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"Soya has returned."
That’s what Enji told him.
Hakuri wasn’t surprised. He accepted it as something natural… something that was bound to happen, because it was reasonable. Soya had returned after vanishing off all radars right after the auction; everyone was convinced he was dead, or at least would never come back again, but Hakuri felt — no, he would show up again, he definitely couldn’t just abandon everything. Soya wasn’t like that. Soya was very clingy, and once he latched on, he wouldn’t let go, because he lacked some kind of inner core, and everything held together more by image, a shell. A powerful sorcerer? A beautiful heir? Cold and rational? Not that this was untrue. Soya really was all of that. But Hakuri knew it was a very solid yet hollow shell, because Soya… how to put it?..
He relied heavily on other people.
When Hakuri lived in the estate, sometimes he had nothing to do, and he spent time analyzing his brother. That allowed him to live through life before the family’s betrayal without long-term consequences, because he had gotten used to determining when it was best not to anger Soya. It didn’t always work; his brother’s moods weren’t stable, and it was sometimes hard to predict how he would act, but most of the time, Hakuri managed to avoid very serious problems. He broke his fingers and tore out his nails, but that happened because of Soya’s carelessness and cruelty, not because he truly wanted to do it. That might sound like a ridiculous excuse, but Hakuri never intended to whitewash his tormentor; it’s just that if Soya had really wanted to kill him, he would have done it. But by the time he matured, Hakuri was no longer the weakling he could have killed, ironically, thanks to Soya himself. In the end, it was Hakuri who came out the winner…
But about the observations…
Soya easily adjusted to the image others wanted to see — most often, of course, it was their father. He had no personal desires or goals, he just blindly followed orders, even when it irritated him. Hakuri knew his brother had no particular wish to become the next head of the family, though many thought that, despite his psychoses, he was perfectly suited for that role; Soya, ignoring his reluctance, did not refuse the position. He simply accepted it and continued training under their father. He adapted to clients’ expectations if they asked for protection and the father granted it; to the opinion of his future bride, the one chosen for him… Only with Hakuri did he open up, and sometimes Hakuri thought that real emotions were piling up inside Soya, and when they met, they burst out of him like a dam breaking, which made his mood resemble a wildly swinging pendulum. But sometimes it was easy to please Soya — one just had to do what he wanted. Hakuri saw this as sublimation. Since Soya always did what others wanted, in return, he craved submission.
That’s why Hakuri was at once surprised and not surprised that Soya fled the family as soon as the auction fell. And he wasn’t at all shocked that he came back, because for someone like his brother, a free life was a burden. Surely he wanted to breathe freely, away from the family’s pressure, but none of them really knew what it meant to live independently. Probably, if not for Shiba-san’s kindness, Enji would have been lost too, but Shiba visited him sometimes and gave advice, and together with him and their father’s secretaries, still loyal to the Sazanami clan, they somehow managed to build a stable existence for the family further. Hakuri wasn’t particularly interested. He despised the clan, but he didn’t feel hatred toward the children left there, and sometimes he came with Shiba just to see them. Enji and Tamaki never really harmed him, rather just ignored him, so he didn’t wish them bad, especially since Enji strove for the sake of the family in memory of Tenri. Sometimes Enji spoke with him… It resembled an attempt to make amends for past indifference. That angered Hakuri, but he reminded himself it wasn’t worth spoiling relations with what remained of the clan. Not out of fear, but for the sake of the children and, ironically, possible gain. They could teach him some techniques of using family sorcery.
That’s why Enji told him about Soya. Because between them now existed a fragile bond, trust… And Enji knew that Soya was a very painful subject for Hakuri.
When he said it, they were standing in the office; Shiba had gone out onto the veranda to smoke, but Hakuri thought that perhaps he already knew about the elder brother, and only decided to entrust the confession to Enji. Like one of many lessons about trust. He swallowed. Then looked at the neat row of books behind Enji, the ones once arranged by their father. Sometimes he wondered if he had ever truly read them or just set them up as decoration. Then… his gaze slid to the desk and the papers, and he looked Enji in the eyes.
"I suppose I should congratulate you. One headache less."
"More likely one more," he replied grimly.
"Does he really cause that many problems?"
"He? No. But…"
And Enji told him about how Soya had returned. He emphasized that word — how.
Never in his life had Hakuri felt pity for his abusers, and he wouldn’t feel it now. The family had given him unforgettable years of nightmares and broken trust, had left many scars. Sometimes Hakuri flinched even at the slightest touch, because Soya was persistent in his displays of love, always grabbing his hands. He felt no pity for Enji, Tamaki, or the other adults who ignored his problems; he wasn’t going to pity Soya. And what he heard didn’t make his heart tremble or feel the slightest stab of pity, but it truly made him uncomfortable. It was a sticky feeling of fear, disgust, and at the same time, understanding why it happened. Enji told him:
"I think he was trying to reach your level."
Two sorceries.
What triggered them in Hakuri? Violence. What did Soya attempt? Violence. As he gave it, so he received it, and so, for several months, started his endless race with death. But it wasn’t really about the violence; it was about the genetic anomaly, but was Soya ready to believe that? If he thought something, he held to it to the very end, no matter what. That was the case with Hakuri’s escape. Soya, until the very end, was convinced that his brother would never betray him. Foolishness, truly. That foolishness was what angered Hakuri. Probably, deep inside, he had expected something more from Soya. Something more reasonable. Why? Maybe he just couldn’t rid himself of their bond. As it was with their father, so it was with his brother. But with Soya, it was easier to sever all ties. Soya… had made far too many mistakes.
There was nothing to pity him for.
"And? Did he succeed?" Hakuri asked haughtily, and Enji pressed his lips together. Somewhere on the veranda, Shiba coughed from the cigarette smoke.
"Don’t ask nonsense."
"Surprising that he crawled back like a dog," despite expecting it to happen, Hakuri had imagined Soya would return more solemnly, or at least not so pathetically. "He’s not the kind who likes to show his true self."
"I suppose he had no choice," Enji paused. "I told you this so you would be more cautious. Not to get frightened if you run into him by accident. But I don’t think that will happen."
Soya was in a bad state — that’s an understatement. But not so much that it was fatal. Probably, someday he would recover… But Hakuri cared little. He simply nodded, thanking Enji for his honesty, and then Shiba returned to the room and suggested they do some work. Time flowed quickly, though not as he wished, but when the day ended, Hakuri felt even exhausted. He knew the reason — Soya, the embodiment of his horrors. He wished Soya had remained a distant, unattainable nightmare, perhaps dead somewhere in a ditch, but Soya had returned… Even if only to the family, still… On the other hand, now there was no need to fear him suddenly appearing. Enji certainly wouldn’t allow his brother to throw himself again into a suicidal, bloody quest for the unattainable.
Several times, he returned to the estate with Shiba, but Hakuri never saw his brother. He looked around, trying to find him, to sense his presence… Probably, he wanted to understand, to feel whether he would still fear him even now, when he was stronger. But Soya never appeared. Maybe that was for the best. But Hakuri wanted to see him, to make sure. To confirm to himself that now he stood above his brother, stood on a peak, while that one had wasted his time and strength chasing the unattainable. Spite, perhaps… Possibly. Hakuri felt no pangs of conscience.
But of course, the meeting happened anyway.
By accident. No one had been looking for anyone on purpose. Shiba and Enji were busy with their discussions, and Hakuri wandered around the estate, not knowing what to do with himself. He was passing by the inner garden, drifting forward without much direction, when he heard the rustle of grass nearby, and lowering his head, he saw a small cloth ball — a temari; when he looked more closely, he shuddered, because he recognized the pattern — dark-colored fabric with red and golden flowers. This ball had belonged to him and Tenri in childhood, and before that, to Soya. It seemed their mother had sewn it before she finally came to hate her children. He stared at the ball, and then forward, from where it had rolled.
In the yard stood pavilions; sometimes their father held meetings outdoors, but this one was not such — just old swings under a roof. Most often, they had been used by father’s concubines when they watched over the small children playing in the yard, but now only one person sat on the swings. From afar, Hakuri did not recognize that person, but then he looked closer, and inside him, everything went cold, because there sat Soya.
His brother wasn’t looking in his direction. It seemed he was lost in his own thoughts, staring somewhere ahead, undefined. The last time they had met was in November; now it was summer, and after so much time, he had changed… not much, but enough that Hakuri hadn’t recognized him at once. Probably the most noticeable difference was his hair. Soya had always kept it cut short, but now it reached his shoulders, covering his face. Hakuri recognized him only by silhouette, by instinct… He knew Soya too well to forget. He was dressed in a gray yukata, like the one Tamaki wore. Probably she had been looking after him while Enji was busy with the other matters. For a while, Hakuri looked at him and then lowered his gaze to the ball. He clenched his fist… but then bent down and picked it up, and then took a step forward.
The main thing is not to be afraid.
From above, the rain began to sprinkle. The sky turned gray.
When Hakuri stopped nearby, Soya lifted his gaze to him. But nothing followed. No anger, no fear, no catharsis. Hakuri felt nothing, as if the person before him were some stranger. Even he was surprised at his indifference. Could it be that life beside Chihiro had helped him overcome his fears so much that now he wasn’t afraid of his elder brother? Soya stared at him unblinking, but it wasn’t the wild gaze of a beast filled with threat. He simply looked at him, and Hakuri held the ball out to him. Once, Soya’s fingers, when clenching into a fist, carried pain. Now… bony… Even Hakuri could have broken them.
His brother’s interest died instantly as soon as he got the ball back. When thunder rumbled, Hakuri raised his head to the darkening sky, then lowered his gaze to Soya again. Perhaps he was waiting for some catharsis? Something that would tell him he had emerged as the final victor of this struggle. But nothing happened. There was no feeling of pleasure. Not even disappointment. He just looked at his brother… and the latter turned the ball around in his hands, as if trying to break it apart like a shell. But there was nothing inside; it was the same deception as the fabricated image of Sazanami Soya that Hakuri had known all those years before.
Soya kept spinning the ball. Hakuri looked back. He didn’t want to run in the rain back to the house, though the distance was short. But such rains tended to end quickly.
"Why are you here?"
Hearing his brother’s lifeless voice, Hakuri turned sharply.
Soya didn’t look at him, still squeezing the ball, but he no longer turned it; it rested on his lap, pressed under his palm. Only then did Hakuri notice the large veins bulging on the back of his hand. The sight made him uncomfortable, even disgusted.
"I just saw the ball roll away."
"You’re lying."
If Soya was certain of something, he could not be persuaded otherwise. But now Hakuri was stronger, and… Yes, in fact, he was lying. He smirked crookedly while Soya went on squeezing the ball, far too small for his large hands. A detail from childhood, in the present, the temari looked ridiculous.
"Maybe I am lying. I wanted to take a look at you, pathetic, after your return."
"I see," Soya let out a short chuckle. "I thought so."
He didn’t say anything more, returned to his ball, and Hakuri felt a grimace stretch across his face, born of irritation or other hidden feelings. He thought so. He thought so! That bastard! Who… he clenched his fist, wanting to grab Soya by the collar and throw him to the ground, but he restrained himself. He was better than his brother; he was merciful. Soya had been left far behind, harmed himself chasing the impossible, while Hakuri…
The rain only grew stronger, and he clicked his tongue in annoyance. He shouldn’t have left the house for this stupid ball. He looked at the veranda, so far and near at once, separated from him by a wall of rain, then turned back to Soya. His brother wasn’t at all interested in his presence; he kept squeezing the ball, as if finding in it some strange consolation. It was a wrong sight… Soya had never been like this. He had always either been falsely calm or caught in one of his fits. Never something in between. Some said that sometimes people understood only their own language. Maybe Soya had been broken so badly that he suddenly understood everything. But Hakuri doubted that very much. Soya was not one of those who easily understood his mistakes.
"I remember," he suddenly heard a voice from the side, "how mother sewed this ball. It was right after the war. In the safe house, there were remnants of old kimonos, already useless for anything, and she made this ball… Then the maids hurriedly finished it, because mother wasn’t a very good seamstress. I don’t know why she made it. Maybe then she was still trying to be a good mother. At least not to hate her children."
Hakuri gave him no answer, just watched as Soya raised the ball to his face. Only at that moment in his eyes, the extinguished look suddenly gained a spark, lit up, and on his emaciated face it looked frightening, like the return of the brother he knew. But instead of another cruelty, he simply cupped the ball in both hands and pressed it to his face, rocking it, and the sight became even more repulsive, as though Hakuri had seen something he wasn’t supposed to. He didn’t want to see Soya as human. Soya remained forever a monster in his soul.
No matter what.
The rain wouldn’t stop, and Hakuri sat down on the swings on the opposite side.
"Then this ball went to you and Tenri. You probably don’t remember, but once Tenri tore it… We had a big fight then."
"Really?" Hakuri couldn’t hide his surprise, and Soya nodded slowly.
"It was already after mother’s death."
Ah, mother. Hakuri remembered her little; rather, didn’t remember her at all, she was like a distant memory now unreachable. He remembered her hands, her intonations, but not her voice, not her face. Those things remained buried deep in his memory, impossible to retrieve. Hakuri and Tenri had little contact with her, only in early childhood, so her death hadn’t touched them. But Hakuri knew that Soya had spent more time with her; he also knew that at the end of her life, when the mother had despaired of illness, she had thrown a pot at him. The small scar on his temple, hidden by braids, was one of the secrets Hakuri knew about Soya — about his weaknesses — but which he could never use against him. In no way.
If Hakuri, back when he was still weak, had reminded Soya of their mother… perhaps then he would have snapped.
It was one of the little details he had inherited from her. But if mother went mad from despair, then Soya… Though maybe he had his own form of despair, only he showed it differently, and Hakuri suffered most of all from it.
Hakuri had never cared much about this ball, though he remembered it well. Mostly, Tenri played with it. No wonder this story had passed him by. Foolishness… What foolishness. To fight over a ball. But he easily imagined Soya and Tenri fighting. They couldn’t stand each other, even he knew that. Could it all have started because of the ball? Knowing Tenri’s character, he might well have taken offense and remembered it all his life.
God, Hakuri suddenly realized, that was such a short time. Only eight years. His younger brother’s life ended so abruptly. So… vilely. Soya hadn’t loved Tenri, but he wondered, did he care at all, even about his brother’s death?
"Now Tenri is gone too," he remarked dryly, and Soya distractedly nodded.
"Everyone leaves…"
Sometimes the cause of cruelty is loneliness. Foolishness… No, really, what foolishness all of this was… He should have run out into the rain and not listened to this nonsense. Briefly, he glanced again at his brother; Soya was still squeezing the ball, but staring somewhere forward, without any direction. It seemed some thought had crept into his mind, but he couldn’t voice it, as if it slipped away like water through fingers. When his hands trembled, the ball slipped from his fingers; it rolled forward into the grass, right under the rain, and the two of them stared at it.
Hakuri quickly looked at his brother. He had no intention of going after the ball into the downpour, but Soya didn’t look at it either; his gaze wandered far, and his thoughts — deep in his subconscious. For several minutes, they just sat in silence while the rain drummed on the roof, but then Soya suddenly stood. When he rose, Hakuri involuntarily flinched, because his brother’s tall figure reminded him of all those times when he had loomed over him, when he had grabbed his hand and dragged him, when he had raised his fist… But his brother walked forward. For the ball. He dragged one leg, and Hakuri involuntarily remembered Enji’s story. About how Soya had returned home. But he didn’t move. Didn’t rush to help. Just opened his eyes wide, watching.
Near the ball, his elder brother’s strength gave out, and he simply fell to his knees, grabbed the temari, and clutched it in his hands, as if hiding it from the rain. Ignoring the wet, dirty grass, the downpour, he just squeezed that stupid ball… And Hakuri grew so angry! Suddenly, to his own surprise, he felt such disgust. Why, why, why?! Had his brain really been cleared out by his suffering?! Why couldn’t Soya have become normal — at least like this — earlier?!
Hakuri rarely got what he wanted. But he was lucky. Chihiro was ready to pluck all the stars from the sky for him, because they were friends. But he didn’t rise from his place. Pity had its limits. Soya had exhausted and destroyed his, when he had never shown the same to Hakuri. He just sat there and watched as his brother went on, clutching that miserable ball, because it was the last thing that reminded him of a time when everything had been good. When Tenri was alive, when the three of them had been friends, when their mother wasn’t yet ill. Soya had nothing else left.
Sometimes it happened that a stupid old temari was all you had left.
The great nothing. As the shaven monks said — Mu.
When he stood up, Hakuri didn’t move. He only pushed lightly with his foot, making the swing shift when Soya came back. He was still clutching that miserable ball, not caring that water dripped from it, that his clothes were soaked through. Wet, he looked pitiful.
"I used to envy you all the time."
Hakuri said nothing.
"You and Tenri. Father loved you more than me. And you didn’t have to watch how slowly our mother faded away. She was really bad. She was so angry. Almost stopped eating. She drove me away… but once I managed to sneak up to her room… It was at night, I think. She yelled at me anyway, but I didn’t leave. I just sat nearby. She tried to hit me, but couldn’t."
Lightning flashed in the distance, and thunder rolled across the sky.
"Sometimes I think… what if I had stopped the same way… But now it’s useless," he laughed bitterly. "If I hadn’t been cruel to you, you wouldn’t have revealed your talent. But then our father would have won the fight with Rokuhira. In the end, what I did led to the family’s downfall. I could never reach you… You’re always out there, ahead of me… In skill, in mind… Able to cut away the unnecessary, able to endure everything. And I, like you said, crawled back pathetically, because I couldn’t find myself a new meaning in life."
He’s trying to apologize to you, Hakuri told himself. Most likely, Soya didn’t even understand what he was doing. He had nothing left but words, and for the first time, he used them in a way he never had before — not to insult or unravel someone’s cunning plan, but to convey something peaceful, without cruelty to follow. Hakuri was angry… Yes, very angry, perhaps, but he decided not to act like Soya and just listened. Encouraging steps on the path of redemption were good. He had no intention of forgiving Soya, but to support him in finally choosing the right way… Yes, perhaps he was capable of that. He could even close his eyes to past grievances for a moment. In that sense, Soya was right. Hakuri surpassed him. And could disregard his personal emotions.
Soya kept fiddling with the ball in his hands, then set it down on the bench. He bent forward, low, his hair covering his face. Hakuri couldn’t see his eyes, but he could easily imagine his brother’s face, apathetic as always, but this time with a bewildered expression.
"Everyone is so kind… Enji could have left me as head of the family and walked away, dumped all the work on me. But he let me come back, stay, and not even take the role of patriarch. It wasn’t like this before."
"Enji is leading the family on a new course," Hakuri remarked evasively.
"If only I could… No. If only I knew where to begin…"
That correction — a short slip — told Hakuri everything he needed. If Soya had left it at “if only I could,” it would have been a sign that he didn’t want to change. But he was torn. It was unpleasant for Hakuri to admit, but his brother was still trying to stop being the man he was, the one who haunted his nightmares. Remember the encouragement… You can’t act only with the whip.
So he lowered his gaze to the ball, then picked it up. Soya watched him without much visible interest.
"For a start," Hakuri said, standing up and swinging his arm. When he hurled the temari into the pond, Soya’s eyes widened in horror, "you need to stop clinging to the past so much. You have to look to the future. And then it’ll get easier. After all, you’re not alone. You have Enji and Tamaki."
But not me, Hakuri didn’t say, because he was part of the past that Soya ought to forget; just as Hakuri himself ought to forget his older brother. They looked at each other, and that silence hung for at least a minute, while rain drummed on the roof. Incredibly long and at the same time incredibly short. An eternity that could slip by with a moment’s distraction. But one thing couldn’t be taken from Soya — he wasn’t a fool. And he understood the hint right away.
"Do you think I can do it?"
Not asking why Hakuri hadn’t mentioned himself. He just shrugged.
"Why not? If you don’t try, you’ll never know, and you’ll be stuck in the same place forever."
Like their father had been stuck in the auction.
But children weren’t bound to follow their parents’ path. And even though in Soya Hakuri now saw a reflection of their mother, whom he remembered only vaguely, mostly through his brother’s stories, and also saw their father, biting down on a single truth, still… he was looking at a different person. Not their mother, not their father. But Soya. For a second, uncertainty flickered in his brother’s eyes, but then he said something so strange, yet so right:
"Thank you, Hakuri."
Without saying for what. Hakuri only gave him a smirk, accepting that absurd apology.