Anthy has magicked away every last shard of glass. 

Chapter 6: The Prisoner of Zenda

Summary:

Wakaba Shinohara inserts herself into the narrative!

When she was still in middle school, the window in Wakaba’s classroom looked out onto one of Ohtori Academy’s many interior courtyards. Now that she has moved onto high school, the view from her desk is of the school’s grandiose entrance. When her lessons grow dull, Wakaba’s eye is drawn to the imposing gates and all that lies beyond.

As noon creeps up on the classroom, Wakaba’s tolerance for the intricacies of cellular biology begins to dwindle. She turns to look outside. The curb by the school gates is usually empty, but today it is populated by a fleet of black cars and a platoon of suitcase carrying adults. Wedding guests, Wakaba figures, thinking back to the strange girl she and Satsuki encountered last night.

Her fingers haven’t stopped tingling since the encounter. They only brushed against the other girl’s hand for a fraction of a second, but that was enough for something to pass between them. Wakaba can’t explain it, really. She only knows that her fingers are tingling and that she’s been nursing a headache ever since.

Another car pulls up to the curb. Wakaba watches as an older student wearing a yellow arm band rushes to open the car door. Two figures emerge — young men dressed in crisp white shirts and neatly pleated trousers. The trousers are dark red and forest green, echoes of both men’s brilliantly coloured hair. Dimly, Wakaba recognizes the red head as the recently-expelled ex-student council president and her mouth curls in dislike. Next to him is the former vice president, also expelled. He has luscious green locks and a face Wakaba can’t believe she ever forgot. Saionji.

---

When the lunch bell rings, Wakaba runs from her desk to the school gates. The flow of black cars has come to an end, but their passengers remain, milling about. To her surprise, not only does Wakaba recognize Saionji among the crowd, but her best friend (her new one), Satsuki.

“What are you doing here?” they ask each, night-instantaneously.

Satsuki answers first.

“Welcome committee business,” she says, proudly brandishing a yellow arm band of her own. “The chairman’s asked us to greet his wedding guests.”

The mention of Ohtori’s school chairman brings with it a pang of jealousy. At the start of the school year, only a few weeks past, Akio Ohtori attended the high school entrance ceremony and recognized Wakaba, referring to her by name. Everyone thought it meant something — surely, she was a shoo-in for the new student council he was rumoured to be inaugurating — but the moment passed and nothing came of it. A while later, Satsuki was invited to join the welcome committee, as was another friend of Wakaba’s, Tatsuya. The way Satsuki tells it, if they help out with a few pre-wedding tasks well enough, they will be the ones to sit on the new council.

“Can’t the chairman greet the guests himself?” she asks, drawing her friend’s ire.

“He’s a busy man, Wakaba.” Satsuki’s eyes narrow. “You shouldn’t be here. Guests and greeters only.”

Wakaba crinkles her nose to keep from sticking her tongue out like a child. Satsuki used to be fun and easy-going, but she’s become something of a snob since almost ascending to the student council.

“There’s no need to be mean,” she snaps, but her retort goes ignored as Satsuki turns her attention to an approaching male guest.

“Excuse me,” says Saionji, “but are you… you are, Shinohara!”

His attention stuns both girls, who set aside their squabble to stare at each other in shock. Where earlier, Satsuki seemed annoyed by her friend’s presence at the curb, she is now chuffed by Wakaba’s proximity to a glamorous wedding guest.

“I… I’m surprised you remember me,” says Wakaba, “I wasn’t sure you would.”

Her meaning is two-fold, though she doubts anyone notices. It isn’t simply that she thought herself forgettable, though that certainly plays a part. It is also that until this morning, Wakaba herself had forgotten something of Saionji — her still-lingering crush on him, the weeks she let him stay in her apartment…

“Memory’s a tricky thing around here,” says Saionji, without elaborating.

“Are you here for the wedding?” asks Wakaba.

Saionji grimaces.

“Unfortunately,” he says, “I don’t know what the chairman’s playing at — expelling us and then inviting us back for his nuptials.”

“Us?” asks Satsuki.

Saionji gestures to his fellow guest, the redhead Wakaba saw earlier. She recognizes him now as Touga Kiryuu. The simmering dislike she felt for him from afar returns, curdling in her stomach.

As if on cue, Touga approaches their small party, a charming smile painted onto his face.

“There you are,” he says to Saionji, “I was just talking to Takatsuki. They’re just about ready to show us to our lodgings.”

Hearing this, Satuski lets out a panicked eep! and runs off to join the other quasi-student council members, leaving Wakaba alone with the two older boys. Touga looks at her then, not as a face in the crowd, but as someone he recognizes.

“You’re *****’s little friend, aren’t you?”

The name he uses sounds fuzzy in Wakaba’s ear, like television static. She struggles to answer his question, rendered mute by her strange incomprehension.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be shy.”

“Leave her be, Touga,” says Saionji, “she has nothing to do with any of this.”

Nearby, Satsuki and the other welcome committee members wave the wedding guests over. Touga takes his leave with a curt nod, while Saionji lingers for a fraction of a second, looking for a moment as though he may have something more to say. If he does, he decides against it, hurrying to his friend’s side.

All but forgotten by the academy gates, Wakaba watches them go, catching stray pieces of their conversation. Most of it means nothing to her — mindless chatter among idle friends — but just as she turns to go, she overhears two shocking words.

These two words, they’re a name: Anthy Himemiya.

---

Wakaba spends the rest of the day buzzing, overtaken by a furious haze. She hardly hears her teacher drone on throughout the afternoon, and she avoids her classmates when she can. Satsuki returns from her duties and proposes they cook dinner together, looking to make amends for their spat, but Wakaba turns her down.

The truth of it is, Wakaba isn’t really sure what’s gotten her so worked up. Clues, small pieces of the answer, have come to her throughout the latter half of the day, flashing through her mind at sudden, momentary clarity.

A large and dubious boxed lunch.

Bowls of shaved ice.

A cut-up boy’s uniform.

A drive by the seashore.

Flashes of a red dress.

By the time night has fallen, Wakaba’s remembered enough about Anthy Himemiya to seek out the girl she met at the school gates yesterday, knowing that they are one in the same. The lights burn bright on the second floor of the crumbling Eastern dorm, just as Wakaba somehow knew they would. She follows their lure to a familiar room, blood rushing and heart pounding.

Anthy sits on the floor, her long hair gathered into a loose ponytail, and her expression sour. Splayed out before her are a handful of books, spines cracked open and written in a language Wakaba does not recognize. To her side are even more books, closed for now, and atop which sits a small purple monkey, doodling circles in pencil on a piece of scrap paper.

“You can tell my brother I won’t be attending any of his pre-wedding festivities,” Anthy says dismissively, her eyes trained on her tomes.

“I’m not here about that,” Wakaba retorts.

Anthy’s gaze flashes upwards.

“Oh, it’s you,” she says, without interest.

Her cool disinterest ignites an indignant passion within Wakaba.

“What’s going on?” she demands, “why do I — why am I so angry at you?”

It’s a strange question, but then again, it has been a strange day. Wakaba has been hounded by memories filled with holes, echoes of emotions that make no sense robbed of their context. It isn’t just Anthy. Why does the thought of Touga Kiryuu fill her with disgust? And why, too, does the sight of Saionji carry its own undertone of rage?

At first, Anthy just shrugs, but if this action is meant to be a dismissal, then it is one that Wakaba refuses to acknowledge. Eventually noting that the other girl won’t budge, Anthy lets out a beleaguered sigh and rises to her knees. Half-crawling, she traverses the room and opens a small drawer, fishing from it a small wooden object that she then presents to Wakaba. It is a hair clip, carved to resemble a leaf.

It all comes rushing back to Wakaba then, the role Anthy played in her not quite romantic drama. Anthy the rival. Anthy the other woman. Wakaba had been the one to shelter Saionji the first time he was expelled, but even then, all he could think of was her — Anthy, Anthy, Anthy.

Jealousy, scorching and noxious, consumes Wakaba. Her hands tremble, itching for a sword. She held one, once, and drew it against the girl before her. No — not directly. Anthy had a champion. Another one of Wakaba’s beloveds seduced by her witch’s spell.

“Utena.” Wakaba whispers the word (reverently — an anti-curse, a prayer). Anthy hears it anyways.

“So you’ve remembered,” she says.

“Where is she?” demands Wakaba, “she just… disappeared one day. Nobody knew where she went. And then…” And then I forgot. “What happened to her? Where is Utena?”

Anthy rises to her feet and returns to her books. She bends from the waist and plucks one from her pile, gently, so as not to disturb her pet monkey (Chu-Chu!). Erect again, she hands Wakaba the volume. She can read this one, its title is in Japanese. The Prisoner of Zenda.

“I have no memory of packing this book,” says Anthy, “but when I sorted through my things earlier this evening, there it was, mocking me.”

Wakaba blinks at her, uncertain. She thinks back to carrying Anthy’s bag last night. It wasn’t that heavy.

“Do you know the story?” continues Anthy. Wakaba shakes her head. “Well — I haven’t got the patience to explain it to you now. The short of it is, the world is playing a cruel joke on me.”

“What does any of that have to do with Utena?”

“The Prisoner of Zenda is held captive by his brother,” says Anthy, “and Utena is currently being held prisoner by mine.”

Chapter 7: Dreamers of the Golden Dream

Summary:

A flashback. Anthy and Utena reunite.

Utena often dreams of weddings these days. Not Kanae’s — she is haunted enough by its looming spectre in her waking hours. These are strangers’ weddings, featuring brides of all kinds. Some are simple affairs, simpler than the ceremony she herself is to partake in soon, while others are extravagant productions, almost decadent in scope. Always, in these dreams, there is a man watching on, satisfied with a job well done.

Scenes from the latest in this series of dream-weddings dance across her eyelids as Utena rubs them open. It is dark in her room, and quiet. She turns in bed, shifting from her back to her side and discovers Anthy sitting crossed legged upon the floor, watching her.

“Is this another dream?”

Anthy shakes her head.

“No, Utena. It isn’t.”

Her voice sounds real enough. In her dreams, Anthy’s voice is always foggy.

“Are you sure? Because you’ve never called me just Utena before.”

She rolls up the sleeve of her nightgown and extends her arm, exposing her flesh.

“Here, pinch me. Just to check.”

A pained smile crosses Anthy’s lips.

“It’s better if I don’t,” she says, adding, “you’ll just have to trust that I’m real.”

At this point, Utena has stopped doubting Anthy’s presence. The Anthy in her dreams never lingers this long. Still, it is strange to see her here again; strange to face her after their last encounter. She forces herself upright, anticipating the usual pain that comes with waking, but the swords hold off. Surprised, she tests her luck again and rises from bed, crouching to join Anthy on the floor. A part of her wants to lean on her suddenly returned friend, or to at least grab her hand, but she remembers Anthy’s reluctance to pinch her and hesitates. Instead, she simply sits next to her, cross-legged too, and it is nice in its own way, familiar. They used to sit like this on the campus grounds to eat their lunch.

“What are you doing here?” she asks Anthy, adding, in a whisper, “does Akio know?”

There is a trepidation in her voice that wasn’t there before. Utena was never wary of Akio, not openly at least. That she should sit here now, listening for his footsteps, is enraging. If Anthy weren’t worried that killing her brother would somehow doom her beloved in the process, she would dig up a rusty kitchen knife (she still knows where they’re kept) and slit his slender throat.

In the moment, she reassures Utena.

“It’s alright,” says Anthy, “he knows.”

Her stomach churns to see Utena’s shoulders loosen and relax.

“Then I guess you must be here for the wedding.”

For a moment, Anthy considers saying yes. It’s an old instinct — to obfuscate, to use other’s assumptions against them. She deployed the tactic liberally when she was still the Rose Bride, earning her betrothed’s love through pseudo-compliance. But Anthy hasn’t returned to Ohtori to play old games, and when she sought out Utena, it was with the intention of living truthfully. She will not let circumstances deter her from that goal. She cannot.

“I came here to rescue you.”

Anthy isn’t sure how she expected Utena to react to her words, but it isn’t this: a weary sigh, a curled up fist.

“And here I thought I was trying to rescue myself,” says Utena.

She forces a little laugh for Anthy’s sake. It doesn’t work. Utena was never particularly skilled at lying and their brief time apart has not changed that. She wears her anger and frustration plainly, prompting Anthy to momentarily forget their circumstances and reach out to Utena. Disregarding her earlier caution, she attempts to clutch the other girl’s hand…only for her touch to be forcefully rebuffed.

“I guess that’s why you wouldn’t pinch me,” says Utena.

Her voice hitches, and she lets out a plaintive sob.

“Forgive me, Anthy,” she says, “I haven’t cried since it happened — I mean, since I woke up like this. But this is too much.”

Utena buries her face in the crook of her elbow in an attempt to push back her tears, but they keep on falling, leaving damp trails along her cheeks. She was never much of a crier, but what else can she do faced with a body that has betrayed her so completely? It isn’t simply that she's trapped within Akio’s tower, but that it is something within her that keeps her there. And now that same thing, that same curse, seeks to keep her from Anthy. It’s horrible. It’s so very unfair.

Next to her, Anthy stays put, hiding her treacherous hands beneath her own body. She yearns to offer comfort, but the sweet nothing words she thinks to say taste like ash upon her tongue. She has already used what magic she has on offer to ease Utena’s sufferings. Bereft of any other options, she starts to sing.

Her melody is quiet at first, barely audible to even herself. It takes a while for her to remember the tune; it belongs to a lullaby in a language Anthy hasn’t spoken in centuries. Long ago, she used to sing this song to Akio (and he to her). Slowly, her tune grows stronger. Utena perks up slightly, and dabs away her latest tears. She listens to Anthy’s song, and though she is off-key at times, it remains the loveliest sound Utena has ever heard.

---

Next day, Anthy scours the residence for her old books. They’re holed away here and there, hidden behind wall panels and fading bits of magic. Utena follows her on this hunt, volunteering to carry a growing pile of spellbooks and grimoires. She is stronger today; Anthy’s magic has yet to dim.

In the bedroom again, surrounded by their pile of books, Utena guesses at the cause of her pain relief. On her lap is a book of spells, centuries old, and open to a random page. The text itself is printed in a foreign language, but in the margins are Anthy’s tidy notes. Less salt, she’s written, and mint, two leaves. They remind Utena of a chef, perfecting her recipes.

“I never knew you had all these,” she notes.

What she means to say is more complicated. I never noticed this side of you. Wait, no — that’s not quite true. I noticed a little bit, but I didn’t dare to face it.

“I gave up on them a long time ago,” says Anthy, “long before I met you.”

She’s obfuscating in her own way, glossing over tragedies big and small that pushed to hide her books away. Anthy never really needed instruction in matters of the near-divine, but early in her tenure as the Rose Bride, she began amassing tomes. Perhaps another witch would know of magic strong enough to break man’s bitter curse. For a time, it was a shared project between her and Akio, until finally their failures piled up and he came to prefer her in her wretched state.

He is out now, putting the final touches on his preparations for tomorrow’s wedding. Earlier this morning, Anthy worried that he would come between her and Utena, and so she kept a vigil as the other girl slumbered on, sleeping soundly for the first time in months. To her surprise, he left them quite alone, seemingly satisfied with having both girls so close at hand.

It’s nearing late afternoon now, and Utena’s begun to fidget. She puts her open book aside and begins to stretch her legs. She bites her lip. There is an idea forming in her mind and she is bad at hiding it.

“Anthy,” she says, “this spell you have going, when it wears off… Do you think you could do it again?”

“Yes,” answers Anthy without hesitation.

“And it wouldn’t hurt you or anything? It wouldn’t drain you to keep doing this?”

“I don’t think so.”

Utena lets out a contemplative hum. She rises from her leg stretch and stands up straight. Interlacing her fingers, she propulses her arms above her head, looking for all the world as if she means to hold up the sky and carry the sun.

“We should leave,” she says, “now. Pack up your books and let's get out of here. You can use your magic to keep me strong, and we can look for a way to deal with the swords together.” When Anthy doesn’t reply immediately, she adds, “unless of course, you don’t want to.”

“No,” says Anthy, “I mean yes. Yes, I want to.”

Hope, brittle, frail and fraught, takes hold within her. She sets her books aside and rushes to the bedroom closet. There she finds a beat up travel bag they can use to carry her tomes.

“Is there anything you need to pack?” she asks Utena, who shakes her head, no.

Their first step is cautious, their second less so. By their third and fourth steps, they are half-skipping, half-running through the residence, made giddy by their own daring. A dream of what awaits them beyond this place has taken hold, and they revel in it for a perfect, golden moment.

Akio emerges from the elevator just as the girls reach its threshold. He takes them in with a bemused smile, noting the renewed colour in Utena’s cheeks and the travel bag slung over Anthy’s shoulder. His expression is almost fond, and he seems to view the escape attempt before him not as an affront to his power, but as a merry schoolgirl prank. His temper is cooler than it was last night, thinks Anthy, and that thought scares her. She turns to Utena, and they exchange looks, a nod. Akio’s sudden presence changes nothing. They still mean to walk away from this place together. On Utena’s signal, Anthy takes a step forward, and then —

The world shifts. One moment, the two girls are standing side-by-side and the next, Anthy is alone in the elevator while Utena remains firmly within the residence. Akio is at her side now, his hand gently resting on her shoulder. The smirk he wears doesn’t quite hide the strain that using his own magic takes on him. Though he stands, he is slumped slightly, and his breathing is quietly haggard. He may, in fact, be relying on Utena for balance.

Hypocrite.

Anthy has only just made sense of what’s occured when the elevator door closes and she is sent downwards, careening towards the exit. On the ground floor, she is ejected from the lift by an echo of her brother’s power. For a quarter of an hour, she tries to call the elevator in the hopes of returning to the residence, and then to Utena, but no matter which button she presses, its doors remain decidedly shut.

Notes:

Breaking from my pattern of sharing a new chapter on or around Thursdays to make up for the fact that I won't have another chapter ready until the end of the month...and that new chapters after that may be slower to come out. *ducks for cover*

Chapter 8: Precipice

Summary:

Snapshots of the characters on the eve of Akio and Kanae's wedding.

The night before her wedding, Kanae dines with her parents. The meal is half-ritual, half-special treat. Her favorite foods have been prepared, a medley of adult delicacies and childish delights. She sits at the head of the table, flanked by her mother to the left, smiling wistfully, and her father to the right, stronger than he has been in months and beaming with pride.

If there was a bright spot to Akio’s quasi-disappearance, it was her father’s improved health. Kanae tries not to dwell on how closely those two events coincide, and tries instead to focus instead on the positives. Her long engagement is finally at an end, and tomorrow her father will be strong enough to walk her down the aisle.

Like all good children, Kanae loves both her parents, but in her secret heart, she knows that she loves her father more. He is good-natured where her mother is contrary, adoring in the face of her mother’s constant critiques. They barter jokes across the dinner table, small looks that her mother will never understand.

After their meal, Kanae’s mother retreats to her room, insisting that she needs a good night’s sleep for “the trying day ahead”. Left alone with his daughter, her father waddles over the liquor cabinet and unearths a bottle of well-loved brandy. Kanae has tasted the stuff before — Akio is fond of it too. She thinks it was her father who gave him his first glass.

With a wink, Mr. Ohtori pours his daughter a drink.

“Only one,” he says, “it wouldn’t do for you to be out of sorts tomorrow.”

He measures out a portion of his own. Father and daughter clink glasses and take their first ceremonial sip. Brandy has never really been to Kanae’s taste, but tonight she makes a show of savoring it. Her father enjoys his drink more honestly. His cheeks grow pink and his face settles into a benevolent expression.

“I’m just so proud of you, darling,” he says, “you’re already so grown up, and tomorrow! Tomorrow — you will be brilliant.”

His words elicit a noble joy within Kanae, a singular happiness tinged with sadness and pride. She has spent her life preparing for this moment; the walk down the aisle, the exchange of vows, and most of all, the opportunity to make her father proud.

---

The night before Akio’s wedding, Touga and Saionji tour school grounds. They visit all their old haunts: the kendo dojo, Saionji’s dorm, the greenhouse. It’s strange to be back, and in such circumstances — disgraced former students returning to campus for the school chairman’s wedding.

At the foot of the dueling arena, Touga pauses.

“Do you think it would let us in?” he asks.

He keeps his tone light, as if speaking in jest, but Saionji knows him better than that.

“I’d rather not test my luck,” he replies, recalling his last attempt to ascend to the arena uninvited with a shudder.

“Perhaps after the festivities, then,” says Touga, moving on.

It’s getting late, but neither man suggests they retreat to their lodgings. Instead, they criss-cross the campus making tepid conversation and both pretending that they have no idea where the winding path that Touga cuts is leading.

“What was the name of that girl you were talking to earlier today?” he asks, “Utena’s little friend.”

“Shinohara,” says Saionji, uttering the name warily.

“You two seemed cozy. When did you get so close?”

“It’s not like that.”

The last thing Saionji wants to do is get into the details of his time with Wakaba here and now and with Touga. His brief stint as her illicit roommate is an awkward memory. Their shared quarters were cramped, but she never complained. She was good to him — too good, really, in light of the way Saionji ended things.

They walk a while longer, until, at last, they find themselves beneath the chairman's tower. Touga peers upward, squinting slightly. Saionji follows his gaze. Despite the late hour, a light shines from atop the building, though it is hard to make out much else.

“What do you think?” asks Touga, “pre-wedding jitters?”

Saionji snorts.

“That peacock? I doubt it.”

---

The night before her brother’s wedding, Anthy gains an ally. She does so reluctantly, accepting Wakaba’s commitment to her cause under some duress. The girl will simply not take no for an answer.

Again and again, Wakaba demands: “what are we going to do?” and over and over, Anthy responds: “we?”

“You told me Utena’s being held prisoner — you can’t just say something like that and expect me to do nothing!”

The girl has worked herself up into something of a frenzy. She paces about the small space, hands gripping her head, waiting and ready to pull out thick chunks of her chestnut hair. Abandoning his sketched out circles, Chu-Chu jumps from his tower of books and begins to follow Wakaba about, gleefully imitating her distress.

“Perhaps you should call the authorities,” says Anthy, hoping that such busywork will rid her of her unwelcome guest.

No such luck. Wakaba stops in her tracks and stares at Anthy with such ferocity that she is reminded of her on the dueling pitch, viscous and fierce.

“Stop taking me for an idiot,” she snaps, “maybe it’s different for you — you’re special — but no one listens to me. If I were to run to some adult with whatever fairy tale you’re weaving, they’d laugh me out of the room!”

For a second time, Anthy finds herself startled by Wakaba’s astute observation. The girl always seemed so clueless when she knew her. Has she grown wiser in their time apart?

“Tell me,” she says, “if you’re clever enough to figure that much out, why would you want my help? You don’t like me very much.”

Her words stop Wakaba in her tracks. She purses her lips as she mulls over the question, considering it with a surprising amount of good faith. She doesn’t deny her dislike of Anthy, but to a certain extent, that’s almost beyond the point. She knows of no one else for whom the matter of a teenage girl (this one in particular) trapped in a twisted fairytale is quite as urgent. She says as much.

“You love her, don’t you?”

Ignore Wakaba’s phrasing: her words are a statement.

Anthy stands accused. Wakaba’s charge is simple and true — she does love Utena. That doesn’t make her trustworthy. She loved Utena when she wielded a prince’s sword to stab her in the back. She loved her too when she withdrew that same blade from Utena’s bleeding body to serve her brother’s plan.

“That’s tenuous reasoning, at best,” Anthy says.

Wakaba shrugs.

“It’s the best I’ve got.”

---

The night before the chairman’s wedding, a package is delivered to Satsuki Kishimura’s dorm. It comes in a white garment box, like the ones she’s seen in department stores. A gaggle of girls gathers at her door, eager to see what she’s been sent. Satsuki chases them away, intent on savoring the moment alone.

Inside the box is her very own student council uniform. White military jacket with gold finishes, crisp white blouse to wear beneath it; grey, pleated trousers that match her eyes. Satsuki’s trial period on the Welcome Committee is over. She is no longer an ordinary student. From now on, she is chosen — special.

Excitedly, she slips out of her everyday’s girl uniform to try her new clothes on. At the bottom of the box hides a letter pressed closed by a red wax seal. Now dressed in a prince’s garb, Satsuki opens the missive and discovers a personalized invitation to tomorrow’s wedding. She recognizes the chairman’s handwriting in the margins. Please come in uniform.

Satsuki shrieks triumphantly. Still clutching her letter, she punches the air. Suddenly, something small and shining flies across her room, landing on her pillow with a delicate ping. It is a ring, stamped with an insignia Satsuki has seen all over campus and made to resemble a rose.

---

The night before his wedding, Akio cannot sleep. He retires early, still wearied by the use of his own magic, long dormant, earlier in the day. The residence is quiet. Utena took to her bed before him, Anthy’s spell finally worn off.

His bed is a tangle of sheets that spill past its posts and onto the floor. Tomorrow, they will be gathered up and spread smoothly across his wide mattress. His pillows he will dot with freshly plucked rose petals. Nearby, he will light candles, illuminating his usually dark chamber. This is to be his marriage bed, and the thought sickens him.

Akio has been engaged before, more than once. His previous fiancees were a lot like Kanae — pampered daughters to powerful men. He entered into these arrangements in moments of weakness, moments when he could feel his control slipping over the lives he’d built for himself and Anthy. The girls themselves were lovely things. Princesses; Akio has always adored princesses. It was their fathers he despised, smug old men who envied and looked down upon him in equal measure.

From the opposite side of the residence, Utena screams. It is a blood-curdling cry, and yet Akio is almost relieved to hear it. He leaps from bed and rushes to her side. By the time he reaches her, she has calmed somewhat, though her body is still overtaken by familiar spasms of pain. She sits upright atop her bed, and Akio joins her there, enveloping her in his arms.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Utena huffs.

“It’s nothing. Go away.”

“You’re in pain.”

She bites her lip. She’s angry with him, properly angry — not just the dim hum of resentment that has become routine. She has ignored Akio all evening, neglecting her own well-being as retribution, paltry though it may be, for her thwarted escape attempt. She struggles against him now, but the pain of the swords is such that she cannot summon the strength to slip from his grasp.

“You were screaming,” says Akio.

“I had a nightmare,” says Utena, relenting.

“Tell me about it.”

For a moment, Utena does the opposite, and pointedly so, biting her lip to keep quiet. But Akio is patient. Nightmares can linger. They can seep beneath your skin and settle in your bone marrow. You can chase them away, but to do that, you need to speak them aloud.

“It was the swords,” Utena finally says, “they were angry at me. So angry. I don’t think it was a normal dream.”

Akio stiffens.

“They were mad that I… that Anthy and I… They want to punish me, I think. For what I did today and what I was like before, when I tried to be a prince. They think I’m an imposter.”

A sudden spasm. Utena grits her teeth and then continues.

“They want to be near you,” she says, “the swords… they long for you.”

“I know,” says Akio.

Utena cringes, overtaken by yet another spasm. Akio pulls her close, giving into the swords’ pointed demand. She clings to him, the pain winning out against her earlier acts of resistance. He clings to her too and hopes she doesn’t notice.

Chapter 9: The Wedding March

Summary:

Here comes the bride

Sometime before sunrise, Anthy slips out of bed, careful not to disturb Chu-Chu, snoring atop her pillow, or Wakaba, sleeping amidst a tangle of blankets on the floor. When it became clear that she meant to stay the night, Anthy offered Wakaba Utena’s old bed, but she refused, maddeningly claiming that she didn’t want to impose.

Outside, Ohtori Academy sits awash in the waning dark of night, quiet but for the early birds chirping to greet the coming day. They are old friends of Anthy’s, companions from a time when she was still bound to the place, and rose early to hear their song. Some mornings spent in their company weren’t really mornings at all, just the continuation of long, tormented nights. Others, much like this one, were prologues of sorts — fraught starts to fraught days.

As the sun settles in the sky, casting its pale light over the campus, Anthy returns inside to the sound of pots clanging in the kitchen. The sound itself is a shock, as she can’t even remember the last time someone besides herself ever found the kitchen. Another surprise is Wakaba, puttering about with Chu-Chu on her shoulder and putting the finishing touches onto three breakfast trays.

“Oh good,” she says, spotting Anthy, “you’re just in time.”

Over coffee and more food than Anthy’s had for breakfast in ages, Wakaba insists they chart out a strategy for the coming day.

“We can’t just let the wedding happen,” she says.

“Why not?” retorts Anthy, “it isn’t Utena my brother is marrying.”

Wakaba considers the question, screwing up her face the way she does when she is made to think.

“You said last night that the chairman’s only going through with this wedding to cling onto power, right?” she asks. Anthy nods, and she continues, “then wouldn’t it make sense to…I don’t know… destabilize him in some way?”

Anthy cannot discount Wakaba’s logic — it’s quite sound. Still, there is a part of her, vengeful hyena, who would see this wedding finalized and her brother bound forever to a single girl. How it would grate at him, to be so formally tied down. The finality of it.

“Alright,” says Anthy, “but I’ll decide when the time is right.”

Her companion nods cheerfully, unaware that she has agreed to a test of sorts — a trial to prove her worth to Anthy.

---

Anthy knows her wedding marches. Long ago, she developed an interest in the catalogue of processional songs meant to accompany brides down the aisle. She grew fond of the Germans, Mendelssohn, Bach and Wagner. To this day, she can recite the original lyrics to his Bridal Chorus from memory. If the music playing in the background is any indication, Kanae has similar tastes.

Though the long-awaited day has arrived, the wedding isn’t scheduled to start for another half hour. That hasn’t stopped guests from arriving and milling about the venue, taking their seats on either side of the aisle. The ceremony is to take place outside. An arch made of roses and greenery has been erected in one of Ohtori’s interior courtyards. Behind it sit church pews, uprooted from their temples to serve their age-old function.

Wakaba takes the scene in, wide-eyed and dressed in a pale green number passed down by her mother. She’s never been to a wedding before, and though she awaits Anthy’s signal to disrupt the affair, she cannot help but be a little awed by the trimmings of the day. The pair are seated on the groom’s side of the venue, in the very first row. From there, they are well placed to watch the remaining guests arrive.

On Kanae’s side of the aisle sit the Ohtori clan and their associates. To the front are obvious relatives; many of them share Kanae’s slight curls and patrician nose. To the back, Anthy guesses, are Mr. Ohtori’s business connections, dour men whose capital keeps this ridiculous school afloat. They pay her little attention, though every now and then, a member of the bride’s clan balks at the colour of her dress, a pink so pale it appears white in the sunlight.

On the groom’s side, a sea of familiar faces. Anthy recognizes old duelists and old lovers — hers, the previously betrothed, and Akio’s, whoever he chose. She’s surprised to see how many have returned, still running to answer his call after all these years. They’ve aged. She hasn’t. They eye her warily.

Someone squeezes her arm.

“You looked upset,” says Wakaba.

Anthy recoils.

“I don’t need rescuing.”

The event is overtaken by a sudden hush. At the front of the venue, walking confidently down the aisle, are three students dressed in military uniforms: Ohtori Academy’s newest student council. Kanae’s guests are largely bemused by their appearance, but Akio’s are wary. Many among them wore suits like these, once.

The three new student council members are Shiori Takatsuki, Tatsuya Kazami and Satsuki Kishimura. While Shiori’s inclusion tracks, Tatsuya and Satsuki strike Anthy as puzzling choices. When she knew him, Tatsuya seemed too whole to ever make a good duelist. As for Satsuki, aside from her capacity to drive Wakaba up the wall (and Anthy, by extension, having been subject to the girl’s many complaints in the last twelve hours), she cannot devine what qualities prompted Akio to single her out.

(Perhaps it’s just that she’s an impressionable young girl. For Akio, that is often enough.)

The trio strides confidently to the front of the venue, taking their assigned places on the groom’s side of the aisle, in the second row. Rose crest rings glisten on their nimble fingers. Theirs is a harsh shine, reflecting the sun’s blistering heat, its capacity to blind. Anthy averts her eyes, and tries to look past them, focusing now on the far away rows. For her efforts, she is greeted by a veritable sea of rose crest rings, glistening in the morning light.

---

Just as the ceremony is set to begin, Touga Kiryuu and Kyouichi Saionji make their appearance, barrelling down the aisle in haste. In truth, only Saionji barrels. Though keeping pace with his old friend, Touga appears relaxed and serenely unbothered by the time or the occasion. Though he has no right to it, lacking in blood ties and only as connected to the groom as many in the back rows, he glides to the front pew, seating himself in between its current pair of occupants.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” he says to Anthy, ignoring a suddenly fuming Wakaba.

“I’m not,” she replies.

Saionji, who in those last steps down the aisle, found himself trailing behind Touga, catches up to him. Spotting both Anthy and Wakaba, he gives the former a frightened nod before retreating to the far side of the pew to join the latter.

“Are we expecting anyone else?” asks Anthy.

Touga shakes his head. For all his faults, he was always good at parsing Anthy’s cryptic meanings.

“Juri is off at some fencing tournament, and Miki has a recital.”

“And your sister?”

A flinch.

“She laughed in my face when I suggested she come today.”

“Clever girl.”

Next to them, a small commotion has erupted, as Satsuki and Wakaba exchange veiled barbs across the pews. Earlier, they were courteous enough, though Anthy could sense the jealousy emanating from Satsuki when she first noticed her supposed best friend sitting in the front row. Their tender truce seems to have been breached by Saionji’s arrival and the attention he’s bestowed upon Wakaba.

“I wonder,” says Touga, disinterested in their high school drama, “if we received similar phone calls, prior to today", adding conspiratorially, “extolling the virtues of a certain bridesmaid.”

Anthy is careful to keep her expression neutral, even as she makes note of this nugget of information, so freely given.

“Who’s to say I haven’t come to watch my brother make a fool of himself?”

She has startled Touga, who, she supposes, imagined that he was still dealing with the Rose Bride, only to find himself faced with Anthy Himemiya.

---

Backstage, the bridal party awaits their signal to parade down the aisle. They are a small group: a bride, her father, the groom and his bridesmaid. There were more people earlier, a horde of Ohtori relations. Uncles and aunts and every type of cousin fussing over Kanae, winking at Akio and comforting Utena — poor, unpromised maiden.

“It’ll be your turn soon enough,” they cooed.

Nevermind that she’s only 14 (or maybe 15 — she’s lost track), to be a bridesmaid is to be a bride-in-waiting. Her pale pink dress, her high-heeled shoes, her small bouquet (a miniature of Kanae’s red wedding roses), all serve to fashion together the uniform of a trainee. In a few years time, they promise, she could be the feted bride — the ultimate princess.

She is half-sick of weddings.

Any moment now, Mendelssohn’s trumpets will blare and the ceremony will commence. The players hurry into position, dividing themselves into their assigned pairs: Kanae and her father, Akio and Utena.

Utena was only introduced to Mr. Ohtori this morning, and she left their brief encounter unsettled. He is an old-fashioned man, one who judges the measure of a person through their family ties. Faced with his daughter’s orphaned bridesmaid, he responded with frank suspicion. He is all smiles now, as Kanae loops her arm through his and he prepares to walk her down the aisle. He is every smug father from Utena’s wedding dreams come to life, beaming at the sight of his resplendent, dutiful daughter.

Next to her, Akio stands tall, his spine rigidly straight. Utena has never known him to be so stiff. Even in anger, he is a naturally languid creature and his normally easy movements are at odds with this soldier’s pose.

“Are you nervous?” she asks.

He bristles. “Why would I be?”

“It’s a wedding. Most people get at least a little nervous.”

It’s odd, she knows, that she should offer even small comfort to Akio. He has no right to her kindness. And yet, when faced with the vulturine Ohtori clan this morning, Utena found herself drawn to him and his familiarity. They are both outsiders here, and in the moment, that sameness overrode the rest.

The trumpets roar. Groom and bridesmaid begin their long parade. From their first steps, the assembled guests are off-put by their pairing. No one knows what to make of a groom walking an unmarried girl down the aisle. Kanae’s guests raise their eyebrows and mutter to themselves about the groom’s eccentricities. Akio’s stare at Utena openly, rows upon rows of mute prophets, too scared to scream.

---

At the altar, a lopsided image. Akio in the groom’s position, Utena facing him at an awkward distance, and between them, the officiant. If it weren't for Kanae floating down the aisle to the tune of Wagner’s Bridal Chorus, the reader would be forgiven for thinking they were the couple to be bound in holy matrimony today.

But the day is Kanae’s. She descends the aisle, jewel of youth, radiant in her white wedding gown. Her smile is luminous, and she shares it with all — the crowd, her groom, even Utena. It shines brightest of all when she catches her father’s eye, and they share a look, a secret code. Utena misses her own father then, more deeply and more acutely than she has in years.

To soothe her longing, she turns away from Kanae and focuses instead on Anthy, who she previously spotted in the front pews, near Wakaba (how her heart sang to see her best friend again!). Unlike the other guests, Anthy pays no attention to the bridal march. Instead, she looks at Utena, and smiles knowingly at her when she is caught out.

Then, the march is over and with great officiousness, Mr. Ohtori transfers his daughter’s hand (and all that comes with it — the responsibility, the possession of a great treasure) to Akio. The groom smiles, and leads his bride to her spot upon the altar, symmetrical to his. Utena stands a little straighter. It is nearly time for her to act.

First, the service. The officiant mutters a few words about love that mean very little to Utena — not because she doesn’t know what it is to love, she realises, but because she does. Love, to her, is not this tidy niceness steeped in structure and ritual. Love is large and wild and unbound. It is beautiful and terrible; divinely sublime. Love wears Anthy’s face.

The vows are next. They follow an old script. Akio will provide and protect. Kanae will cherish and obey. Catching Anthy’s eye, Utena makes a face as the bride utters her line, igniting a flash of the groom’s vengeful ire.

Finally, a pause in the proceedings. The officiant turns to his congregation and allows for a moment of doubt.

“If anyone sees any reason why these two should not be wed, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

There is rustle amongst the guests, a frisson of anticipation. On Akio’s side of the aisle, bodies move nervously, considering. Wakaba is half standing, her eyes trained on Anthy. Anthy herself is unreadable. They are all shocked when Utena descends from her spot atop the altar and cries out, clear and confident —

“I object!”

Notes:

If you're curious to hear the songs mentioned this chapter, I have tumblr post about them: Bonus Content

Chapter 10: Fighting Fate

Summary:

The fallout from Utena's objection.

Note to the reader — though the assembled players will soon forget, remember this. In the seconds following Utena’s objection, Akio was afraid.

---

“I object!”

The words ring clear across the concourse, shocking the wedding guests. For the first time since she walked Akio down the aisle, they are looking at Utena and seeing her, not as the groom’s appendage, but as her own person.

It’s exhilarating.

There follows, after her pronouncement, a moment of startled silence. It is broken not by the bride, nor the groom, nor even by their rebellious bridesmaid, but by Mr. Ohtori. He rises rowdily from his seat and storms towards the altar. He takes hold of Utena’s bare arm and attempts to drag her from the stage.

“Be quiet, you shameful girl,” he snarls.

He pulls at her, expecting give, as if she were a rose to be rooted from the ground, but Utena remains firmly planted in place. She reclaims her arm from his clammy grasp with relatively little effort, and remembers fondly, for a moment, the athlete that she was.

(While forgetting, to her later misfortune, her opponent’s recent sickness, his relative feebleness).

“Kanae,” she says, turning to the gaping bride, “please, listen to what I have to say. You’re making a mistake. Akio… he won’t be a good husband to you. He isn’t who you think he is.”

In the weeks leading up to the wedding, Utena thought that when the time came, she would bite her tongue. She’d already tried to tell Kanae the truth once, only to be spectacularly rebuffed. Who was to say she would listen a second time, especially in such a public forum? But staying quiet felt worse somehow. It would be another loss, another small sliver of herself surrendered to the curse of the Rose Bride.

Kanae’s face is a mess of emotions: outrage, anger, and for the first time since Utena’s known her, doubt. Her long, delicate fingers wrap themselves around her bouquet of roses, encircling the flowers ever tighter, until the stems begin to snap.

“Akio,” she says, turning to her groom, “is it true?”

Her question, quietly pronounced and partially formed, jolts Akio out of his stupor.

“My love,” he says, brushing his hand against Kanae’s pale cheek, “it is.”

Gasps from the crowd. Utena too. Her eyes flit away from the drama on stage, searching for Anthy’s. What is he doing?

“I cannot be the husband you dream of,” continues Akio, “but,” pausing here, purposely and for effect, “I can offer you something better.” He turns now to face his wedding guests. “The power to revolutionize the world.”

His words set off an even bigger shockwave than Utena’s objection. From Kanae’s side come huffs of outrage, and the occasional cry. He’s mad, I tell you, mad! From Akio’s, a ruckus. Guests crow and caw and hiss at the sound of the familiar words. Some jump to their feet. From the corner of her eyes, Utena spots Saionji rising slowly, catching Touga’s eye, and then changing his mind.

But for all this movement, the guests do not yet leave their pews. They wait on baited breath for Kanae’s answer. Though the script has deviated, this gathering remains a wedding, and Kanae, a bride — the rare moment in a princess’ life when the world strains to hear what she might say.

“Akio,” she says softly, “I don’t know what you’re saying. I don’t care about power or whatever it is. I don’t want it. I want you. Please, stay with me. Marry me.”

They are brave words, honest words, but they do not move Akio. He has, Utena notes with a creeping dread, moved on from whatever plan pushed him grudgingly down the aisle. His hand falls away from Kanae’s face, and he abandons her for the crowd.

He declares, with a showmaster’s panache:

“I extend my offer to you now. If your soul has not truly abandoned all hope — follow me! Follow me, and I can lead you to the world you seek!”

Then, he is at Utena’s side. He grabs her roughly by the arm, in the exact spot Mr. Ohtori clasped moments earlier, but his is no clammy grip. Utena fights against it to little avail.

“It’s time for you to play your part,” he says.

With a tug, he begins to drag her up the altar, past a shell-shocked Kanae, the bumbling officiant, the rose arch. Utena struggles against his grip, but she does not scream, nor ask for help. She will not play the helpless damsel. She will not submit to being saved.

Behind the altar, hidden from view by some trick of the light, is the Rose Gate, already open and leading to the dueling arena. Utena has not stepped foot here since her last duel. Seeing it now, she breaks out into a cold sweat.

“Let go of me!” she yells, redoubling her efforts to slip from Akio’s grip.

As she labours, she catches a glimpse of the crowd behind her. Many have risen from their seats, following Akio in a trance of desire. They don’t see her anymore. Their eyes are glazed over by his promise of revolution. For the first time, Utena notices the rose signet rings they wear. For the first time she thinks I really have become the Rose Bride.

As if to underscore her point, Akio makes use of his grip on her arm to tilt Utena slightly, so that she is standing on tiptoes and her back is arched. He places his free hand atop her chest and pulls from it a shimmering sword. The blade shines against the morning light, while below it, the Rose Bride’s sweeping skirts billow in the breeze.

“No!”

Anthy’s voice rings out from the crowd. She forces her way past the zombie-like mass of former duelists, Wakaba in tow. Her face is lined with worry, anger. Utena cannot bear to look at her. Cannot bear for Anthy to see her this way.

Catching sight of his incensed sister,  Akio smirks. He grips Utena’s arm anew and gives it a slight pull, leading her towards the awaiting elevator. She continues to make a show of resisting, but her renewed efforts are half-hearted. She is almost grateful, when the elevator door closes behind her, to be out of Anthy's line of sight — to be shielded from view in such a sorry state. 

---

INT. DUELING ARENA ELEVATOR

The elevator rises steadily towards the arena. The air within is filled with tension.

AKIO: That dress suits you. You look good like this.

UTENA: I don’t want any part of it.

AKIO: That isn’t really up to you anymore.

UTENA: Of course it is.

AKIO: You never could look reality in the face, Utena.

UTENA: What’s that supposed to mean?

AKIO: Isn’t it obvious. Tell me — how do you feel right now?

UTENA: How do I…

AKIO: Are you in pain?

UTENA: [surprised] … no.

AKIO: I thought so. For a while, I wondered why the swords were so harsh towards you. I understand it now.

UTENA: You do?

AKIO: It was to teach you a lesson. To remind you of your proper place.

UTENA: Like Hell!

A scuffle breaks out. UTENA reaches for the prince’s sword. The moment she grips it, she is struck by a wave of pain. She falls to her knees.

UTENA: Why can’t I… why can’t I hold it?

AKIO: You’re not a prince anymore. You never were.

UTENA: I thought you said the prince was a lie.

AKIO: Not to them. Not to the swords.

AKIO gently helps UTENA to her feet.

AKIO: You cannot wield the sword yourself.

UTENA: That can’t be true. [beat] I can’t bear it — to stay like this forever.

AKIO: It doesn’t have to be forever. Surely you understand the truth of it now.

AKIO: The only way out of your sorry state is through.

END SCENE

Chapter 11: The Prince

Summary:

Anthy takes on a new role.

Anthy spots the blade before she sees her brother. Akio holds the prince’s sword as if it belongs to him, and in a way it does. He is the prince, or what’s left of him. Behind him, festooned in a child’s fantasy of a princess’ gown, is Utena. She stares into the middle distance, barely registering the crowd of would-be duelists who pour into the arena and awkwardly take their seats in the newly erected stands.

Some moments later, Wakaba hobbles to her side, made breathless by the long climb up the arena’s stairs.

“What is this place?” she asks between haggard breaths.

“Don’t you recognize it?” asks Anthy, “you’ve been here before.”

She watches as Wakaba takes in her surroundings anew, eventually remembering something of her own duel on these sordid grounds. Noticing Utena, she gasps.

“Why —”

Anthy is spared the indignity of having to explain the duels by Akio, who cannot wait to share his princely game with the assembled crowd.

“You have come here in search of power,” he declares, playing showmaster as he did below, “but only one of you will reach it. If you aim to revolutionize the world, you must win the hand of the Rose Bride in a duel, and keep it in further duels.”

Here, the crowd turns away from Akio, their collective gaze falling upon Anthy. She has never liked the attention of crowds, and theirs feels especially threatening. She is a child again, uttering the arrogant words that would be her undoing.

“May I present,” continues Akio, reclaiming their attention, “my new Rose Bride: Miss Utena Tenjou!”

He steps to the side, allowing her to take centre stage. Unable to ignore them any longer, Utena glares at her would-be fiances, too new to her position to know to hide her anger. (Or perhaps she’s right to glare, Anthy thinks after a moment, perhaps if she had glared more… she cannot finish the thought).

Akio continues to set up his newest game. This is to be condescend series of twenty duels, each one taking place immediately after the other. At the twentieth duel’s conclusion, the victor shall fight a final battle, and should they be victorious, the power to revolutionize the world will be theirs. Anthy notes suddenly that none of the assembled former duelists ever made it to a final duel. Indeed, only Utena has seen the end.

The Rose Bride is to be passed along from victor to victor, a decorative symbol and promise at eternity. There is less talk of romance than in previous cycles. At the break-neck pace Akio means to impose, there will be no time for it. A miscalculation, Anthy thinks — the time between duels was what allowed resentments to simmer, hopes to die, and challengers’ blades to grow sharp.

And then, after so deftly mesmerizing the crowd and ensnaring them within his web, a misstep. Akio announces that he shall pick the first fiance, provoking outrage. It is too direct an approach to take with this legion of former duelists. Together, their memories of wax-sealed letters and student council votes overrides the obvious conclusion that the first fiance of each cycle was always chosen by the game master.

Someone cries out.

“The Rose Bride should be the one to choose her champion!”

Touga Kiryuu’s voice rings out across the arena. He stands tall among the rafters, dwarfing the seated duelists, who suddenly appear cowed by his daring. Unlike Anthy, he relishes their attention. As long as she’s known him, he has always loved the spotlight.

Akio regards Touga skeptically. His mouth settles into a thin line as he tries to ascertain whether the boy is an ally or adversary. Anthy is reminded that her brother dangled the same carrot in front of Touga as he did her to bring him here and thinks, perhaps naively, that she would not trust him were she in Akio’s shoes.

In the end, the choice does not fall to Akio. Touga’s idea is popular, propelled in part by Saionji, who awkwardly echoes his words, and Wakaba, who passionately cheers “let Utena pick!” Soon, the entire stadium speaks as one, insistent that the Rose Bride choose her champion. Anthy cannot help but feel a certain bitterness at their display; they never cared to hear her opinion so when they were the engaged ones. In a sense, she realises this is besides the point. It isn’t Utena they mean to empower with their demand, but themselves. By imposing a rule change on her brother, his former playthings seek to reclaim something of what he took from them.

Outnumbered and outfoxed, Akio concedes. Turning to Utena, he says:

“You heard the crowd. You may choose your first betrothed.”

This is to be her first official duty as the Rose Bride, and Utena looks as though she would rather be anywhere else. Anthy waits for a show of defiance, some rebellious act, but is soon disappointed. Utena considers her suitors with a downcast expression, suppressing her simmering anger beneath a mask of compliance. Resignation — Anthy knows the feeling well.

“Don’t keep us waiting,” chides Akio.

He grows twitchy, annoyed that the consequences of his concession should drag on so. Were it up to Anthy, she would ignore his reprimand and wait until she knew her brother was ready to burst before making her choice. But Utena is less practised in the ways of the Rose Bride. Akio’s stern words are all that’s needed to spur her impulsive choice.

“Anthy,” she says, and then, louder, “Anthy Himemiya”.

In response, Anthy’s first instinct is to catch Touga’s eye and gloat. Your gamble has backfired. To her surprise, he is serene in defeat, practically unbothered. Were he anyone else, she might suspect that he had planned on this very outcome. Indeed, he winks at her and mimes a mocking bow.

Her preening thwarted, Anthy is then overtaken by a wave of shocking rage. How dare they! How dare her brother keep at his princely games — and how dare Utena ask Anthy to play the prince? How could she give in so easily, she who wept at the thought of being saved by another?

Anthy is ripped from her angry reverie by a gentle hand pressed against her arm. It is Wakaba once again.

“You need to go up,” she says, pointing to the centre of the arena, “they’re waiting for you.”

For the first time since she called her name, Anthy looks — really looks — at Utena. The girl before her is no damsel, at least not by choice. She regards her chosen champion with a mix of shame and envy. It is suddenly, strikingly clear how desperately she would rather fight for herself. She must have tried and been rejected, thinks Anthy. The Rose Bride was never meant to fight.

Still, Anthy makes her way to the centre of the ring. She looks briefly at Akio, who gives her a smug smirk. He has moved past his injured pride, and is now pleasantly amused by this turn of events. She scrutinizes his face, searching for some hint of insecurity or worry to exploit, but finds none. It’s almost hurtful — after so many years spent administering the dueling game at his side, Akio now looks at her as if she were just another player.

When they are near each other enough to speak without being overheard, Utena catches Anthy’s eye.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, “I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have…”

Anthy cuts her off.

“It’s alright,” she says, her anger quelled. “It was an impossible choice.”

Utena finds a measure of comfort in her words, and brightens slightly. Anthy can no longer fathom why she was so upset with her beloved only moments ago. She now feels as though she would do anything to protect her — even wield the prince’s blighted sword.

Akio clears his throat, demanding their attention.

“Anthy,” he says, “do you accept the mantle of duelist?”

She answers without hesitation.

“I do.”

A hush descends over the arena as the assembled former duelists watch the proceedings in awe. Akio requests that Anthy outstretch her hand and when she does, he deposits the prince’s sword within it. She grips the pommel and thumbs its decorative turquoise gem as she grows used to the object’s light weight. Funny — she always thought it would be heavy.

Reflected in the shining blade is Utena, her image distorted and made small by a trick of the light. She stares at Anthy with wide-eyed admiration, but fails to conceal her envy. Good, she thinks, nourish your fire. This won’t take long.

Anthy raises the blade high above her head and turns to the crowd, daring its gathered duelists to step forth and challenge her. 

Chapter 12: A Symmetrical Start

Summary:

Saionji enters the arena, for symbolism's sake.

In the arena: Anthy, Utena and the chairman, busy with their little psychodrama. In the stands: Touga, momentarily triumphant, and Saionji, dreading whatever else his friend has planned next.

“Are you going to duel her? Is that your scheme?” he asks in a whisper.

“Eventually, yes,” says Touga, “though I think you should be our new prince’s first opponent.”

“Me?” barks Saionji, incredulous, “I’ve already told you — I have no intention of getting back in that ring.”

Touga shrugs as he often does when he decides that someone’s objections mean little to him.

“Can’t you see the poetry in it?” he asks, “Tenjou dueled her first match against you, and now Himemiya can too. You have to admit, there’s a certain symmetry to it all.”

Saionji rolls his eyes. How typically Touga. Only he would be impudent enough to ignore a friend’s stated desire for the sake of symbolism.

“And if I say no?”

“You’d be sheltering me from Akio’s sight for a moment,” says Touga, “not long. Just enough time for us to get a sense of what we’re dealing with here.”

He points to Anthy in the centre of the ring, wielding the prince’s sword like a bouquet of flowers. Saionji scoffs, turning his attention to the crowd of former duelists that surround them.

“Why not let any of these old idiots have a crack at it?” he counters, purposefully loud, “half of them are obviously rearing to go.”

“Because I don’t trust them.”

And you trust me? Saionji keeps the thought to himself, understanding that who Touga trusts is less important in the moment than who he is perceived as trusting. Shelter me from the chairman’s sight, or whatever it was he said. 

“Fine,” he huffs. “But you owe me.”

---

As Anthy lifts her sword to the heavens, the crowd erupts into frenzied cries. A mass of former duelists raise their hands, eager to clash blades once more. Saionji reluctantly counts himself among their number, though unlike them, he can still lay claim to his pride. He hasn’t come to this place chasing a false promise of former glory. Perhaps that is why he alone acts instead of waiting to be chosen, pushing his way past the crowd and jumping from the stands into the ring.

“I’ll need a sword,” he declares, claiming the role of first challenger for himself.

“But of course,” says Akio, eyes sparkling.

(Begrudgingly, Saionji can’t help but wonder if Touga was onto something with his talk of symbolism).

With a snap of his fingers, the chairman summons his newly formed student council. The three figures, clad in white, hurry to the arena entrance, from whence they retrieve two boxes. The first is about a metre long, and needs to be carried by both girls. Satsuki and Shiori each grip its handles on either extremity and work in tandem to deliver the package to Akio’s feet. The second box is smaller, a tall rectangle, and from the ease with which Tatsuya carries it, it appears lighter than the first.

Akio waves Saionji over.

“Come, choose your sword.”

Eagerly, Satsuki opens the long box, revealing a small collection of swords. As Saionji takes them in, Akio turns his attention to Utena, calling her to his side in turn. She joins him reluctantly, her eyes lingering first on Anthy, and then on the collection of glimmering blades.

“Sure you don’t want a wooden practice sword, Saionji?” she taunts.

“Oh, ha ha. It’s not my fault you didn’t know to come prepared.”

While they exchange barbs, Akio instructs Tatsuya to open the second box. Inside are roses, red and white.

“Utena,” he calls, “prepare the match.”

Utena bristles at his order. She takes in the roses and reaches for a white one.

“Pin your own rose,” she tells Saionji, scurrying away to rejoin Anthy.

For a brief moment, her insolence infuriates him. He means to yell after her and demand she pin his stupid flower to his chest, but as the words form on his tongue, he catches sight of the chairman. Akio fumes in between his opened boxes, made impotent by a single flouted order. Saionji feels his own anger dissipate then, too bemused by the scene before him to hold onto it any longer.

---

Carrying a single white rose in her hand, Utena approaches Anthy cautiously. She knows what’s expected of her. She stood by time and time as Anthy once pinned the rose on her. Still, she is daunted by the task; she has not forgotten the way the swords would not let them touch when they were alone last.

“Here,” she says, extending the flower, “maybe you should be the one to put it on.”

Anthy nods, grasping her meaning clearly, and reaches out to grab the rose. Her hand brushes against Utena’s fingers and for a moment, both girls brace for an unpleasant sensation. But nothing happens. They stare at each other in wonder.

“I guess I’ve been granted a reprieve,” says Utena, remembering her earlier conversation with Akio.

Her wording, darkly funny — reprieves are most often granted to condemned prisoners — elicits a snort of laughter from Anthy. How like Utena to utter something so bluntly true! She catches herself a moment later, worried that she might have offended her beloved, but the other girl laughs too. Soon, they are giggling like the schoolgirls they should be. They revel in their brief moment of mirth, dragging it out until Akio cuts in.

“Enough of this,” he snaps, “the duel is about to begin.”

Were it up to her, Anthy would keep her brother waiting, but Utena snaps into action at his words. She pins the white rose to her champion’s chest and then turns her gaze to the prince’s sword.

“Bend your knees,” she instructs, “stay light on your feet. Keep your sword high. Saionji never paces himself. Let him get tired. Then you can attack.”

“I know,” says Anthy, “I watched all your fights.”

With her free hand, she takes hold of Utena’s right one. Bringing it up to her lips, she plants a soft kiss atop it.

“Be careful,” pleads Utena.

“I will,” Anthy promises.

---

The duel starts slowly. Contrary to Utena’s assurances, Saionji does not enter the ring with his characteristic bombast. Instead, he is unusually cautious. He holds his sword near his chest and waits for Anthy to strike first. She is hesitant in her approach, and unwilling to attack. Saionji has trained enough underclassmen in kendo to recognize a nervous beginner, cowed by the sudden reality of a match.

For a time, they merely circle each other like a pair of vigilant cats. Faced with their lackluster display, the crowd grows restless. Fight, they jeer, put on a show! Saionji wants to snap back that it isn’t as simple as all that — he isn’t here to play the chairman’s game, and besides, he isn’t facing just any opponent. His challenger is Anthy, and a small part of him (a hypocritical part perhaps, or maybe the best part), can’t bring himself to charge at the girl he once called his bride.

The crowd doesn’t let up, made rowdy with boredom. Though they jeer at both duelists, the bulk of their ire is pointed towards Saionji. He was the one who so boldly threw himself into the arena. Why, now, does he refuse to play his part?

“He’s scared to fight a girl!” someone cries.

The label of coward is catching. Soon, it seems as though the entire arena is calling him craven.

“Coward!”

“Chicken!”

“Sissy!”

Saionji looks to the stands, reflexively seeking out Touga, but fails to distinguish him among the crowd from so far away. A sea of faces eagerly goads him into violence, growing ever louder. They are a chain of sycophants, except for one. Wakaba Shinohara watches on from the front row, silent and appalled. Saionji barely notices her amidst the chaos. His anger mounts. His pride is injured. He abandons his cautious approach and charges at Anthy.

Now he fights like the duelist Utena described, slashing his sword again and again as Anthy struggles to block his blows. She stumbles backwards, instinctively retreating from his balde. The rose, she thinks, I just need to knock the rose from his chest. But she can barely see the flower, her field of vision shrinking until all she sees is Saionji’s sword, bearing down upon her own, unyielding.

From the sidelines, Utena watches on, growing worried. Her eyes dart from the match to the box of swords at Akio’s feet. If she could only just get her hands on one of them! On the pitch, Anthy cries out, having barely blocked Saionji’s most recent attack. She scurries away, trying to gain some distance, but her opponent is fast. He is on her again in an instant, resuming his relentless attack.

“Anthy!” she cries out. Her call distracts Saionji, who lowers his sword and takes a step back.

“Anthy,” she calls again, “now!”

Something happens then, though Utena isn’t sure what. She feels it without understanding it; a transfer of power, a transfer of skill. On the pitch, Anthy’s grip on her sword is suddenly confident. For the first time all duel, she is on the offensive, lunging at Saionji. She shouts as she points her sword forward, dislodging the rose from his chest and winning the duel.

Chapter 13: Prodigal Prince

Summary:

Anthy faces a second challenger.

Late afternoon. TOUGA’s new dorm room. It is a single; the smallest room he has called his in over a decade. We hear AKIO’s voice across a telephone line.

AKIO:

Do you like your new school?

TOUGA:

It’s certainly a change of pace.

AKIO:

[chuckles] Are you making friends?

TOUGA:

Here and there.

AKIO:

And your love life, how are things getting on there?

TOUGA:

[beat] A school’s chairman shouldn’t ask such questions.

AKIO:

Is that how you think of me?

TOUGA:

[no answer].

AKIO:

I am curious though — have you met anyone special?

TOUGA:

[with an undercurrent of pride] No one in particular, no.

AKIO:

Still pining for your girl-prince.

TOUGA:

Is there a reason you’re calling?

The sound of their conversation fades into the background. The opening of Edith Piaf’s La Vie en Rose begins to play. We zoom in on TOUGA’s face as AKIO proceeds to lure him back to OHTORI ACADEMY.

---

Saionji doesn’t rejoin Touga immediately following his defeat. Instead, he’s kept up by a girl in the front row. Shinohara. Touga knows her as Utena’s friend who never liked him much, but it’s obvious she’s something more to Saionji. He strains to listen in on their conversation.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” says Wakaba.

“You are? I’d thought you’d be on Anthy’s side.”

Typical Saionji. Always so blunt.

“I am!” insists his interlocutor, “I mean, I’m on Utena’s side, but I didn’t want to see you get hurt either.”

“...that’s kind, I suppose.”

Briefly, Touga wonders what his friend has done to earn such devotion. He doesn’t ponder the thought long, turning his attention to Akio, and the search for a second challenger.

Saionji’s loss has had something of a cooling effect on the crowd, who are less eager to duel than they were only minutes ago. It was easy to raise their hands then, when they could still dream of an easy victory. They express some interest still, but it is comparatively muted. Few in this crowd want to lose to Anthy Himemiya, and even fewer have reason to fight for Utena Tenjou.

Touga, then, is faced with something of a choice. Should he return to the arena now, revealing something of his hand to Akio? (Never mind that he has already made a scene advocating for the Rose Bride, never mind that it took precious few words for Touga to come running at the older man’s call). Or should he wait, and allow the other duelist’s potential failures to conceal him further?

Really, the crux of the matter is Anthy. From the stands, Touga watches as she holds the prince’s sword with a new reverence, impressed with her first victory. Will she continue to win as the duels go on, or will some upstart challenger manage to claim Utena’s hand away from her? (“Early winners rarely stay the course,” Akio said once, back when Saionji was the betrothed one). Her first win was fraught, a fluke; it’s clear to Touga that for all the matches she’s watched, she currently knows little about how to duel.

Akio surveys the raised hands, unimpressed with his slim pickings. Without meaning to, Saionji seems to have set the tone for what a competitor should be: bold and brash. Touga supposes he could follow his friend’s lead and walk into the ring, but such a direct approach isn’t really his style. Instead, he waits for the ringmaster’s eye to fall on him, and when it does, he nods, signalling his intention to play the prince once more.

---

As Touga picks out his sword (he chooses a short blade, lighter in temper than he’s used to), Utena approaches him warily, carrying a challenger’s red rose. He’s honoured, in a way, that she should deign to pin the flower upon him, especially after she so boldly spurned Saionji, but mostly, he’s just eager to be in her presence. He has missed her these past months.

“Tenjou, how are you?”

If she were Anthy, the Rose Bride might glare at him for such a question, but Utena merely looks sad.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she says.

She makes a show of struggling to pin the rose to his chest, buying them more time to talk. Touga can’t help but be charmed by this small show of subterfuge.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he answers, “not when…” Not when Akio dangled you in front of me like bait on a fishing line.

Utena nods, but she doesn’t quite hear him. He can tell from her expression that she’s moved on to other matters.

“In the ring,” she says, eyes darting over to Anthy, “go easy on her.”

Touga wants to say of course. He wants to smile and whisper in Utena’s ear: that’s exactly my plan, however did you guess? He liked the way Shinohara put it earlier — he’s on her side. But Akio is suddenly behind her. He grips her shoulder with his slender hand.

“It isn’t for the Rose Bride to conspire with challengers,” he chides Utena.

(A blatant lie. Though they were never so crass as to admit it out loud, Anthy and Touga conspired together quite a bit in the early days of the last dueling game.)

Utena stiffens at Akio’s touch and then lurches away from his grip. She hurries to join Anthy on the other side of the ring, leaving behind an unfastened flower.

“Careless,” Akio grumbles, retrieving the rose.

He pins the token to Touga’s chest with a cocky familiarity.

“I’ll be watching your duel with interest,” he says, “don’t disappoint me.”

---

The duel begins, and so too does Touga’s dual performance. For Akio, he plays the earnest challenger, charging at his opponent. For Anthy, he strives to put on a subtler show. His blade cuts through the air with force, only to land softly against hers. He covers the consequent quiet with spoken barbs.

“Is that all you’ve got?”

And —

“Your strikes lack power!”

And —

“Your footwork is doing you no favors!”

To her credit, Anthy is a quick study. She adjusts her stance and begins to swing her sword with conviction. They continue like this for some time, part duel, part crash course. As their fight wears on, Anthy gains in confidence. She soon proves herself to be a clever opponent. When Touga momentarily diverts his attention away from her, looking towards Akio and trying to gauge his thoughts, she dives, sword first, and nearly succeeds in knocking his flower from his chest.

Unfortunately for Anthy, Touga’s instincts delay her second victory. He swerves out of the way and parries her attack, knocking her off course. She hurries to regain her footing, glaring at him all the while. It strikes Touga that his performance has thus far been too convincing. Anthy has made use of his covert lessons, but she has not perceived their deeper meaning.

He charges at her now and reaches for her wrist, drawing her close to him.

“Play along,” he whispers in her ear, “I’m trying to help you.”

Anthy wrenches herself away from Touga and shoots him a look of utter disgust. She was cold towards him at the wedding earlier and she remains wary now. Too late, he realises he’s miscalculated. It was foolish to approach her in the ring. Anthy has no reason to trust him, especially here, where she once stood witness to the culmination of his many schoolboy schemes.

Utena stands in her place now, watching their match with far less composure than her predecessor. Her expression changes with each sword strike, transitioning from worry, to triumph, to apprehension and hope. She makes no claim to neutrality, no effort to enforce the match’s supposed ceremony. Akio, Touga supposes, will have to see to all that.

The match is at a standstill, and Touga at a crossroads. Though Anthy continues to improve with every stroke, she lacks his years of Kendo practice. He could, if he moved quickly, dislodge her champion’s rose and claim Utena as his own. The thought is sorely tempting. But Touga came back to Ohtori knowing that object of his affection loved another. He will not earn her trust (nor her beloved’s) if he hurts Anthy now.

And so, Touga begins to slip up. He is slower to react to Anthy’s continued attacks. He lets his footwork grow sloppy. In the stands, Saionji may guess at Touga’s game, but the rest of the crowd is unsuspecting. Akio, when he catches sight of him, is unbothered. Utena grows excited, and Anthy, suddenly, is charging at him with newfound speed.

His red rose scatters in the air, and for all his plans to lose, Touga still ends the duel with his mouth agape.

---

As Touga trudges back to the stands, Akio appears at his side, placing a slender hand on his shoulder now.

“You fought well,” he coos.

“Do you think so?” asks Touga, uncertain of the other man’s motive.

“You always were a skilled duelist.”

There’s something practiced to his tone. When Touga was a student here, Akio’s attentions felt more than special — monumental. Here was an adult who had found some use for him. So what if that use turned out to be, in part, the same it always was? At least there was a measure of power exchanged in the whole sordid business.

Now, though, Akio’s hand on his shoulder makes his skin crawl. Touga feels deeply the eyes of the crowd upon them. From the start, he has found this mass of former duelists, returned to Ohtori wearing aged faces and clinging still to the promise of revolution, unsettling, to say the least. They are a vision of a future he dreads for himself, trapped forever in their teenage coffins.

Soon, Akio grows bored of offering condolences, and Touga eagerly retreats to the stands. On the far side of the ring, he catches sight of Utena and Anthy celebrating the latter’s recent win. Just as he turns his back to them, Anthy seems to notice him. She nods slightly, and he nods back — a secret code, an understanding.

Notes:

back on my touga bullshit

Chapter 14: Upstarts

Summary:

Satsuki enters the ring. Anthy grows used to playing prince.

As Anthy fells her fifth opponent, she wonders how conscious Utena is of the role she’s played in her recent string of victories. Anthy recognized it instantly: the transferred power of the prince. How strange it was to feel the shadow of Dios pass through her (a shard of him; an afterimage) —and how exhilarating, too.

Swords are nothing new to Anthy. She has held them often, polished them now and again, and wielded them to sometimes treacherous ends. She knows their pain better than most, and the different ways they can be used to pin a person down. For all her experience, she has never known a sword like this — a duelist’s weapon, a champion’s tool.

She clings to her sword now (she catches herself: Utena’s sword), flush with her latest victory. She has mostly ignored her brother these past five duels, but presently, she tries to catch his eye. What must he think of her, fighting before him like a prince? No doubt a part of him is jealous. Even as he pulled their strings, he always envied his marionettes, his dancing duelists.

Utena’s grip on her free hand tightens, signalling that this latest brief pause between duels is at an end. She watches Akio warily, following his gaze as he scans the crowd for yet another volunteer.

“Let’s hope he picks another old fogey,” she whispers, “easy peasy.”

Since Touga’s duel, Utena has begun to speculate about Anthy’s rivals, weighing their posed challenges like a seasoned sports commentator. It can be irritating at times, especially in the seconds before a match begins, but it is a way for her to regain a certain sense of control, and Anthy, of all people, can hardly begrudge her beloved that.

The duelist Akio picks isn’t old at all. In fact, she is likely among the youngest here. Satsuki Kishimura steps into the ring, determined. Her new student council uniform, starkly white, reflects the harsh light of the midday sun.

---

If Satsuki were to describe her parents in one word, it would be strivers. Unlike her classmates, whom she privately thinks of as comfortably rich, her parents’ fortune is only a few years older than she. She has grown up knowing, better than most, that is never enough to simply have money. To be wealthy is a way of being in manners, in attitudes, all the way down to one’s choice of sheets.

The sword she picks has been used twice. First by the former student council president, and then again in a later duel, by a man she thinks she’s seen on the cover of a business magazine.

“Good choice,” says the school chairman. He smiles warmly at her. Satsuki has never met a man so at ease in the world.

Then, it is her turn to receive her challenger’s rose. In the stands, the Rose Bride’s sullen refusal to properly prepare the duels has become something of a joke. Bets are placed each turn about just how obstinate she will be. To their surprise, and then Satsuki’s, she drops the act this time around and fastens the flower without complaint.

“You’re Wakaba’s friend, aren’t you?” asks Utena, “I noticed you two talking earlier.”

Struck dumb, Satsuki nods. She last spoke to Wakaba at this morning’s failed wedding, though in truth their conversation was mostly bickering. Since then, they’ve avoided each other, sitting at opposite ends of the stands.

“After the duel, can you tell her that I… that I miss her?”

Whatever sense of pride Satsuki felt at being singled out by the mercurial Rose Bride quickly fizzles out. These ministrations are no distinction; Satsuki is only of interest because she can be of use. And what if she were to win her duel? Clearly, she’s already been counted out.

“Tell her yourself,” she snaps.

She storms past Utena, taking up her position in the ring and willing the match to start.

---

From the moment their swords clash, Anthy can sense that her match with Satsuki will be different. Her early opponents, Saionji and Touga, entered the ring with ulterior motives and wavering conviction. The ones that followed were less duplicitous in their approach, but dueling against them was in some ways like battling a memory. The feelings of loss and loneliness that Anthy once stoked into a fiery fighting passion (and that Akio no doubt hoped to revive by calling so many former duelists here) have dimmed over the years, replaced with the struggles and passions of the outside world.

Satsuki, though, has spent no time away. She is a full-blooded creature of Ohtori Academy, and she fights with an intensity that only this place can inspire. Anthy may not know the contours of her opponent’s ire, but she recognizes her teenage fury. In each sword strike, she can feel the beginnings of an individual, cracking at the world’s shell.

Slash! Stab! Chop! Satsuki is unrelenting.

Deflect! Block! Parry! Anthy is on the defensive.

The crowd is enthralled. They watched the earlier matches mainly out of a lack of other things to do, but now their eyes are fixed on the combatants. Anthy and Satsuki chase each other around the arena, both fuelled by a desperate need to win. Perhaps, if she succeeds here, Satsuki will no longer be looked down upon, she’ll finally belong. Anthy’s motives are less idealistic — another victory will be another step closer to saving Utena.

She feels it — him — then: the power of the prince, the power of Dios. It rushes through her, a familiar current. (Did it feel familiar to the others, she wonders, or is this sense of kinship born from their shared blood?) Anthy lunges towards Satsuki with a triumphant cry and wins the match.

---

At the end of every successful duel, Utena runs to Anthy’s side. She’s moved past her sword-envy, or perhaps she’s just sublimated it. She is generous with touch in these brief moments, squeezing her champion’s hands and drawing her into careful embraces.

Following her latest fight, Anthy hardly notices Utena’s approach. Her eyes are trained on a defeated Satsuki, retreating to the stands in a sulk. Her blood rushes. Her pulse drums a wild beat. More than her earlier matches, she has earned this victory.

Taking note of her distraction, Utena places a gentle hand on Anthy’s arm. It won’t be long now before Akio selects another challenger and she wants to savor this interlude. It is the only moment when he isn’t expecting something of her; a performance she doesn’t quite accomplish but also doesn’t quite flout.

Anthy’s blood is pumping still, sizzling hot. She turns to Utena without seeing her. She grips the prince’s sword. She has never felt so powerful.

---

Satsuki thought her return to the stands was a loser’s march, but she receives a hero’s welcome. As she crosses the threshold from arena to audience, the assembled duelists break out into cheers. They regard her with approval, respect. It is a heady feeling.

“What’s going on?” she wonders aloud.

“You put on a good show,” says Touga Kiryuu, calm and collected despite his own defeat, “you’ve allowed them to begin dreaming of victory again.”

A sharp inhale. In middle school, Satsuki spent hours watching the former student council president stomp confidently across the campus. She knew of his reputation as a playboy, of course, but she never dared approach him. Touga came from the sort of family hers longed to be: established, wealthy, influential. If she confessed her love to him, and he then rejected her (as Saionji once rejected the girl drooling over him now), it would prove that she was an outsider here — an upstart, a parvenue.

“Will you be returning to the ring, then?” she asks, trying desperately to keep her cool.

Touga shrugs, offering no response.

There comes the sound of a big, bright laugh. Nearby, Wakaba clutches her sides at the apparent hilarity of something Saionji’s just said. I should have known she’d make a scene.

Satsuki and Wakaba are cut from the same nouveau riche cloth. But while this upbringing has made Satsuki a great observer, a chameleon capable of expertly mimicking the styles and affects of those around her, it seems to have had no impact at all on Wakaba. She trudges through life loud and awkward, making her personal lack of social graces everyone else’s problem.

An idea strikes Satsuki then, a budding plot. In the arena, the chairman is seeking a seventh volunteer. I’ll need to move quickly. She hurries past the crush of bodies, squeezing and twisting her way through. Soon, she comes upon Wakaba, still cheerily chatting with Saionji.

“The Rose Bride wants to talk to you,” she declares.

The pair springs to attention.

“Anthy?” stutters Saionji.

Satsuki rolls her eyes.

“No, you idiot,” she snaps, “the Rose Bride. Pink hair, pink dress — ring a bell?”

She turns to Wakaba.

“She has a message of some sort, I think,” she ad-libs, “you should go see her now, before the next duel starts.”

Wakaba needs no convincing. Quick as a whip, she is on her feet and running towards the ring, Saionji all but forgotten.

“Utena! Utena!” she cries, characteristically drawing attention to herself.

The Rose Bride notices her first. Her face is a series of feelings in motion. Confusion at the call, recognition of the caller, misplaced joy and then mounting horror. Before Wakaba can make it to her old friend’s side, the chairman places a slender hand on her shoulder. There is a look on his face that Satsuki recognizes — a flash of eagerness at this fortuitous change of plans.

“How good of you to volunteer, Miss Shinohara.”

Chapter 15: Fury

Summary:

Wakaba enters the ring

“No!”

The panicked cry comes not from Wakaba, standing with her mouth agape in the centre of the ring, but Utena. Bunching up her voluminous skirts in her hands, she runs towards her friend. Each step is laborious, a trial. After offering her a reprieve these past six matches, the swords of hatred have returned to make their displeasure known. Apparently, it is beyond the bounds of her role to object to a challenger.

Screw that.

Utena is panting by the time she has reached the centre of the ring, but it is already too late. Wakaba holds a longsword in her hand. She avoids her friend’s gaze.

“I didn’t mean to, I swear!” she tells Utena, “but the chairman…he said he could have me expelled.”

Dimly, Utena remembers a similar threat pushing her back into the ring. She can almost hear herself speaking when Wakaba says, with a nervous giggle: “it’s fine though! I’ll just lose.”

Utena hardly knows where to begin. The crowd of potential duelists is so large, so full of candidates, that she never expected Wakaba to step into the arena, even by accident. She should wish her friend well, but to do so feels like betting against Anthy. She wants to tell her to be careful, but such a warning feels futile if she’s already in the ring.

Akio steps between them, red rose in hand. He approaches Wakaba, leaning over to pin the flower to her chest.

“Hey, stop that,” snaps Utena, “that’s my job!”

“A duty you’ve carried out carelessly until this point,” retorts Akio, his tone thick with derision. “You’ve given me no choice but to take it on myself. Return to your champion. It’s clear you prefer her company to your responsibilities.”

Such a scolding shouldn’t wound Utena — she is here, in this arena, in this dress, in this role, under duress — and yet her cheeks burn, hot and red. She looks to Wakaba, who seem to shrink beneath Akio’s shadow, flustered by the scene playing out before her.

“It’s alright, Utena,” she says wanly, “I’ll be fine, I promise!”

---

At Anthy’s side once again, Utena tries to process what’s just happened.

“Can you believe it? How could he tell me off like that?”

Anthy lets out a neutral hum, but her attention is elsewhere. She is focused on her newest adversary, warily watching Wakaba as Akio guides her through a series of practice strokes. He has offered no such support to her previous challengers and would likely intervene were Utena to do the same, but as Gamemaster, he can allow a variation whenever he pleases. What worries Anthy is not the abuse of power, trivial for her brother, but the hopes he’s suddenly attached to her latest challenger.

“Wakaba’s only fighting because he threatened to expel her otherwise,” continues Utena, working herself into a frenzy. “Argh — I can’t stand him!” she exclaims, “I can’t stand any of this.”

In no particular order, in that moment, Utena wants to grab a sword and fight the duels herself; to coax Wakaba out of the ring and away from this mess; to punch Akio; to see him fall to the ground; and for Anthy to comfort her. She gets none of these things.

“She’s going to be a tough opponent,” notes Anthy, singularly focused on the challenge before her, “she was when you fought her.”

The invocation of Utena’s own past as a duelist serves only to make her feel worse.

“Go easy on her,” she pleads, “Wakaba’s my best friend.”

---

“You’re a natural.”

The chairman stands directly behind Wakaba. His hands rest on her forearms, and steer her movements, guiding the swish of her sword through the air. She knows she shouldn’t be enjoying herself, and she isn’t really, but his proximity makes her blush.

“You…you shouldn’t be doing this,” she stutters, “no one else got lessons.”

Akio laughs, measured and melodious. He leans down, drawing somehow even closer to Wakaba and whispers in her ear.

“That isn’t quite true, you know,” he tells her. “Did you watch Kiryuu duel? He thought he was being subtle, but I could see what he was doing from a mile away.”

Wakaba thinks back to Touga’s duel. At the time, it seemed to her that his comments on Anthy’s footwork were purely mocking. Could there really have been more to them?

“And he’s not the only one,” continues Akio, “your friend Saionji certainly took a long time to warm up — almost as if he were trying to give Anthy a chance to gain her bearings.”

He smirks behind Wakaba’s back.

“Then again, he’s always had a soft spot for her, hasn’t he?”

(“Anthy?” — earlier, Saionji said her name almost reverently).

---

Throughout the last dueling cycle, Anthy only ever feared for Utena’s life twice: during her second duel with Touga, and when she refused to take the sword and fight Wakaba. (Though Akio talked a big game about pain and combat in his duel, Anthy never believed that he would follow through on his implicit threats. A student dead by his hands was a direct threat to the comfortable coffin he’d carved out for himself at Ohtori).

This time around, Wakaba isn’t as visibly angry when she enters the ring. There’s something sheepish to her gait, as if she knows she doesn’t belong. Anthy senses her opportunity, and attacks with force. Her sword crashes down against Wakaba’s. She is merciless in her assault, allowing her opponent no respite, no chance to catch her breath. Wakaba blocks as best she can, bewildered and overwhelmed.

“Hey, give me a break,” she snaps, parrying Anthy’s latest blow, “you don’t need to be so harsh — this is all one big misunderstanding!”

But Anthy pays her no heed, expending copious energy in an attempt to bring the duel to a quick finish. Wakaba protests.

“I didn’t mean to step into the ring. Everything just happened so fast…”

“Then take off your rose,” says Anthy, “concede the duel.” Then, condemning them both, she adds, “you have no place in this game.”

Wakaba does not take these last words well. She blocks Anthy’s next blow with the confidence she was previously lacking. She steps backwards, not in retreat, but to create something of a runway for herself. With a mad cry, she charges at Anthy, the sharp tip of her sword glistening in the light.

---

A few weeks back, when things seemed normal, Wakaba made the mistake of complaining to Satsuki about being overlooked by the chairman for the welcome committee.

“You can’t really be all that surprised,” Satsuki had huffed, grown impatient with what was, admittedly, a rather long pity party, “the welcome committee is meant to represent the school. And look, I love you, Wakaba, but I think we can both admit you’re not exactly… what the chairman wants to put forward.”

What’s that supposed to mean?

Wakaba didn’t ask because deep down, she knew the answer. Ohtori Academy was a prestigious school, and its representatives would need to reflect that prestige. They would need to exceptional.

They would need to be special.

Wakaba slashes her sword through the air, bringing it down against Anthy’s blade with vigour. Anthy parries, but she’s panting and tired. Good, thinks Wakaba. The world has narrowed around her, growing smaller and smaller, until it contains only this duel and her anger. The din of swords colliding is soon drowned out by the echo of memory. Resentments, new and old, flash before her.

Her love letter pinned to a public billboard. Her best friend made mute and strange by the student council president. Her wooden hairpin gone missing. Boys who talked over her. Boys who overlooked her. Boys who only ever saw her as second best when compared with Anthy Himemiya.

(“Anthy?” — her hairpin wound up in the other girl’s hair).

Satsuki’s sneers. Her snide remarks. “I love you, but…”

Anthy’s reluctance to accept her help. Her frustrated sighs, the way she rolled her eyes in plain daylight.

They were in this together, weren’t they? They both wanted to save Utena. Why then — why did Anthy push her away? Why did she keep her plans to herself?

Why did she keep everything to herself?

(“Anthy?” — the story was always about Anthy).

Wakaba raises her sword up high. She is no practiced fencer, and she never dared try-out for the kendo club, but it is Akio said: she is a natural. Spurred on by her fury, she slashes her blade ferociously. Steel meets steel, again and again, until finally, her onslaught succeeds in overpowering her Anthy. She falters, leaving herself open. Wakaba strikes a final time, dislodging the  white rose from the dueling champion’s chest.

---

“No!”

Heart racing, Utena gathers what she can of her rose bride’s dress in her hands and sets off at a run towards Anthy. Akio stops her in her tracks. He grabs her by the crook of her arm, forcing her to change course.

“You have a new betrothed now,” he says.

He makes no effort to hide his mirth at the match’s outcome. He hardly feels the need to. After overseeing six duels wrong-footed, forced to watch his sister play the prince — a bad pastiche, an insulting parody — he feels, finally, that he is in total control. He gleefully delivers Utena to her new fiancée, shoving her forward.

“The rules state that whoever wins the match shall gain possession of the Rose Bride,” he says, “congratulations on your engagement, Miss Shinohara.”

“E-engagement?”

Wakaba stares back at the pair through her wide brown eyes. In her hand, she clasps the pommel of her sword, ready to strike. Her breathing is heavy, uneven. She has yet to fully cool down from her fight.

“Utena, what’s happening? What’s going on?”

Utena is frozen in place, unsure of what to say, or even what to feel. She supposes she should be mad at Wakaba for jumping into the ring like she did and agreeing to duel so easily. You’re a fool, she thinks, without much venom. After all, Utena was once the very same fool. She wants to run to Anthy’s side, but she cannot ignore Wakaba. Not now, not when she’s been well and truly dragged into this mess.

What should she do? What can she do? There are no good choices before her.

In the end, she leans forward with her arms outstretched, drawing her new betrothed into an anxious hug.

“Wakaba, I promise, I promise I’ll explain everything,” she whispers into her friend’s ear. “Don’t listen to Akio. Don’t trust him. I’ll be right back. I promise. I just need to check on Anthy. Ok?”

Wakaba nods.

“Ok.”

Relief floods through Utena’s body. She realises that she’d been worried that Wakaba would refuse. She turns away from her friend, looking for Anthy in the spot she saw her last… but Anthy is no longer there. She scans the arena, the stands, the sky, but she finds no trace of her. Anthy has disappeared.

Chapter 16: Running Out the Clock

Summary:

Wakaba Shinohara needs a BREAK!

Everything is moving too quickly. First, there was Satsuki, and then a sword in her hand and then Wakaba was dueling Anthy. Now she’s barely registered that she won that duel and the chairman is going on about her being engaged and Utena is panicking and Anthy is missing and it is all too much.

“PAUSE!” she cries out, "Everyone — just stop!”

Miraculously, the world bends to her will. The crowd of duelists grow silent, Utena stops pacing, and the chairman drops his smug smile.

“Pause?” he echoes, after a moment of blessed silence.

“Yes,” says Wakaba, “I… no, we,” she points to the stands, “need a break. We’ve been at this all morning. We need time to breathe!”

“A break,” says Akio, “you’re asking…to take a break.”

In the stands, a few people let out a nervous cheer. Hear, hear!

“An hour,” demands Wakaba.

She squares her shoulders and holds up her chin, defiant. The chairman stares back at her, utterly bewildered. What’s happened to the pliable girl he prodded into play only minutes ago?

“Half,” he negotiates, “thirty minutes.”

To his amazement, Wakaba haggles.

“Forty-five.”

Another cheer. Louder this time.

“Fine,” says Akio, conceding the matter.

The crowd takes the news well, breaking out into their loudest cheer yet. So does his newest dueling champion. Wakaba jumps at the news and then runs off excitedly, seeking Utena. From the corner of his eye, Akio catches sight of Touga Kiryuu breaking off from the crowd and slipping past the arena’s main gate.

---

Utena watches Touga slink away from the arena with rotting envy. Her own treacherous legs refuse to move, held firmly in place by the curse that has defined her life these past months. Right as he slips past the arena’s horizon, Touga looks back and notices her. He nods, as if he’s understood something of her thwarted intent, but continues on, his own machinations taking precedence over Utena’s budding plans.

Marooned, she watches the crowd relax, rising from the seats and spilling out of the stands. Now that it has been granted, they are eager to enjoy this pause in proceedings. She tries again to leave the ring, and meets the same resistance. She is the Rose Bride, and there is to be no break for her.

Damn your eyes, she rages. Haven’t you gotten your fill of humiliating me? She scrunches her own eyes shut, and tries to picture the swords as she saw them last — a massive pack of shining, sharpened blades. Haven’t I been punished enough?

A figure appears, fuzzy at first, but then clear. It is Utena herself, or a projection of her, dressed in her girl’s uniform, her gaze demure. In a voice that both is and isn’t her, she asks:

“Are you sure?”

The vision crumbles. Wakaba is at her side, in need of answers. She clutches Utena’s left arm. It is an odd sensation, coming from the friend who once took great pleasure in tackling her unannounced — soft and possessive all at once.

“Are you going after Anthy?”

Utena shakes her head, putting her plan aside (for now, she tells herself).

“It’ll be fine,” she says, too brightly, “Anthy… She just needs time. Yeah, that’s it. It can be hard to lose a duel like that.”

Wakaba nods, seemingly satisfied with this jumbled mess of an answer. Really, the person Utena most needs to convince is herself. She thinks back to her own dueling loss — how shattered she was after her defeat at Touga’s hands.

She turns to Wakaba.

“I promised I’d explain things to you, didn't I?”

---

Touga thinks himself slick, but Saionji’s pretty sure half the crowd caught sight of him running off. Then again, knowing Touga, maybe he wanted to be noticed. Saionij wouldn’t put it past his old friend. Touga has always preferred spectacle to subtlety.

Watching him go, Saionji’s first instinct is his old one: to follow his friend, trail in his shadow and keep him out of trouble. It’s the very instinct that brought him back to Ohtori Academy, against his better judgement. But for once in his life, he resists this old pattern and sits tight. Wakaba Shinohara stands at the centre of the ring, victorious by accident. 

She shouldn’t be here, he thinks, she isn’t prepared. 

Touga will have to figure things out for himself. Saionji owes Wakaba something of an uncomfortable debt. The least he can do is stay behind and offer his help.

---

In the stands, Wakaba can barely sit still as Utena explains what she can of the dueling game. It’s a short story — the current Rose Bride isn’t nearly as familiar with the tale as the old one was. Still, she tells it as best she can — garbling her way through the Tale of the Rose, the powers of the sword, the role of the prince.

She tries, as she speaks, to warn Wakaba. It’s an illusion. It’s a pantomime. It’s a shadow-play. Her words do little to dissuade her new champion, whose eyes shine bright at the glamour of it all.

“But I can save you, right?” She reaches for Utena’s hand. “If I win the duels, at the end, I’ll get the power to free you from all of this.” She smiles, springing to her feet and dragging her friend with her. “Oh, it all makes sense now! That’s why you’ve gone along with all this. I’m so relieved — I was so worried!”

Utena staggers upward, pulled by Wakaba’s current. She can’t help but be charmed by her friend’s earnest display. She is careful not to trip over the folds of her gown, lingering still, even though the sword of Dios has vanished from view. Standing now, the sweetness of the moment begins to sour.

I can save you.

The words are anathema to Utena.

I can save myself.

She doesn’t share this with Wakaba. She knows the heady feeling of being someone’s saviour, and how it compels a person to act. Were Anthy here, would she see through Utena’s silence, her lie by omission? Would she look at Utena through her deep green eyes and understand this selfish act? 

In the end, all girls are like the Rose Bride.

---

Time presses on as Utena talks and Wakaba regrets having bartered away fifteen minutes of her much needed break. There is so much to take in, so much she isn’t prepared for! It’s a game, but it isn’t — it’s the only way to rescue Utena from the chairman’s curse (at least, that’s how she understands it), and she is to play the prince, the central role. Before today, she could have never imagined such circumstances for herself, but now that fate has played its hand, she finds she likes their lustre.

As the girls talk, Wakaba can feel the chairman’s eye on them. Now that the moment has passed, she’s embarrassed to remember how flustered she was when he put his arms around her earlier — not quite an instructor and not quite a lover. Men have that effect on her, sometimes. Their mere proximity can make her heart flutter.

It isn’t only men. Being near Utena once more elicits something similar. But surely, that’s only because they’ve been apart for so long. Or perhaps it's a product of their new circumstances: Utena, ensnared in the chairman’s web with only Wakaba to save her. She turns to face Akio, catches his eye, glares and looks away. She winks at her best friend, pleased with her own small act of daring. I’ll get him for you, I promise!

She scans the arena, scouring the stands for potential challengers. On the whole, the crowd strikes her as something of an amorphous blob, one which she belonged to only moments ago. She recognizes a few faces here and there — Satuski, of course, and Tatsuya, even Shirori. And then there’s Saionji, walking straight towards her.

“Congratulations,” he says, “that was quite a match.”

“Leave her alone, Saionji,” snaps Utena. “She doesn’t need you messing with her.”

“It’s fine,” says Wakaba, perhaps too quickly, “me and Saionji, we’re…” She trails off, realising that her friend knows nothing of the time she lodged Saionji in her dorm room. “We were talking in the stands.”

Utena regards her skeptically. She raises her eyebrows high, as if to say — are you sure? Wakaba nods, the gesture small and frantic. I’m sure! I’m sure!

Saionji watches on, oblivious.

“He’s going to force things back into motion soon,” he says, glancing at Akio, “I thought I could give you a few pointers before you head back into the ring.”

Wakaba’s amenable to the suggestion, but Utena remains belligerent.

“If you do anything to hurt her,” she starts, “I’ll strangle you with this stupid dress.”

As if to emphasize her point, she pulls at the fabric, trying and failing to pry it apart.

---

Having secured Utena’s begrudging blessing for a lesson, Wakaba and Saionji head towards the middle of the ring, each picking up a sword along the way. Saionji keeps a certain distance throughout. His instruction, as they work through a series of practice drills, is mostly verbal. He doesn’t completely stray away from touch, correcting Wakaba’s form once or twice, but he’s hardly as assured as the chairman was. His gestures are nervous, almost shy.

“Tenjou sure is protective,” he notes in between drills.

Wakaba laughs.

“No she isn’t, not really,” she says, “it’s just that with you…”

“With me?”

Wakaba blushes.

“Well, I guess she must remember the time you posted my letter to the school billboard.”

An uncomfortable silence falls over the pair. Until now, they’d managed to avoid touching on their shared past, focusing instead on the chaos before them. It made for a convenient workaround, one that allowed them to acknowledge their relative complicity without opening old wounds.

“You still remember that, huh?” Saionji looks past her as he speaks.

“It’s kind of hard to forget,” replies Wakaba.

She wonders if the words she’s chosen are the right ones. She could still laugh them off, forgive Saionji on the spot, and move on into the ever pressing now. She’s enjoyed the time they’ve spent together today, their conversations on the margins of someone else’s story. But this is her narrative now.

“I can’t pretend it didn’t hurt,” she says.

Saionji nods, his expression queasy.

“No, I suppose not,” he mumbles, “well. Sorry.”

---

In the emptied stands, Utena watches Wakaba from afar. It feels good to sit after so many hours spent standing in the ring, sidelined, yet surveilled. For a moment, she tries to focus on only this, the relief coursing through her body and nothing else. Akio joins her in the stands, sitting too close.

“It’ll be time to start up again soon,” he says, “our break is almost at an end.”

She’s surprised that he should warn her. It is a small thing, really, and yet it feels strange to be let in on even this sliver of his plans. Her gaze travels to Wakaba, working through another set of kendo drills with Saionji.

“Can’t you give her a bit more time?” she asks. “I don’t want Wakaba to get hurt.”

Akio doesn’t deny her request outright. Instead, he reaches out to cup her cheek, forcing her to face him.

“Am I to take it that she is to be your prince?” he asks.

His words are laced with double-meanings. The Rose Bride’s prince isn’t a prince at all, just a stand-in for a long-dead hero.

“Yes,” she says. “If it can’t be Anthy, then…”

She cannot finish her sentence; cannot bring herself to say out loud what she has just agreed to. Wakaba will be the tool she uses to save herself. It is a terrible way to treat a friend, and yet what else can Utena do? She has tried to act nobly, as a prince should, but she has gained nothing by clinging onto her youthful ideals. It is as Akio insisted long ago; ideals alone cannot compensate for power.

Akio smiles, unbothered for once by the mention of his errant sister. He pats Utena’s head with an almost paternal affection.

“Good girl,” he says.

He leans backwards, resting his weight on his elbows. Lounging in the stands, he looks quite comfortable.

“Five more minutes, then."

Notes:

If you read this chapter very closely when it first came out and have come back to it now, you may have noticed a few adjusted sentences. I don't usually edit chapters after I post (unless, of course, some fine person points out a glaring typo), but some of my original wording bothered me this time around. The actions/general gist of the chapter haven't changed, though!

Chapter 17: Lancelot’s Fantasy

Summary:

Touga tracks down Anthy.

Having retreated to the Eastern dormitory, Anthy sits on her old bedroom floor, furiously scanning the pages of her spellbooks. She has drawn the curtains, relying on a bedside lamp for light. Next to her, Chu-Chu is in a mood. He paces around the room, knocking over whatever stands in his way. Anthy’s book piles have crumbled, and Wakaba’s lackluster attempt to fold last night’s bedsheets has been completely undone.

Downstairs, the front door is pushed open and a stranger allows themselves in. Anthy grows stiff, remembering other homes and other doors forced open. She steers herself, remembering the crowd of duelists at the arena. Have they come to extract their revenge now that she is no longer dueling champion?

The bedroom door hangs ajar. Anthy rises to close it, only to come face to face with her uninvited guest.

“So this is where you’ve run off too,” says Touga Kiryuu, leaning against the doorframe, “I should have known. I would have been here earlier, but I made the mistake of checking the greenhouse first.”

Anthy stares back at him, contemptuous.

“Is there a reason you’ve come?” she asks, “some message you’ve been asked to send? Or are you simply meant to report back?”

She doesn’t mention Akio by name. She doesn’t need to. Her veiled allegation is more than enough to make Touga flinch.

“That isn’t really fair,” he says, rattled. He pauses. “That’s not why I’ve come at all. Quite the opposite, in fact — I’ve come to offer my help.”

“No,” says Anthy, “leave.”

Her tone brokers no room to argue, and yet Touga pays it little heed.

“I know you have no reason to trust me,” he starts, showily self-aware, “but my offer is earnest. Surely you know — we have the same goal.”

As he speaks, Chu-Chu attacks his foot, poking it repeatedly with a discarded pencil. His ministrations have little effect on Touga, serving mostly to dent the supple leather of his shoes. Anthy, meanwhile, is forced to repeat herself.

“I don’t want your help.”

For a second, Touga looks as though he just might do as Anthy wishes and retreat, leaving her and Chu-Chu to their solitude. But the moment passes, and he remains in her doorway, a satisfied smirk playing upon his lips.

“I’m not as susceptible as Shinohara, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He’s left her no choice. Anthy calls upon her strength to dislodge Touga from his spot in the doorframe and push him out into the hallway. Taken aback by her actions, he stumbles backwards, giving Anthy the time she needs to close the door in his face. She bolts the door shut and seals it with a spell, locking it twice.

---

Though she has banished him from the bedroom, Anthy has not been so thorough as to exile Touga from the entirety of the Eastern dorms. And so he lingers in the corridors, loitering on his feet for a stretch, before taking in the relative cleanliness of the floor, and lowering himself to sit upon it, his back pressed against Anthy’s double-locked door. Chu-Chu, sensing him, glowers at the blocked entrance, letting out the occasional growl.

“I’m not leaving,” says Touga. His voice is muffled. “There’s no point in going back there without you.”

Anthy has returned to her books, though in truth, she can barely manage to absorb their contents. She is distracted by the spectre of recent events — Wakaba’s sharp sword, Utena’s mounting frustrations, her own princely delusions. On every page, or thereabouts, is some word or phrase apt to trigger a flash of memory. She flips through her books too quickly. She screws her eyes shut.

“I know what you’re doing,” calls Touga from the hallway. “You’re not the only one to have lost a dueling match, you know.”

Anthy did not expect defeat to sting this much. She did not expect defeat at all after winning her first few matches. She feels a sordid shame at her arrogance. How could she lose sight of the wider game and its players? She thinks of Wakaba, ignored and dismissed and then provoked into a fury. She thinks of Utena, drowning on dry land.

Chu-Chu has taken to kicking the door. Though he clearly cannot feel the blows, Touga will remark on them now and again, urging the creature to use more force.

“You’re teasing is going right to his head,” she finally snaps. “He’ll be unbearable if you continue.”

“Then let me in,” says Touga, before adding, “I meant what I said, you know. All of it.”

Tentatively, Anthy approaches the door.

“How did you do it?” she asks, “how did you get over it?”

Silence from Touga. And then —

“I had some help.”

A pit forms in her stomach as she remembers who exactly pulled Touga from his slump (and who lingered in the background, cheering her brother on). She takes a deep breath, undoes her locks, and opens the door.

---

Touga enters the room cocksure, his time confined to the corridor already a distant memory. He leers at the untidy state of the place — books in awkward, uneven piles, bed sheets strewn about, a half-eaten plate of figs, tended to by fruit flies — and then at Anthy. She seems unbothered by such disorder. Conscious of his eyes on her, she reaches past the buzzing flies to pluck a fig, and takes a bite. The fruit is ripe: its juices slide down her chin.

“Is this to be your base of operations?” asks Touga.

Anthy shrugs, uninterested in his question.

“Tell me,” she says instead, “how are things going up there?”

“As well as can be expected,” he replies, “Tenjou seems…”

Touga’s started his sentence with little idea how to finish it. He caught a glimpse of Utena as he left the arena, stewing in anger and frozen in place. She is hard to look at today, forced by Akio into a box labelled princess.

“Actually,” he continues, “this is quite funny — they’re all taking a break. Shinohara demanded one.”

“A break?” echoes Anthy, unknowingly parroting her brother.

In the past, Touga never took much note of the similarities between siblings. Outwardly, they put on a strong performance of being different from one another. Akio was cunning and charming, Anthy, gentle and obedient. There were glimpses, now and then, of a certain sameness. The siblings were both fond of stealthy, underhanded insults. They were both drawn to Utena, moreso than either of them cared to admit. Their eyes, an identical piercing green, became hard at times, the only indication Touga ever had that either sibling was upset.

That same hard look lingers in Anthy’s eyes now. Grim determination. Bitter defeat. She is easier to understand as a vanquished duelist.

“She’ll take good care of Tenjou,” says Touga, poking at her duelist’s wound, “Shinohara, I mean. She’ll be kind to her until you return to the field.”

Anthy wants to laugh. How simple a young man’s mind can be! For all his cunning and his schemes, his plan amounts to Lancelot’s fantasy.

“I’m not going back,” she says.

“But you must!” counters Touga, “Tenjou —”

“Won’t be saved by my playing prince.”

She was a fool to accept the mantle of duelist. How blindly she allowed herself to be swept up in the very trap she once so carefully set for others. Because she was there at its inception, and because she had overseen so many of them, Anthy thought she knew everything about the dueling game. She thought herself immune to the perilous poisons she had plied onto aspiring princes; thought herself safe from the lustre of artificial power.

Touga, for once, seems well and truly stunned by her. In his early days as a duelist, before Utena entered the fray, Anthy found some amusement in trying and failing to draw a reaction from him. She mentioned her game to Akio one night, who chuckled and noted how similar they both were. She put an end to her efforts not long afterwards.

“You’re more than welcome to try your hand at it,” she says disdainfully, “you might even win against an opponent like Wakaba.”

“That wouldn’t work,” says Touga, “Shinohara is her friend, whereas I… She has little reason to trust me.”

“Neither do I,” notes Anthy.

“No, I suppose you don’t. But…”

“But?”

“It may seem strange to you, but I’m sincere in this. Tenjou — I doubt she’ll ever love me back, but I still want to help her.”

A cynical part of Anthy can recognize this confession for what it is: a shield, a life-raft. Touga clings to the only shred of himself that can aspire to nobility. Through Utena, he can act selflessly. He can, for a time, outrun the rotten rest of him.

Chu-Chu has spent much of their conversation fighting off the fruit flies. Now, he stumbles onto his back, overcome. Anthy shoos away the insects and sets about building a fly trap.

“Pick up a book,” she instructs Touga, “look for notes in the margins. Anything that mentions curses.”

Touga stares back at her quizzically. She can see the gears turning in his brain, an instinctive sense of superiority balking at her odd demand.

“There’s no point in playing a game where my brother sets the rules,” says Anthy, “if you truly mean to help Utena, you’ll have to abandon his arena.”

Her point lands. Touga nods and reaches for a book, settling onto the floor. Anthy puts the finishing touches on her fly trap and joins him, reaching for a tome of her own. She lingers on the pages now, able once again to read their contents in full.