Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Yuki falls to the ground.

Momo drops the gun and stares.

She regrets it immediately. She feels sick.

Wants to take it back. Wants a do-over. Wants to refuse. What would Yuki do, then? Shoot herself? Have Hatsume do it? Maybe – and Momo both hopes this is and is not the case – she would change her mind. Realize her stupidity, keep the last few years of her life, remember Momo.

It was unfair of Yuki to say it was the last mission she’d give. It was unfair of her to be so strong and beautiful and perfect in every way. It was unfair of her to abandon Momo.

Throughout her life, there are three choices Momo is most proud of. Ones she’ll never regret, and which bring her an indeterminate amount of happiness.

The first is joining Tsukikage.

The prospect of it had intimidated her, yet simultaneously thrilled her. So she took a chance. She loved the city and loved its people, and wanted to do her father proud.

Granted, those weren’t the only reasons. Yuki Hanzoumon might have had a lot more to do with the decision than Momo would admit. Momo had admired her since the first day of school, and the opportunity to work alongside Yuki was very compelling. So she closed her eyes and stepped forward into a new, strange world.

Not alone. By and at Yuki’s side.

And then, an inevitability like death, Yuki was gone.

The alarm clock sounds different.

That is Momo’s first thought, the morning after.

It’s odd, since her hearing is no better than the average person’s. She supposes that’s just how different everything is.

School comes and goes like always. Yua and Nagi know something is wrong, but they try to supplement it with their enthusiasm. She knows they don’t know, and she knows they mean only well, but it’s sickening and Momo still takes offense.

Let her be miserable.

It’s only possible to make it through class by visiting the bathroom alone every chance she gets.

After school, Momo is at the underground base. It’s quiet. Empty, possibly of everyone.

Byakko has started going out. She’s rebuilding her life. Much like Yuki, only a little further on the path. Tsukikage is taking care of them. Momo just needs to breathe in, breathe out, calm herself.

It’s okay.

“How are you doing?”

Momo is caught in the middle of the dojo, doing breathing exercises.

“Good,” she says, spinning around with a smile to face Katrina.

“As expected,” Katrina says. She looks around the room. “Byakko hasn’t been doing as much cleaning, lately.”

“Ehh? I thought she was house-trained?”

“She’s not a pet.”

“I know.” Momo pumps her fist. “But it’ll be fine!”

“I’m glad your optimism is ever-present. Even with Mouryou gone, the work won’t go away. It’ll only be of a different type.”

Momo sees a broom propped up in the corner of the room. She takes a sidelong step away from it. Incidentally, towards a side door.

Katrina nods. “I see. You can start with the laundry.”

“Aw.”

“No pouting or whining. As I understand it, you no longer have any weaknesses.”

Momo begs to differ.

Katrina leaves, as if Momo knows how to do the laundry.

But without Yuki around, Momo knows nothing and can’t learn anything. She tries opening the door which she had stepped closer towards. Indeed, there is a dirty laundry basket there. But surely there can’t be that much laundry? Nobody lives underground full time except for Byakko. Katrina and Hatsume spend most of their days here, but they still have apartments above ground, like normal people.

As Momo sorts through the laundry, she finds there’s a lot more in it. Bed sheets. Some Byakko’s, but some from their parents. From the night Tsukikage fought Mouryou and ended it all. It wasn’t that long ago.

Momo stumbles forward, fireworks going off in her head. Not of pain, but images. Colors. Accompanied by the sounds.

It’s night atop the flower. Surrounded by a dark sky, hazed purple.

Across from her, an enemy greater than herself. A murderer. Who killed Yuki’s mentor. And who wants to kill her.

Swords clash. Each swing, with the potential to kill. The intention to kill. The desire to kill.

The red eyes of the one who opposes her are filled with hatred. Her words are delusions, desperate, dirty. Lies.

Lies, lies, all lies.

The weight of the sky and future, or the city, is upon her.

Her inexperience hurts, and she falls to her knees.

Below her, a hundred meter drop. Certain death.

Yet here is this certainty that what she is doing is right.

And that confidence carries Momo, and her blade, to slice Tendo’s chest and draw blood.

Blood red like her eyes drips down her lips and her chest.

And then victory, which looks ugly but smells of Yuki.

Momo blinks. Smells of Yuki? Yuki is nowhere near the top of the flower.

But neither is she. She’s in the dojo’s laundry room, holding a plain gray shirt up to her nose.

It smells of Yuki. Was this her workout shirt? The one she ran in, practiced sword swings in, watched over Momo in?

Momo holds it closer and inhales deeper. Yes. It’s all those, and more. That shirt does not make it to any of the piles of dirty laundry, and does not get washed that day. She hides it nearby as she finds the detergent and finishes her chores.

Evening patrol, she does alone. Mei and Fuu are a team. Hatsume and Goe are a team. Momo isn’t.

Her patrol is eventless. Nobody has fully recovered. Everyone is still tired and in torpor from the purple gas. Maybe there’s still some remnants of it in the lower atmosphere. Hatsume said she’s working on a device to measure its parts per million. But there’s no rush. There’s no Mouryou.

All things considered, it is a calm walk through the city. She takes some familiar streets, and as many new ones as possible. Every time she sees someone with blue hair, she’s reminded of what she has and what she doesn’t.

And like that, the first day of the rest of her life ends.

Not a single tear shed. Momo is proud of herself.

Day two, Momo is ashamed of herself.

She gives in on the third day, and uses the computers in the dojo to find information on Yuki. She’s not living with her family. Instead, she has a nice apartment on the other side of town. It’s a bad idea, but Momo does it anyways. She checks it out. It’s not satisfying to read on a screen, when she can see with her own eyes.

Satisfying? Painful.

Seeing Yuki living a civilian life hurts more than any physical injury ever could. But Momo doesn’t know how she could resist.

The way Yuki walks is more carefree. There’s slack in her posture, like she couldn’t imagine ever needing to be alert, aware, armed. Momo doesn’t like this. It’s not that Yuki doesn’t deserve this life – far from it – but it feels completely wrong, and Momo struggles to leave and return home when she could instead spend all day watching Yuki in the nondescript cafe. Only when Yuki finishes her coffee and leaves, does Momo, too, depart.

At home, after dinner and homework and the day is done, she’s alone in her room. She doesn’t think much about what she’s doing. She can’t. She takes Yuki’s shirt, crumpled and hidden in the corner of her closet, and brings it to her bed. Crawling under the sheets, Momo feels a growing heat. She bunches the shirt up and presses it up to her nose and lets her other hand do as it does. She cries Yuki’s name, and it comes out muffled and desperate.

When she’s done, she cries in earnest. Enough to make up for the past two days.

Her tongue, nose, and eyes are all above average. She remembers reading in a fiction book, as a child, about a people who lived in a dark cave. Without the need to see, their eyes became vestigial through the generations, and their hearing improved.

Her mother then bought her a book, nonfiction, which explained that when some senses are incapable of doing their job, the brain rewires for the other senses, heightening them. But this isn’t quite Momo’s case. She doesn’t pay in her sense of touch or hearing. Instead, it’s a unilateral improvement to her taste, smell, and sight.

Her senses don’t make sense.

It isn’t fair that she has an advantage over others, without paying for it.

So a long-held belief of hers is that she is paying for it. In some way, somehow. Perhaps even some time. What is the cost? She does not know.

But she fears it.

Chapter Text

A month later, Momo moves out. She needs a change of pace. She cannot forget about Yuki. So she finds a cheap apartment, gets help from Tsukikage, and packs her bags.

Her mother cries a bit.

Momo, too.

They hug, and her mother gives her some last bit of advice a dozen times before she makes it out the door.

Her new place is much closer to Wasabi Curry and Cafe. It isn’t the same route to school, though. She’s no longer passing Drugstore Ramen woman, Stand-Up Drinking Bar guy, and Japanese Beef dude. It’s saddening, but also exciting. She gets to become intimately familiar with a different stretch of road, a different series of stores, and a different group of people.

There’s a hair-cutter who Momo begins to use. The woman is new to town. She has family on the other side of the world, and Momo gets to hear stories about them. One day, the woman says, she’ll bring them to Sorasaki, where they can all live together in safety and comfort.

As much as Momo loves the food on her old route, she finds other excellent stores. She still sees Ayumu on occasion, as the policewoman patrols the streets in a more official position than Momo.

These are the people she’s protecting.

Not Yuki. Yuki does not need anything.

Every morning, at seven on the dot, Yuki exits her house. Her route varies, but she often runs along the ocean-side. Momo positions herself at different spots every day. Sometimes Yuki passes within a couple meters of her, completely oblivious.

Today, however, is different.

During her run, Yuki stops to talk to a man. He’s in a business suit and very normal looking. Plain. Nowhere near Yuki’s beauty. Still, Yuki smiles and laughs and is happy to talk to him.

And as Momo finds herself growing angry, looking for an excuse to interrupt them and put the man in his place, she wonders if there’s something very wrong with herself.

It’s been weeks. Why can’t she move on?

School is the same. Momo is not.

Yua and Nagi know this. The class knows this. The school knows it.

She gets a letter in her locker one morning. Her heart does not skip a beat. She doesn’t smile when she reads it. After school, she goes to the location designated in the letter. It’s a guy in her year. He confesses.

“I like you,” he says.

Momo stares. Thinks a bit. Of Yuki. Not of anything more.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

Thinks a bit more. Not of Yuki, this time. What would Yua say? Maybe this is right. This is high school. Isn’t it the best years of her life? Not the worst? Isn’t a boyfriend a part of that? This is a step towards not having something very wrong with herself.

She looks at the boy across from her, and feels no attraction nor interest. A single moment in her past comes to mind. Shortly after becoming Yuki’s apprentice.

“If you beat me in an arm wrestle,” Momo says, “I’ll do whatever you want.”

The boy’s eyes widen. He’s thinking of something inappropriate, surely. Just like Momo did, when Yuki had made the same offer. And just like then, he’ll be crushed ruthlessly.

He accepts, of course. They reenter the school. Some people see them walking together, maybe they already know he confessed, and now think they’re an item. They’re naive. They don’t know anything.

An empty classroom, a desk, two chairs. They sit down.

Arm out. Hands clasped.

“Go ahead,” she says.

He tries. He really does. But it’s not even close. She slams his hand down and it’s decided and done as it could only be.

“Tough luck,” she says without thinking. “Maybe next time.”

She had never beaten Yuki in an arm wrestle. No matter how many times she’d tried.

The next day, there’s a crowd at her locker.

She approaches, confused. Has her identity been leaked? Are they enemies? No, they appear to be classmates. Here for revenge, for yesterday? She can’t even remember his name, but if he’d been embarrassed or angered by defeat...

The tallest of the boys notices her. “I challenge you to an arm wrestle,” he says.

The crowd stares.

Ah.

Momo understands.

She smiles, nods, and motions towards the nearest classroom.

They enter. A single glare tells the rest of the crowd to wait outside. They scramble and jumble at the door’s window to watch. With an audience, Momo does not end this one as quickly. She gives the tall guy a little hope. Crushes it and feels a little better. He leaves, head hung low. The next boy enters. They don’t exchange any words. He sits down. She lets it take longer, but in exchange, she’s less gentle when she takes her victory. He leaves, rubbing his hand.

And like that, the morning continues. She takes her victories, and they quickly lose meaning. There’s no satisfaction in them. But there’s no other choice but to continue, because if she doesn’t end it today, it’ll continue tomorrow.

A girl enters. She’s a first-year. Cute. Blonde hair. Nervous. They begin. For a second, the girl is winning. For two seconds, even. But not three. And Momo messes up. She’s angry and shocked, and doesn’t hold back. The girl is crying and clutching her hand.

Momo gets suspended for a week.

Two months in, Momo wonders if she’ll forevermore track time like this.

Yuki joins an early morning yoga class. This means Momo can’t catch sight of her jogging any longer. She considers joining the yoga class. Maybe even making small talk with Yuki. Becoming friends. Remaking all that was lost. But she can’t. She knows it’s terribly wrong. Even thinking about it isn’t healthy.

The second month is also marked by Hatsume’s retirement. She’s moving to a support role, alongside Katrina. In a way, not much changes. Hatsume at the computer – the omniscient voice when they’re in the field – is normal.

Hatsume also takes more shifts at Wasabi. Goe thinks it’s because Hatsume wants to feel more like a normal civilian. Momo laughs it off. Who would want that? The work Tsukikage does for the city is more rewarding than anything that could be done normally.

During a particularly bad week, she spends the evenings listening to old recordings. Missions Yuki took part in.

“ Even I will forsake you.”

Ah, how naive Momo had been. To not believe Yuki’s words, just because they had defeated Mouryou.

It’s in listening to these recordings that she finds an oddity. She follows up on something, finds some pictures, looks into a database, and gets as far as she can before needing to call in a computer expert. Hatsume will finish unravelling whatever mystery this is.

The mystery is a simple one. Mouryou has not been defeated.

Things are kicked into high gear.

Momo appreciates this.

She feels little but useful.

Goe takes Theresia in as an apprentice.

Obvious. It was bound to happen. Still, Momo can not approve. Theresia is already skilled in fighting and killing. What can Goe really teach her? There’s an imbalance here, and it could cause problems.

She voices this concern, and is shot down, and knows she’d never have had those thoughts before.

Half a year.

How has she made it this far?

It doesn’t matter. The city needs protecting.

The original Sorasaki branch of Mouryou may be gone, but Mouryou is an international crime syndicate. All the rich men and women captured on the night of the flower were just that. Rich. They’re affluent enough to buy themselves out of trouble, or too far removed from actual operations for their captures to mean anything.

Now the attention shifts to those middle-tiered men. Global organizations don’t dissolve without a dozen bosses taking their men and splintering off into a new faction with the belief that they can grow to fill the shoes of their predecessors.

Only now is it being noticed. The gap is being filled. Crime is a part of society. It needs to be controlled, not eliminated. That is how the Yukata works in Japan; there’s no reason for this country to be any different.

Maybe only Tendo should have been taken down. If the rest of Mouryou had been left alone, they’d now be dealing with a known quantity.

“Take an apprentice.”

They’re briefing for a mission. All surrounding a computer screen in a dark room. That’s what Fuu says in a sudden silence.

“Not now,” Momo answers.

They all look at her. She looks back at them, each in turn. Her look must be ugly, because they say no more.

“That’s enough,” Hatsume shouts in her ear.

Momo doesn’t relent. Ripping off her earpiece and tossing it aside, she increases the pressure. The man under her knees struggles futilely. He’s trying to gasp for breath.

Goe and Theresia are watching. Mei and Fuu are somewhere nearby.

A few more seconds are good to emphasize her seriousness. Then she sits up and leans away from him.

“Let’s hear it,” she says with a very wrong smile.

He talks, and quick.

It is the evening of the thirtieth day in a row that she is patrolling.

Momo has discovered it’s not so bad, when her focus is in the right place. Like a bonsai tree, the city requires constant attention and pruning.

Whenever someone incompetent or with low aspirations arrives in town, they’re left alone.

If someone more troublesome arrives, snip. Momo prunes.

And it’s like this that the city is controlled and safe. With her work, there’s nobody too problematic for the police force. The crime rate is at an all-time low, and what remains is mostly amateurs dealing in minor drugs.

“You’re overdoing it,” Mei says, one night as Momo is leaving the dojo.

“I’m doing what’s needed.”

“You’re going to crash and burn if you keep going at it this hard. We’re here. Rely on us some.”

“Then I’ll rely on you to patrol the south-east quadrant.”

Mei humphs, as though she didn’t actually want to be relied on. “At least take today off. You can’t patrol today.”

“Watch me.”

Mei tries to say more, but Momo leaves.

Her destination is a smoke-filled Mahjong parlor in a lower class neighbourhood. There’s a new face in town, according to Hatsume, and Momo wants to check him out.

It doesn’t take long to find the place, and then the man. As much as she loathes the thought, she needs to lick him. Figure out what his deal is. When he stands up to go to the bathroom, she follows.

She’s just about to enter the men’s room when she receives a text: emergency undercover op briefing. Dress casual.

It’s accompanied by an address. Sent from Hatsume.

Momo sighs. This guy can wait another day. He seems pathetic enough. Sounds like there’s something more important going on.

The address is for some sort of restaurant near Momo’s apartment. It’s a convenient place for a quick briefing, if the intel is too valuable to pass over radio. But Hatsume hadn’t mentioned she was looking into something. Besides, Momo is thoroughly familiar with everything going on.

So what did she miss?

There exists the small possibility of a trap. If someone starting collecting influence in the city without Tsukikage noticing, then they’d be a mighty foe – one certainly capable of capturing Hatsume.

The blinds are down on the restaurant windows. With her Spyce in an easy to grab pocket, she enters.

Everyone is there.

“Happy birthday!” they shout.

“Huh?”

June 29^th.

Oh.

So it is her birthday. How did that happen?

Does she deserve one? Does she need one? Does she want one? Not really.

Yua and Nagi are here, too. They’re too busy being happy to be overwhelmed by the upperclassmen they’re surrounded by.

Momo smiles – at least, she thinks she’s smiling... it’s been a while. She hopes it doesn’t look too ugly.

They usher her in. It’s not an enemy, and it’s a little overwhelming. In some regards, it is a trap. There is no escape. Convinced of this, she relaxes and tries to enjoy herself. There’s a lot of desserts, and she thinks she deserves some calories.

However much she regresses, it’s not enough and it doesn’t last.

Momo is proud of her choice in apprentice. That is the second of the three decisions which bring her the greatest joy.

She knows what she’s doing.

It’s something important.

A man of questionable background flew into the city, and she started on his trail from the moment he arrived. But through a series of improvisations and bad luck, she’s sitting in the back of a semi-trailer that’s driving down a highway. People who are thoroughly unimpressed with her are following close behind, and she has a civilian to protect.

But Momo is confident.

She gets a chance to talk to the civilian – a younger girl. To explain how it is and how it isn’t. She’s not even from Sorasaki, but a neighbouring city. And, in all honesty, she’s rather stupid; reminds Momo of herself, only a short while ago. Stupid, but with good intentions. And that’s what matters.

Momo takes a pen from her belt, tells Ichigo to hold on tight, and stabs it into the side of the vehicle.

While Ichigo is shouting something about there being nothing to hold on to, the trailer’s steering ceases up. They’re going around a corner, so there’s little else that can happen. The world all starts tipping. The first time for Ichigo, but not for Momo. Momo grabs onto Ichigo and sees everything perfectly, like a seer. She knows what Ichigo is going to say, and how she’ll respond, and the conclusion of it all.

The doors burst open and they’re out in the sunlight for the first time all day.

“I-I understand what you've told me,” Ichigo says, “but I just... um... I don't have the confidence to join Tsukikage.”

But Momo knows she’s picked right. Ichigo just hasn’t realized it yet. She can do anything. If Momo was able to rise from nothing, then so can this girl.

A dark sedan is speeding towards them, but there is no rush.

Her voice is strong, as she echoes the words her mentor once said to her, a long time ago. But inside, she’s in turmoil.

A week later, something terrifying happens. Even though Yuki is no longer part of her life, the girl can still scare Momo.

It’s an early morning patrol past Yuki’s apartment. Momo doesn’t expect to see her. Rarely does, these days. But today, there Yuki is. She’s carrying a single briefcase, and waves down a taxi. When the vehicle stops next to Yuki, an intense curiosity overtakes Momo, and she approaches probably too close. Overhears a little tidbit.

“Sorasaki North airport, please.”

Airport?

“Um... Mentor, what are you going to do after you graduate?”

“I'd like to do some studying. The world's a big place. I'd like to travel to a variety of locales.”

Momo looks at the taxi’s tires. Considers slicing them. Stopping it from happening. Yuki enters the vehicle.

“No,” Momo whispers.

The taxi does not hear her. It drives off.

Momo spends more time fixing the city.

When there are rumours of trouble brewing a few cities over, she makes a trip and shuts it down before it can spread like the plague. Sometimes she takes Magoichi on these outings. The girl has moved to Sorasaki and is slowly adapting. Sometimes Momo goes alone, and pushes herself to her limits.

Nobody tells her not to, but she knows they all disapprove of her little trips out of the city. Still, they grow in frequency.

At some point, Momo learns that Yuki has never left the country. She’s taking flying lessons at the airport. Momo doesn’t fully understand, but feels temporary relief.

T plus ten months.

Momo has a hard day.

It starts with a chance sighting.

They’re walking through a park. Magoichi is pitting her against what-if scenarios of varying silliness. Most of them are solved with Momo’s sword.

There’s a gust of wind, and a familiar scent, and Momo looks up.

Yuki, as beautiful as the first day Momo had seen her, is walking towards them.

Momo’s stomach churns. She wants, so badly.

Without making eye-contact, they pass each other.

An eternity passes before Momo’s phone rings. She answers it.

That night, they have a mission. It ranks pretty important, in Momo’s opinion. So soon after Mouryou’s defeat, nobody had expected another massive threat. But here it is.

By morning, Momo is exhausted. She’s had no sleep. She mopes into her apartment, vows to skip only the before-lunch classes, and manages to make her way into her room and into her pajamas.

Her mind puts up little resistance as her body then brings her to the closet, to find the crumpled shirt hiding in the corner. It’s been washed, since then. Momo’s own doing. She’s not sure why. Maybe because the smell was already committed to memory. Maybe because washing it was supposed to be symbolic of moving on. Maybe because she recognized how creepy she was being.

But she makes use of it that early morning, and falls asleep with it clutched in her hands.

They were never a match for her. The most serious off-sprouts of Mouryou have been dealt with.

It’s a calm day, and all active members of Tsukikage are temporarily gathered in the dojo.

Temporarily.

There were talks about downsizing Tsukikage for a while, but this wasn’t what anyone meant.

“You’re selfish!”

“Only sometimes,” Mei says, but it might as well not be a defense at all.

Fuu fumes. It looks like she might attack. Mei watches warily. Probably thinking, like, big deal, we’ve had our fights.

But Mei is biased. She doesn’t see it as anyone else sees it – least of all, Fuu. Momo watches and hates it.

“Fuu,” Goe says, as though that will fix anything.

“Just chill,” Mei suggests.

But Fuu is a ninja, and she moves like greased lightning.

What’s her problem? Mei. What’s her solution? The guitar.

It makes a pathetic death cry as it crashes against the wall and its strings snap and with that snapping it’s like their friendship is cut.

Mei doesn’t say anything. She just stares at Fuu with this blank expression that’s lacking important things like anger. The guitar is sitting on the ground like roadkill. A few seconds pass – an opportunity for better or worse. And for worse or better, nothing happens. Fuu stalks off.

Mei apologizes to the rest of the team. She picks up some wood splinters, puts them down, picks them up again, kicks the guitar, tosses the splinters on top, swears, and leaves. Momo can hear the chain of profanity continue as Mei exits the building.

And with that, the first anniversary of Yuki’s retirement is marked by Mei’s.

Chapter Text

The flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long.

Momo had hoped it wasn’t true, but she receives the first supporting evidence a year and a month after Yuki’s retirement.

Deliberations have been ongoing for a few weeks now.

Hatsume has played very coy about the details, but today she has finally assembled them.

She says Tsukikage is going to have some guests. They’re a small intelligence organization from nearby, who have expressed interest in Tsukikage.

“That doesn’t sound right,” Fuu says.

She has always been against outsiders. Momo knows this from experience. But to make things worse, she’s been in a very bad mood since Mei’s departure. It’s hard to have a lover’s spat when the lovers aren’t in the same country. At least, that’s what seems like is going on. After all, Mei still has her memories, and is in a precariously defined support role.

All that said, Momo doesn’t disagree with her analysis.

“Fuu is right,” Momo says. “Tsukikage’s objective is to protect the city.”

Goe is staring at her like she’s the world’s biggest hypocrite. But ever polite, she keeps her lips sealed. Magoichi is quiet, too. As an apprentice, she’s content to listen.

“And it has been, for centuries.” Hatsume has one hand on the keyboard, even though she’s facing the assembled group. “But things change, which is why I’m proposing this. Our numbers have been hurting, and our funding at an all-time low. While we’re managing now, we don’t know what will happen in a month’s time. A merger will solve those problems, and many more.”

“They join us, and they get access to our Spyce?” Fuu asks.

“I’m sorry,” Theresia says. “It’s not my place to speak-”

“Of course it is. You’re one of us!” Goe says.

Theresia nods slowly. “Everyone gave me a chance. More than one. And these girls don’t seem nearly as... as bad as me.”

Hatsume makes a face, like she hates to hear Theresia talk honestly.

“They’re fighting to protect their city,” Theresia says. “We’re fighting to protect our city. Together, can’t we accomplish more?”

“East corridor clear.”

With the confirmation from Fuu, Goe, and Theresia, they’re in some trouble. Their target seems to have pulled a disappearing act, inside a relatively small apartment building. This mission was put into motion at Momo’s insistence. She wanted to clear one more problem before next week’s big event. It’s not much different from vacuuming before a guest arrives.

Momo steps over an unconscious henchman and nods to Magoichi, giving her the responsibility.

“Parallel west corridor clear,” Magoichi says into the radio.

“Are there any other exits?” Fuu asks.

From back at base, Hatsume answers, “No. You’re covering the only two staircases.”

Momo doesn’t understand. Their target wasn’t supposed to be aware of the trap closing in, or clever enough to evade it. He’s just a low-level dealer whose sole purpose is to offer them more information.

“What do we do?” Magoichi says.

“Hatsume, keep us updated,” Momo says. “We’re starting an in-depth search. He can’t have gone far.”

They do this. Checking rooms, half expecting to find him huddled under a desk, or behind a bookshelf in a secret alcove. But only as they find nothing and give up does Momo see it.

There. Thanks to her enhanced vision. It’s a combination of Spyce and her own natural abilities. In the window of the adjacent building, a man staring at them.

With little thought, she takes the hilt of her sword to the window. It shatters easily. Her weapon isn’t ideal, but she throws it at the window of the building across the alley. It does its job, and breaks through. The man recoils but doesn’t run. Knows it’s pointless.

“You know,” Magoichi says, raising her hammer, “I could have done that.”

“Ahaha,” Momo says, rubbing the back of her neck. “Sorry.”

But there’s no more time for small talk. Their target is awaiting capture. Momo leaps out of the third story window.

The drop is five meters. The kind of heights she was dealing with after less than a month training under Yuki. There’s no reason to fear it.

But there is.

Momo discovers the price.

At the apex of the jump, her humanity catches up to her. It latches onto her senses, and pulls them forward while pulling her body down. She has no time to react – it’s all suddenly quick and the air is heavy and Momo falls.

Hard.

Gravity is ruthless to cheaters. She hits the cement and shattered glass, and the air is knocked out of her and it’s either the glass shattering further, or her ribs, but she hears more breakage. Unpleasant stuff, she thinks. And that’s all it takes. A bad landing, slicing open an artery, bleeding to death.

It doesn’t need to be a big deal. The smallest mistakes are sometimes enough.

There’s the crunching of more glass. Someone has landed beside her.

“Go after him,” Momo rasps.

Something in her chest hurts very much.

“You need medical help,” Magoichi says.

“Later. I order you to pursue the target.”

“No.”

No?

So simple.

Her vision darkens. Goes away. One mistake, and it’s over? Even police sirens in the distance sound further and further, until they’re no longer in the same world as Momo. Magoichi’s distinctive smell of coconut shampoo is gone, too. The only thing Momo can smell is her own blood. And soon, not even.

No?

Momo wonders why she couldn’t have said that.

She dreams of blue hair and a pretty face that was once friendly and familiar.

It takes a week to recover. Not bad, considering her injuries. If it had occurred with Spyce active, it’d be minor pain for a few hours. This is why Tsukikage members retire as soon as Spyce’s effectiveness starts to decrease. It can be a lethal mistake, to mistime the effects of Spyce.

The injury is passed off as a dojo accident, and her mother pressures her to leave the dojo. Momo refuses, smiles, laughs, says it was her fault. Because it was.

Two weeks after the accident, she’s in the dojo with Fuu. Nobody else is around. They’re standing across from each other, wooden swords in hand.

The guests from the other intelligence agency are out sightseeing, on a rare day off from the extended discussions with Tsukikage. Sorasaki is an extraordinary city.

“You’re wrong,” Fuu says.

“I’m not.”

“You’re worrying over nothing. It was just a one-off. You watch.”

Momo finds this unreasonably funny. She giggles.

“Hey, what are you laughing for?”

“You shouldn’t be trying to cheer me up. That’s my job.”

It’s been a month since Mei took an airplane to Ireland. The word is that she’s making international connections for Tsukikage. This would be fine and all, but Fuu and Mei haven’t spoken a word since their fight.

“No. Letting me swing swords recklessly is your job. I’m going to be prepared to give Mei a smackdown, when she returns.” Fuu brandishes a laurel leaf like a weapon. She takes a bite of it and shouts, “Show me you still have it!”

“This is it,” Momo whispers, snapping the cinnamon stick between her teeth.

It’s a little more than she usually bites, and the effect is instantaneous once it touches her tongue. The transformation is hard to describe. Visually, nothing changes but her eyes. Because of this, outsiders don’t fully realize how much Spyce does. Time dilation, like every second is life or death. A physical boost, where she intuitively knows her body can do almost anything she desires it too. An additive enhancement to her senses, making her vision almost overload her brain with information.

Other details, too. She can practically taste Fuu’s anger from this distance. This is as much for Fuu as it is for Momo.

“Let’s do this,” Fuu says, and charges.

Momo raises her blade.

The first strike decides the battle.

Objectively, Momo has the advantage. The difference in overall combat experience is small, but they’re both using wooden swords. Momo has been using a sword since the day she was recruited, whereas Fuu uses shurikens in actual combat. Her close-quarters skills aren’t a match for Momo. It’s an unbalanced battle.

Momo knows this, and Fuu knows this. How does that change things? Not much, in honesty. Fuu won’t have any clever tricks. She’ll just want to put sword to sword and hear the wood thunk. Like a guitar receiving a good beating.

Was it Fuu who tempered Mei, or was it the other way?

In any case, there’s little wrong with Momo letting her instincts lead the fight entirely. Fuu crosses the length of the dojo by the time Momo has taken a single step forward, and their swords clash low, Momo on the defensive for now.

The next strike will be higher. She begins to raise her sword when its weight doubles on her. She blinks, and Fuu is already swinging. Her body is slow, heavy, and not any good to make a block. It’s been not even five seconds.

Calling it four would be generous.

Momo gets a nasty welt on her head.

The third of Momo’s greatest decisions was to wipe her memory.

Chapter Text

Fuu already knows Momo’s decision. It’s the first thing she says when she regains consciousness.

“I don’t want to remember.”

“Momo...”

She sits up, rubs her head, groans. Wonders if she had a concussion. Why does she feel so terrible? Because now that Spyce no longer works for her, she’s useless?

“Who have I been this past year?” Momo mumbles. “I don’t like it. It’s not me. I don’t like standing on my own two feet. I – I want...”

Yuki.

Momo is hopeless.

Fuu hugs her and she closes her eyes and pretends this isn’t happening.

But at the same time, there’s a tiny bit of relief. She wants Yuki, but she can’t have Yuki, so it’s finally time to forget.

Forget everything.

There’s lots of business to wrap up.

She goes about it in a daze.

Pretty sure she said something to Fuu about how it’s easier to punch someone when they’re standing next to you. Gets a nasty glare in return. Gets some pointless sparring lessons from Goe, whose expertise in all forms of combat still manages to amaze her. Finds Byakko at a candy shop – completely incidentally – and they spend the rest of the day testing various menu items.

The talks go well.

Momo and Magoichi are forced to attend a few, because they’re familiar faces to those from the other city. Everyone is nice and cordial, and Momo recognizes not for the first time how hard it is to judge people. She hopes Hatsume knows what she’s doing.

The merger is decided. Tsukikage is expanding beyond Sorasaki. It’ll have two branches in two cities, but now that it’s started, everyone is talking to them or watching them. They want to protect their cities better; they want a part of the national organization.

“You did this,” Hatsume says, one day in passing. “Your work in the neighbouring cities is what made them look to us.”

Momo carries this with her for a while. If it goes wrong, it’s on her.

The following week, she goes to see Hatsume.

Says what she wants.

“Things are changing,” Hatsume answers, though she doesn’t look away from the screen. “Just because memory wipes were standard before, doesn’t mean they will be now. We need a larger support staff. Your sword skills are invaluable. You could train new recruits.”

“No, I can’t,” Momo says.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Momo wonders if she should justify her decision. If she needs to. If she wants to.

“Is it because of Yuki?” Hatsume asks.

Momo stays silent.

Hatsume nods. She leads Momo towards a cabinet. Opens a drawer, pulls out some ammunition. Little pellets. Almost mistakable for fennel seeds.

“These are a little stronger than our operational ammo. There’s no turning back, once you’re shot.”

“I know.”

Hatsume places a single bullet into the palm of Momo’s outstretched hand.

It’s a light thing, for its heavy consequences. Momo loads the bullet and texts Magoichi. Hatsume watches this and has a relatively blank expression. Momo wants to lick her, but doesn’t.

“Thanks for everything,” Momo says.

“Likewise. It was a pleasure to work with you.”

Momo thinks a bit.

Anything more to say? No. Not really.

Or too much.

“Fuu is going to Ireland,” Momo decides. She doesn’t know how it’ll happen, but it will. “Make arrangements for her absence.”

Hatsume nods. They can do something like that, now. Tsukikage isn’t what it was. Nothing is.

“Bye,” Momo says.

“Goodbye.”

On her way out of Wasabi Curry and Cafe for the last time, she’s stopped.

“Thank you,” Katrina says.

It almost brings Momo to tears.

Two stupid, simple, stupid words. But it feels like they’re said on behalf of the millions of citizens whom she fought to protect for the last two years.

Momo nods, and, keeping her head down, leaves.

Fuu is almost too easy to trick.

Mei broke a leg riding a horse in Ireland, and is recovering alone in the foreign country. She told Momo that, under absolutely no circumstances, can Fuu or Hatsume know, because it’s embarrassing.

But Momo still tells Fuu, because Momo won’t remember it anyways.

And besides, Mei can’t complain about a betrayal or two.

Fuu takes this news in with an expression that does badly at hiding concern. She lies to Momo in return, saying she’s going to fly to Ireland to mock Mei and take over the discussions with the local organizations.

Momo regrets their last conversation has to be lie-filled.

They say their goodbyes, and she wishes good luck to Fuu, but the other girl probably doesn’t hear it.

Magoichi didn’t have any confidence when she joined. Momo would like to think that’s changed and that it’s because of Momo’s help. That might be true, or it might not.

Maybe Momo has been a terrible, ugly mentor.

They’re at the park boardwalk. Like so many nights Momo spent with Yuki. All of which will be gone. If nobody remembers it, does it matter that it happened? Every interaction she’d had with Yuki will be erased from the world. And, along with it, the pain.

When they descend the stairs onto the beach, Momo faces Magoichi.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I wasn’t expecting to be done in so early.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

Momo smiles wryly. “Okay.”

She’s not going to argue it, in any case.

“I do love this city,” Momo says. “Even if I got distracted sometimes.”

“What do you think you’re going to do?”

“Become a police officer,” Momo says and laughs.

Not a chance.

She’s already done everything she can for the city. Though it wasn’t as much as she wanted. Not as long as she wanted. If she was going to wipe her memory at the end, why couldn’t it have lasted longer? Wring every drop of energy out of her, before throwing her out. Or maybe that’s what happened. Without Yuki, without Spyce, she’s useless.

No good.

Momo hands the gun over.

Magoichi is stronger than Momo was. She doesn’t cry in Momo’s lap all night. Instead, they talk. Momo struggles to find the meaning in their conversation, which lasts from sunset until sunrise. It’s all idle talk. Silly stuff. Some girl stuff. Some Sorasaki stuff. She won’t remember any of it.

She supposes it’s for Magoichi’s sake. Much like Yuki put up with Momo’s crying.

Finally, when silence falls upon them, Magoichi stands up. She takes a few steps towards the ocean and thanks Momo for everything.

Momo’s heart is pounding. This is the second time she’s stepping into the unknown. But this time, she’s alone. Utterly alone.

There’s a light breeze. The smell of nothing. The sound of her heart. A bit of sand draining from her hands like an hourglass.

“I hope you can find happiness,” Magoichi says.

She pulls the trigger.

Chapter Text

Momo wakes up a little cold.

She’s on a beach in Sorasaki.

The sight of the sun rising on the factory district is beautiful. It calms her.

She feels refreshed. Like she’s opened a new chapter to her life. One beyond Tsukikage and its violence, sadness, and-

Tsukikage?

And Mei and Fuu and Katrina and Hatsume and Goe and Theresia and Byakko?

And Yuki Hanzoumon.

Her memories are intact.

Momo shivers. Brings her arms up to hug herself.

Why does she remember? She doesn’t want to. This isn’t fair.

“Hello.”

On her hands and knees, she turns in the sand.

It’s a police officer. He’s looking at her not knowing what to think. Like she’s trouble? In trouble? Both?

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Momo shakes her head and says, “Yes.”

He stares at her as though she’s mostly insane.

She is.

Because she remembers.

He rushes off. She breathes a sigh of relief. Tries to collect her thoughts. Hatsume handed her the wrong bullet. It was another day of misery, then, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed.

The policeman returns. Momo frowns. He carries a blanket. Wraps it around her.

Then he sits in the sand, dirtying his uniform in doing so, and faces the harbour and factories beyond.

“I used to work over there,” he says.

“Oh,” Momo answers.

“It was hard work. But I persevered, because I had a family to support. Children I loved. They didn’t always love me back, but I was willing to do anything for them. I think, now that they’re older, they understand that. But I never expected them to, when they were younger. No matter how much I wanted them to.”

Ah. Momo is a runaway. Is that how her brain would have filled the gaps, had it worked as intended?

She nods at the nice police officer.

“Umm,” she says. “Do you know where Wasabi Curry and Cafe is?”

He nods back.

They stand up.

It’s been rebuilt since the night of the flower.

Wasabi Curry and Cafe.

Momo does not like the new sign above the door. It’s modern. The colors are less warm. Like the neighbouring stores. It blends in. Before, the orange, yellow, and green colors and the cursive writing and how the storefront stood back a little... all those warm thoughts... it had been like a second home to her.

But now it’s a new world.

The atmosphere that had been special to her hadn’t returned. The bomb had taken it away. When Momo had once vocalized the thought, Mei had agreed, though she hadn’t shown any guilt for destroying it. Not that Momo would expect or want her to.

Inside, it’s devoid of customers. Too early in the morning for curry or similar dishes. Momo steps inside tentatively. She needs to find Hatsume. And fortunately, this is easy. Hatsume isn’t a hundred meters underground sitting at a computer. Instead, she’s here in the restaurant. She steps outside of the kitchen but doesn’t glance in Momo’s direction.

“Umm,” Momo says.

Still Hatsume doesn’t look over. In retrospect, when the bell chimed upon Momo’s entrance, she hadn’t shouted welcome, either.

Momo steps deeper into the building.

There’s this feeling of wrongness. Without the need to taste. Like she can smell it; the air is heavy with curry and the more complicated.

But still, Momo says, “You made a mistake.”

Hatsume walks past her. Takes a broom and begins to return to the kitchen.

“Please excuse this,” Momo says.

As Hatsume walks past again, Momo pulls her arm closer and licks the back of her hand. When she lets go, Hatsume moves on like she had only stopped to enjoy a breeze.

Momo is left thinking, wondering, questioning what’s happening to herself.

Her heightened senses were something she’d always taken for granted. Now, she’s wondering if, like the effectiveness of Spyce, it’s gone.

All gone.

Lost like everything will be.

Hatsume is happy. Happy, and immensely sad, like she could break into tears at the slightest provocation. This contradiction is irresolvable.

Momo plays with her tongue a bit, deep in thought. She bites it, licks her lips, runs it along her teeth. Tongue is a tongue is a tongue is a tongue. But she’s not sure she knows what a tongue is. What she is. Who she is. She’s falling apart, isn’t she?

A customer enters. The bell chimes, like it did for Momo. A second later, Hatsume reappears and welcomes him.

Momo stands aside and watches and listens and watches some more. The customer orders, waits, eats, pays, leaves.

The table next to his is as good as any. She sits, and waits, and waits, and hums to herself. The song is stuck in her head, but she doesn’t know where she’s heard it, or maybe she hasn’t and she’s all insane. Eventually, Hatsume shows herself. In keeping to the trend, she doesn’t acknowledge Momo as she approaches the earlier customer’s table.

She sprays it and begins wiping it with a cloth.

Momo inhales. Through her mouth. She doesn’t want to smell anything – not now. Maybe later. Somewhere else.

And she yells, “Original curry without honey and with lots of garam masala, please!”

Hatsume stops for a microsecond. Because of Momo’s volume or the order itself, Momo will never know. And then she continues wiping the table. When the table is clean, Hatsume leaves again. Momo waits, and waits, and wonders why.

Later, more customers come in. A family. Two parents, two children.

“Welcome!” Hatsume says, exiting the back kitchen.

Momo listens and watches and smiles as the family is seated and given menus and everything Momo herself did not get.

The sun is setting when Momo eventually wanders out. Her steps are slow, lost, lifeless. She looks at the passing vehicles, and for the first time ever, is jealous.

Where is she going? Like there’s a magnetic force, she does not get far from Wasabi. A few buildings down the road, and then an alleyway. Further in, there’s a small stone park, out of sight of the main road. That’s what Momo has always called it. Without grass, it feels very pointless however. In a corner, there’s a potted plant, but it’s losing the fight.

There’s a small wooden building on a stone block. It’s probably a Buddhist monument of some sort. It reminds Momo of a doghouse, and she wonders, once it’s all forgotten, if she’ll want a dog. She doesn’t fully understand how it works, despite Hatsume’s long-winded explanation the other day. Apparently, the more ingrained traits of hers shouldn’t be changed, even if she developed them in the past two years.

So maybe she’ll end up with a dog for company. Money won’t be a concern. Tsukikage has already handled that. Her bank account will help her transition into normal life, and she’ll think all the money is from a part-time job. What job? she had asked.

It will be her own mind that will fill it in.

She’ll be filling in a lot of the blanks.

Refinding herself.

Because she’ll be losing herself.

She tries to push the doghouse aside, and memories flood in.

Katrina and Byakko, dead in an explosion. Momo never gets the chance to say goodbye.

Mei betrays them in the rain. Her words etched into Momo’s memory.

Hatsume killed by Theresia.

Yuki is murdered in front of her. Momo is helpless and worthless and ugly.

She falls to the ground.

The grass scrapes her knees. She punches the doghouse and makes a sound that’s not unlike a dog or a wolf dying. Even to her own ears, it’s inhuman and grating.

Her eyes staying open does not help. Images still come. They blind her from the present, as Yuki is cut open for the millionth time. Blood pools. The cement is soaked red. Momo struggles under Tendo’s sword. Robots swarm in. More and more of them, less and less of Yuki. She’s losing. More and more, her view is blocked. Mindless red robots. Useless red robots. More and more.

Darkness.

A hard floor. The rumble of a vehicle on the highway. Another sound. Humming. It’s the voice of a girl. The one who betrayed them and captured them. Humming like nothing is wrong.

Heavy breathing.

Her own.

She’s back in the cement park. This is a year later. This is reality.

At least she knows what she was humming back in the restaurant.

Her knuckles are bloody, and she licks them. Tastes herself. Not the iron. Beyond that. The fear and misery. It’s ugly. She spits on the ground, and refocuses her attention on the doghouse.

With Spyce, it would be done in a second. She has become strong in the past year. Even without Yuki around to set a training schedule and motivate her. Momo is independent. She lives on her own, she fights on her own, she eats on her own. A block of cement shouldn’t pose a problem. Yet it does, and she remembers how effortlessly Goe had pushed it aside.

The flower and the night pushes back.

“Your police officer father is dead!”

“As for why he died, we at Mouryou know the truth!”

Lies? Truths? Lies. Lies, lies, lies. Momo wants to go back in time. Lick the woman from Kyuten Science. Not shoot Yuki. Do so much differently.

The sky is much darker now.

The stone block has been moved a foot aside. Another foot, and she can slip in.

But she stops here. She’s not really sure why, but she doesn’t want to get inside the dojo any longer. She could disappear with her memories intact. But she doesn’t want to. She already decided she wants to escape her memories.

One more night.

She’ll remember for one more night.

Back at her apartment, things are clean.

She cleaned it all, before leaving the other day. Because there was no knowing if she’d return or not. Without her memories, will this still be her home, or will she wander back to her mother?

Since it’s the last time, Momo doesn’t hesitate. She opens her closet and reaches for the shirt. But, as her arm is half extended, she notices it isn’t there on the ground. She looks around, and up a bit, and sees it. Wrinkled and worn.

Worn by Yuki, who is leaning back in her closet like nothing is amiss.

Chapter Text

Momo does not understand.

Her brain is slow. It hasn’t updated. It still wants the shirt. So she reaches up and grabs a fistful of it. But she can’t very well pull it closer.

No. She doesn’t need to. Yuki steps out of the closet and out of Momo’s grip and into the moonlight filtering in through the window.

“Hi, Momo,” she says, surveying the room. “It’s been awhile.”

“Uh.”

Momo thinks this is a very sophisticated answer to the many questions in her head.

“You have a nice place,” Yuki says. “It’s very... clean.”

Very ugly. Very wrong.

Not much else can be said about the room. Momo spends all her time exploring the city beyond this small square. Even now, she notices the calendar on the wall is two months behind.

“I apologize. The room doesn’t matter.” Yuki stares at her with a familiar intensity that Momo loves. “Come on.”

Like that, she’s leaving out the door. Momo stares at her as she leaves, still trying to piece together what’s going on. As much as she wants to accept the easiest explanation, Hatsume isn’t this incompetent.

Yuki peeks her head back in. “You coming?”

“Oh.”

Momo does not pause to lock the door. They go to the nearest train station. Not a word is exchanged on the walk. Well, it’s not much of a walk. More of a jog. Hurdles training, whenever Yuki deems fences get in the way. Yuki draws a few looks. Momo appreciates this, because it means she’s not hallucinating.

It’s not long before they’re at the train station.

Yuki consults the schedule, and Momo fiddles with her hands. Her tongue wants one thing, and one thing only. When Yuki returns, Momo tries, but gets a flick on the forehead.

“Ow.”

They wait for the train in silence.

They board the train in silence.

They ride the train in silence.

The stop is a familiar one.

Near the factory district.

It is a park and beach.

It’s empty and dark.

Not empty any longer. Yuki leads the way. In minutes, they’re through the park and down onto the sand, where Yuki takes off her shoes and socks, and Momo follows suit like she’s an apprentice who doesn’t know any better. At least the latter part is true.

The sand is cold between her toes, and she digs them in before she realizes Yuki is on the move again.

“Hold on,” she says.

Yuki keeps going.

Momo abandons the sand shelter she’d made for her feet and follows.

“You remember?” Momo says.

“Never forgot.”

Momo considers the implications and then refuses them and discards them.

“I don’t understand,” she says.

“Hatsume gave me sleeping ammunition. Same as she did for you.”

They walk some more.

The sand is colder, closer to the water. Momo makes sure to dance back whenever the waves reach for her feet.

“You lied to me,” she says.

“I lie to everyone.”

“You lied to me,” Momo repeats, hating her emphasis.

“Yes, I did.”

It’s not elegant. It’s telegraphed, reckless, messy. But her fist still catches Yuki in the stomach.

Yuki staggers back, wheezing. Rubs her stomach. Looks up. Smiles and nods. Brings her hands forward.

Momo thinks she can take the fight. Yuki is out of practice.

But Yuki’s stance doesn’t show weakness. Doesn’t show emotion. She’s serious about this fight, and if Momo tries another inelegant attack, she’ll pay for it.

They circle each other a bit. Getting a feel for the sand between their toes. What kind of traction it offers, how it’ll affect their attacks and defenses. Maybe Yuki needs to adjust her favoured eye to the dark, a bit. Momo’s eyes are more adaptive to changes in light. It could be an advantage. But whether it is or not doesn’t matter. Momo never forgets her mentor’s advice.

The first strike decides the battle.

Momo moves.

It’s bad timing; Yuki moves at the same time. Momo’s attack is deflected. There’s a five centimeter height difference, and Yuki has a bit more reach, so Momo doesn’t retreat. If she’s already there and here, she needs to stay there and here. She tries a feint, with the intention of elbowing Yuki in the same spot her earlier surprise attack hit.

Yuki is no fool. She protects her stomach, and they continue exchanging blows. It’s painful.

There’s a fervent desire to show her ex-mentor how much she’s improved. How she’s changed. How she’s survived, despite being abandoned.

And more importantly, there’s anger. It’s been there since the very beginning, even before she’d been suspended from school. To direct it at Yuki in such a crude way is gratifying.

But the ferocity with which Yuki fights back is unexpected. Momo’s arm hurts every time it blocks an attack. When Momo reacts a little slow, she takes a hit on her shoulder that sends her stumbling back and out of range.

She opens her mouth to say something, but there’s really no words that can explain how she feels.

Instead, she glowers.

Yuki relaxes. “I know you’re upset-”

Hearing that is provocation enough. She doesn’t think as she charges, and ends up making a sumo-like tackle to Yuki’s waist. This could have been blocked, should have been blocked, wasn’t blocked. They go tumbling down on the sand, and Momo thinks she prefers this kind of dirty fighting.

She has no qualms in shoving Yuki’s face into the sand, and when Yuki gets the leverage and their positions switch, she grits her teeth and the sand in her mouth and struggles pathetically to hit whatever body part she can until her hands find Yuki’s hair and she pulls.

The waves wash their feet as their positions are swapped once again, and Momo finds herself straddling Yuki’s waste. This dominant position isn’t going to last long, she knows, so she takes advantage of it.

“I hate you,” she yells, squeezing Yuki’s wrists and pushing her arms out and trying to bury them in the sand.

“I know. It’s your weakness.”

Water splashes onto Yuki’s face. Momo knows she’s being very ugly right now. Her actions, her words, her face. She’s not pretty, not like Yuki. But she can’t help it.

“Do I look any stronger to you?” Momo says. “Is this what you wanted?”

Yuki diverts her eye, even as Momo puts more pressure on her wrists. A gull lands nearby. It starts pecking at something in the sand. A piece of garbage poking out. Some kind of food wrapper. There’s nothing good for the seagull there. Momo momentarily releases Yuki to throw some sand at the bird.

It flies off.

Yuki still avoids eye-contact. The struggles have all but stopped.

The waves wash forward and recede. A steam-tug in the harbour begins to blow its horn, and Momo looks up and screams as loud as she can during those seconds before it’s all quiet again. Yuki does not look at her like she’s gone mad.

“Don’t ask me what I wanted,” Yuki says. “We did what we needed to do. You owed Tsukikage – no, yourself – a few more years. I couldn’t change that.”

“What’s the supposed to mean?”

“You accomplished more than I expected, in such a short period of time. I just regret I couldn’t see you at your peak.”

“Did you know I would burn out early?”

“No. I didn’t. But I knew you would do great things. After all, you survived my training.”

Momo snorts.

“I didn’t need to be a distraction,” Yuki says, “while you weeded out the leftovers of Mouryou.”

“But you were!”

Yuki makes a complicated face.

Momo, in her position of power over Yuki, has an easy solution. She leans down and licks Yuki’s arm.

It’s confusing. Just like Hatsume, or even more so. Maybe Momo’s abilities are going away? What does she taste? Hatred, love, sadness, happiness, regret, pride, and the list goes on. It wraps around the world and out of sight and Momo’s savouring this complex taste like she would a curry. But she can’t sit here forever, and she wants answers.

She’s impatient, like she once was.

“I don’t get it,” she says.

Yuki stares at her. It’s with a weird sort of patience. Not consistent with her teaching style. Momo tries another lick. Longer this time, along Yuki’s other arm. Even though she feels no more enlightened, Momo likes the taste.

They sit there a minute. Yuki doesn’t struggle to escape, though she must be uncomfortable pinned there in the sand.

“When I said I lie to everyone, I meant it.” Yuki pauses. Her eye flits away. “I lied to myself.”

“Huh?” Momo says, her eyes and mind busy considering other places to lick.

“I told myself that I would be fine. That I needed to move on. That it would make you stronger. That I couldn’t exploit my position as your mentor. I had any number of reasons. All lies.”

“W-what are you saying?” Momo says.

“What do you think?”

It’s an invitation or a test. Though her heart pounds fiercely, Momo does not back down.

Yuki doesn’t move when Momo sidles down and hikes up her shirt. Momo takes her time running her tongue along Yuki’s stomach from belly button to bra. Midway, she stops. It’s red there, where Momo’s first strike hit.

But that aside, what does she taste?

What does it tell her?

That she’s losing her sense of taste?

She looks at Yuki, but it doesn’t help. It distracts. Yuki is biting her lower lip, eye averted.

Is her sense of smell going away? What does she smell? Momo grabs a fistful of shirt, like she always has, and inhales deeply. Saltwater, from the sea lapping at their feet. Laundry detergent, from that time Momo tried to move on. Yuki’s scent, well-known yet from long long ago. And finally, Momo’s own lust, from a year of making liberal use of the shirt.

Momo pulls away, the thought making her blush. Hopefully it’s dark enough that Yuki can’t tell.

Yuki. Still silent and patient. Momo’s eyes wander.

Is her vision going away? What does she see? Skin so white, lips so red. A nose she tried to break a minute ago but now never wants to see harmed. Hair blue and beautiful and messy and sandy because of Momo. It covers her right eye. She reaches out to touch and all of a sudden Yuki is staring into her eyes. Rather than recoil and apologize, Momo freezes up.

“Yes?” Yuki says.

And Momo is bold. It’s been a year that she’s missed that face. No longer. She finishes reaching out, and brushes hair aside to reveal Yuki’s scarred eye. Yuki blinks. They’re a deep purple – black onyx in this darkness – but beautiful and Momo wants to stare into them for a year or two or three to make up for the lost time.

And she does stare, for a bit, but eventually her eyes are distracted downwards. Yuki’s mouth is parted slightly and she’s breathing hard from the physical exertion of earlier. Her lips are not frowning nor smiling, but lost in between. Again, there’s this patience that’s unfamiliar. Maybe from the last year of Yuki’s life, where she’d experienced the city in a very different way.

At least Momo can confidently say all her senses are working up to par. It’s just that Yuki is too complicated to understand. Too much of a mystery.

An intense, burning nervousness pushes Momo forward. She’s no longer pining Yuki’s arms down, and instead her hands are pressed down in the sand on either side of Yuki’s head.

“Excuse me,” she says as she leans down.

If this doesn’t answer her questions, she doesn’t know what will.

Yuki has nowhere to go. Can’t and doesn’t recoil. Momo leans down, pauses a second to inhale because she’s weird, and presses her tongue to Yuki’s right cheek. Again, there’s this mess of emotions, swirling together like the tides under the moon. Sorting through them would be a futile, headache-inducing effort, so Momo doesn’t. Instead, she focuses on more embarrassing things, like how pretty Yuki’s eyelashes are, up close, and how their chests are nearly touching, and how Yuki is wearing a shirt that Momo stole and used for her own pleasure so many times.

Yuki makes this sound, like a squeak or a hum, when Momo’s tongue finally draws itself to her scar. This is dangerous territory. It’s not just a wound. It’s history. A reminder of the defeat and loss she’d suffered that day. Incomprehensible pain. What Momo felt when she believed her mentor dead was nothing in comparison.

And here she is, someone who came along afterwards, so naive and pathetic and ugly, and yet she has the audacity to trample over this memory.

She wants Yuki to push her away, slap her, hit her, accuse her. Some kind of feedback to validate these feelings. Momo’s an insensitive idiot.

But Yuki is too tolerant.

Her lips weren’t supposed to be involved in any way, yet somehow they’re now pressed against Yuki’s scar. They stay there a second and Yuki is very still. Momo more so. She’s kinda frozen, kinda stuck, kinda doesn’t want to move. Afraid that if she does, she’ll never find herself here again. That Yuki will permanently leave her life.

And when she realizes that lips are different from tongues and that she’s kissing Yuki, she quickly pulls away. Clears her throat and looks away. Now they’re both avoiding eye-contact.

It’s awkward.

Whoops.

Does she say something? Apologize? She doesn’t really want to. It’s all Yuki’s fault. Yuki should be the one to apologize. Yes, that’s right. She’s too tolerant-

“Your tongue,” Yuki says. “What does it tell you?”

“Um,” Momo answers.

She’s thinking less about answers, and more about questions.

“Nothing,” she eventually mumbles.

She gets a look of disappointment. Like she got when she was an apprentice and failed one of Yuki’s tasks. As much as is possible in the course of one second, the events of the past year dismiss themselves, like they’d never happened. As though she’s a student again. Regression. It lifts a great weight off of Momo. The weight of the future, the sky, or the city. Responsibility.

No, correction: it’s not a weight being lifted off of her, but being shared with another.

“Nothing?” Yuki says.

Again, disappointment.

Ah, Momo has failed, hasn’t she? But more importantly, she has overstepped her bounds.

She sits up and tries to climb off Yuki, but finds this impossible. Yuki is holding her waist.

“Did I give you permission to give up?” Yuki says.

“No...”

“Then?”

“There’s not much more I can do,” Momo says.

Though she can’t really remember what her goal was in the first place. Seconds and years have passed, and she’s feeling a little silly and a lot confused.

“There’s always more to do.”

Momo doesn’t resist, because her ex-mentor does not make mistakes. She lets herself get pulled down until Yuki’s arms are wrapped around her and for a moment Momo thinks she needs to maybe lick the other cheek, because the answer is there, and then she realizes how wrong she is.

It’s delightfully wrong.

Under Yuki’s guidance, their lips touch gently at first, and then there’s this pause where they’re hovering and tickling each other with their breaths, and Momo is momentarily annoyed before she realizes Yuki isn’t going to do anymore. It’s up to Momo. At that moment, a lot of Momo’s questions evaporate into nothingness and she completes the kiss. It’s kinda like cake; delicious, moist, and messy.

Yes, Momo is crying. It’s hard not to.

She even moans like she’s just eaten a piece of cake, and it’s embarrassing, but simultaneously impossible not to, because Yuki is running her fingers through Momo’s hair. It’s a wondrous feeling that is profoundly satisfying both physically and emotionally. She imagines it’s something like how a good dog feels when he gets a tummy-rub.

Momo doesn’t want this to stop, and decides the best way to continue in this comfort is to maintain the kiss forever, but quickly finds this not plausible. She needs to wipe her tears, catch her breath, and just in general collect herself.

They break apart. Momo tries not to show her goofy grin. Hopes it’s dark enough to hide it.

“That wasn’t using your tongue,” Yuki says.

“Oh.”

It’s true; Momo forgot about that. Again, she can’t really say why it’s so important, what her goal is, but it’s actually a very good strategy not to think about it. Because, if she keeps failing, then she will be forced to try again and again, and again and again they will kiss. After all, Yuki would never accept failure from her ex-apprentice.

So Momo isn’t really sure, but they resume kissing, and she opens her mouth more, and that uncertainty becomes irrelevant because Yuki takes the lead.

Momo can understand some things now. The sadness and the regret and the hatred. It’s not from her tongue and Yuki’s distinct flavour, though. It’s a moment of clarity and understanding of Yuki in their shared intimacy. Something very human, and something that has been missing from Momo’s life. For as much pain as Momo has been in the past year, Yuki knew the truth and had convinced herself to keep it locked away.

There are tears again, and her heart hurts, and she knows she can’t let this go on for another second without doing something about it.

Yuki’s hand stops combing her hair, and she takes this opportunity to pull away.

“I love you,” she says.

Unlike before, Yuki does not look away. Her lips twitch, and Momo wants to feel them against her own again – she’s really just an impatient, selfish girl – and then Yuki opens her right eye and gazes at Momo. Its intensity doesn’t make Momo uncomfortable. Quite the opposite. Momo loves it. Loves everything about Yuki.

The certainty she feels is a relief in itself, after so long spent questioning herself.

Yuki then reaches up and, ever so gently, wipes the tears from Momo’s cheeks. This, of course, is nothing more than a symbolic gesture, because Momo has more tears than the ocean does water lapping at their feet.

“I’ve waited so long. Too long,” Yuki says. She takes a hand of Momo’s and presses it down against her chest. Momo is both surprised and not to find how rapidly it beats. “I was scared you were going to move on and wishing you would. It tore at me every single day I saw you. Maybe I didn’t know you as much as I wished or thought, because as much as I wanted the best for you, I thought it could be achieved through Tsukikage. Mei saw in you something very different from me. She saw your abilities. I saw your love of the city; the bravery you showed in joining our world; your genuine innocence; your good intentions. And I just wanted you to be happy, Momo, because I love you too.”

There’s no guidance from Yuki this time, but Momo still manages to initiate the kiss.

Inevitably, they’re slower this time. There’s no rush. Momo knows how Yuki feels, and vice versa, and it’s been a year in waiting, so the slower they take it, the more Momo can remember in the future. She’ll remember the sights, smells, taste. Yuki, her shirt, the sand, the water, the darkness, the brisk air. They’re ingrained in Momo’s memory.

This gentle chastity does not last.

It’s hard to say if it’s Momo’s fault or Yuki’s, but the passion grows. Yuki stops running her fingers through Momo’s hair and moves her hands somewhere else, but that is unacceptable in Momo’s opinion, so she grunts and returns Yuki’s hands to their original job. Yet she supposes that this action, and her position sitting atop Yuki, means she’s in control.

There’s expectation, even on her part, so though she doesn’t know what to do, she lets her hands have free roam. They’re good when it’s just Momo and Yuki’s shirt, but there’s company now. It takes a few seconds to realize this. And a few more seconds to remember the sound Yuki made when Momo licked her scar. It gives Momo a few ideas.

They’re laying together as close as possible on the beach. It’s a little cold. Especially with their bodies cooling off and their skin sweaty.

“Um,” Momo says, because she knows Yuki knows, because it’s inevitable, and because she’s selfish, “I’m still mad at you.”

Yuki half smiles. “I know. And it’s fine. I’m mad at myself, too.”

“But, like, not really mad,” Momo clarifies.

Yuki responds by rolling over and pulling her in for a kiss. Momo supposes it’s been long enough. She likes Yuki’s warmth. Yet as she makes to climb atop Yuki again, she’s stopped. It doesn’t take long for her to realize the tables have been turned, and she’s pinned down and Yuki is atop of her.

“Oh,” Momo says, but otherwise is silent in anticipation.

Yuki is really warm and Momo kinda wants her to stay there all night, like a blanket. She wonders if Yuki felt similarly, when their positions were reversed. But then Yuki’s fingers sneak under her shirt and they’re cold when they touch her chest. Momo inhales sharply.

“I was surprised,” Yuki says.

“Huh?”

“To find this old shirt of mine tucked away in your closet. I wonder what it was doing there?”

“Um,” Momo offers as explanation.

Yuki accepts none of that. She stops doing what she’s doing, and Momo whines.

“Explain,” Yuki orders.

“I... took it.”

Yet that confession isn’t enough. Yuki insists on all the details and rewards Momo accordingly. This leads Momo to leave nothing out, and she’s mortified by the words coming from her mouth, but simultaneously loves it and squirms underneath Yuki as she recounts everything.

And, on that familiar beach, Yuki manages a lot more than her shirt alone could ever do.

They’re sitting there in the sand and it’s far from sunrise. Maybe a few minutes past midnight, maybe not. Momo isn’t sure. Time is hard for her to figure out. Even now, the past year doesn’t feel all that. Yuki squeezes her hand.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I don’t know who I am,” Momo answers.

“If you still want to wipe your memories-”

Momo panics a little, and it probably shows on her face, because Yuki shuts up. The way she squeezes Yuki’s hand like they’re arm wrestling might also be a small indication.

“What will you do now?” Yuki asks.

“I-” Momo hesitates. But only momentarily. She knows what she wants; she’s wanted it for the past year. “I want... to be with you.”

“My retirement was never official,” Yuki says with an impassive look. “I took some time off, but I’m going to return.”

“Time off?”

“I learned how to fly. Taught myself a few languages, too. With Tsukikage expanding, they’ll need people with diverse skill-sets.”

Momo remembers the first time Yuki took a taxi to the airport, and the resulting fear that she would never see Yuki again. Her grip on Yuki’s hand tightens more.

Yuki looks at her. “What I’m trying to say, is, being with me means returning to Tsukikage.”

“I know.”

“Can you do that?”

Momo is silent.

She isn’t useless. She isn’t spent. Hatsume’s words and Yuki’s actions are true. Spyce isn’t the be-all and end-all. And so what if she doesn’t know who she is? She’s a high school student. She loves Sorasaki. And she loves Yuki. That’s three things right there. Isn’t it enough to start building from here?

“Yeah,” she whispers. “I can.”

Wordlessly, Yuki leans against her and she leans back.

It’s still dark and cold out, but Momo feels warm.

This hope she feels is a little unfamiliar, but she grabs onto it, and with it in hand, greets the first day of the rest of her life.