Of Unfading Sparks

Hoshino didn’t think this far. For one, there was no way to confirm if his bolts had hit. It never really occurred to him when to stop shooting, either. Naturally, his plan sounded more and more stupid until giving up felt like the logical choice—at least until someone snagged him by the neck and let his legs dangle in the air.

It took a second. Hoshino closed his eyes and smiled the moment he realized what was happening. He was cooked. He would die. Definitely. But at least there was a bit of pride in his heart knowing that his plan had worked.

Hoshino bit his lip and winked. “Heeeeeeeyyyyyyy…”

“Normally, I’d kill you. But no…” The oiran from the bridge furrowed her brows, tightening her grasp around his neck. “Not yet.”

Okay. That didn’t work. She looked as beautiful as ever, especially while looking at him like she was ready to drop him at her earliest convenience. This was still workable, however. He couldn’t expect to appear cute or dominant enough to entice her—not when he was like this. That was on him. And upon revisiting his options, it seemed honesty was the best way to go. The mere fact that she was here meant Hoshino had already won.

“Help me save Nagamori Arisa.” Hoshino widened his smile, making no effort to wipe the tears from his eyes. Was it his feelings? Yes. Was it his body running out of air? Also yes. “Please.”

The oiran’s lips curved into the start of a smile. She glanced at the massive sphere—Ono no Komachi’s curse bubble or whatever the fuck it was—beneath them, then back at Hoshino. “It’s not good to owe a… what do you call it… a malevolent spirit a favor, boy…”

“I don’t care.” Hoshino chuckled, his vision starting to blur. “I made a bet, you see. It’s not like I planned to sink your bridge. You could’ve ignored me or my shit aim, but since you’re here and my life is technically in your hands… You’ve activated my trap card, and now you have to save me. Might as well get a favor out of it, no?”

The oiran’s right eye twitched.

“I’m really sorry,” Hoshino continued, trying to force a laugh. He failed. “Last time I checked, that fucker wasn’t listening to what I had to say. I don’t think it’s going to listen to you either. If you don’t help me, I’ll blow off your arm and fall to my death—which probably counts as you killing me, too. So please…”

“You little shit.” The oiran grit her teeth and hoisted Hoshino higher to meet his gaze. “Why would you… Why are you doing this? What makes her so special?”

“She’s not…” Hoshino braved a grin. “But I don’t think people are born into this world just to suffer. So please… I’ll lend you my body. Let me save her—”

The oiran smiled, tilting her head as she let Hoshino go. Was there a scream? No. Hoshino only had the time to open his mouth wide as he suddenly felt the true weight of his body. He was falling, the wind brushing up his face and the coldness of the night grasping his heart, telling him he would die. He would fall headfirst into the ground and die like a bloody firework. Though before he could panic, Hoshino felt the oiran’s hand grasping his right shoulder.

In that very same moment, Ishigami had deactivated Ono no Komachi’s bubble. Satoru, still clinging strong to his life, had Hajime stitch whatever was left of his men and ordered a full-scale attack to push Ishigami and Hazama back and keep them at bay. The results couldn’t be more clear. Nagamori Arisa would be in Satoru’s hands. And when that happens, Satoru would kill both Hazama and Ishigami.

Nagamori Arisa was in no position to say no. Her choice was either to perish as a malevolent spirit or live but become a weapon for the Butterflies. Hoshino didn’t know how being a weapon worked, but he could assume it was bad—because why the fuck would activating a curse require you to squeeze a lemon? Nevertheless, both options sucked. But there was one more… and it was something he could pull off… probably.

“So, how do I use your power? Do I get to say a command or anything? What should I say?”

The oiran gripped his shoulder tighter. “Is… is this your first time?”

“First time doing what?”

“Never mind.” The oiran moved her face closer to Hoshino’s ear. “I’d rather not possess your body. So, our souls will have to resonate instead; that way, you can borrow my power while I remain in control of myself at the same time. I’ll be the one to initiate. You’re going to see bits of my past, memories, so that we would be in tune with one another. You’ll understand soon enough. And for the words you would need to say… you’ll know—”

Time seemed to have slowed down.

There was the sound of the river. Then a child’s laughter. Hoshino opened his mouth, fighting his very desire to scream. His heart swelled and was torn with great, debilitating sadness—the kind that would make him collapse to his knees if he was standing. The emotions were more potent than the ones he felt at that bridge. And there were images: the sight of the river from the bridge under the shade of an umbrella; a promise a beautiful man made under the candlelight; the waiting; the promise that the man would be back. It was the happiest of all. Then, the sight of everything but the bridge burning. The view of the sun as it rose and fell over the horizon… He understood. He realized her name.

Hoshino woke up just when his body was thirty seconds from hitting the ground like a surface-to-air missile. Hazama and Ishigami were fighting side by side; Hazama was wiping the floor with her enemies, but their ability to regenerate and return to the fight in mere moments was becoming a serious problem. Ishigami was literally being held down and pushed back by a number of Butterflies and shadows clinging to his body. Neither of them would be able to make it in time to stop Satoru, who was now walking toward Nagamori Arisa’s broken body, cradled by a fragile remnant of a sakura tree.

But he could.

“Yearn for the bygone days,” Hoshino screamed. “Hoshikuzu!”

Hoshino braced himself for impact and crashed through Nagamori Arisa’s tree. He had slowed just enough to get away with only both his legs breaking from the fall—injuries he healed the instant he found the rhythm to roll his momentum across the floor. Then, following the same motion and getting up on his feet, he punched himself in the gut and forced his blurring eyes to focus. The strain of healing himself was real, but he didn’t have time to act like a bitch. He was thankful that the dust he kicked up gave him cover, but Satoru was just a few meters away.

Nagamori Arisa was on the ground, facing the ceiling with dead, unblinking eyes. Hoshino covered his mouth. What remained was a blackened, carbonized face and a few teeth incapable of forming a smile. Her limbs were gone, making her entire being look like a piece of coal that had been stepped on.

Hoshino conjured a shield around them and pointed his wand at her forehead. Hazama and Ishigami were screaming in the background. Satoru’s mana surged as he approached them with caution.

There it was. The winning play. Hoshino could do it. The "right" way was to end her suffering. Right here. Right now. A bolt to the face, and it would all be over. It would be for the best. But… Hoshino’s grasp on his wand wavered. He really couldn’t do it. This malevolent spirit was Nagamori Arisa’s worst aspects combined into one, but goddammit, this was her too.

Hoshino let his wand fall to the ground. Then he reached out, touching the side of her burnt face, his smile begging her to look at him. He remembered the sensation of Hoshikuzu attuning to his soul. He had learned about how contracts between an exorcist and malevolent spirits were formed during training. That was all theory in his head, but not anymore. He manifested his mana, imagining it taking the form of pulsing sound waves, even more so when he leaned for a deeper look into her eyes.

Then the beat of her heart, her very soul, began to resound. Hoshino smiled. He closed his eyes and matched his rhythm with hers. And Hoshino sank to the darkness.

A glimpse was all he could take.

Hoshino, borrowing Nagamori Arisa’s eyes, found himself in a cafe where the walls were made of torn, colorful stationery paper. The items around him—the tables, chairs, even the cups, everything—were glittery cutouts taken from newspapers, magazines, and other books. Then came the chime. A customer had walked in. It was a shadow of a person, but the joy Nagamori Arisa felt in her heart was unreal. She received him. She eased him of his worries. Then, she would ask him. How was he? How was life? Was he doing fine?

Stupid questions, some had said. Sometimes the customer would answer, and when he did, she would cradle him and let him talk. She would stroke his hair. She would look at him in the eyes with that specific gaze he had always loved. Right then, they were the most important people in the world, after all. And if she could save them, then maybe they could save her too. This mind-numbing cycle repeated over a hundred times, with each customer leaving a small cutout that Nagamori Arisa would tenderly put in a scrapbook.

The scrapbook was a story, a tale she had dreamed of ever since she was a child. The king and the queen cried and apologized before locking her up in a tower guarded by a big, strong dragon. And now, she must survive and wait for knights to come to her rescue. But no knights came. But that was fine. No good story ran without having an appropriate amount of trouble, right? The thicker the book, the better. The greater the challenges, the better the ending. Right?

Then, she became pregnant. She was sure who the father was. She hadn’t been receiving customers, see? They didn’t like the way she looked at them anymore. They found it weird—except this one particular man. A prince from a faraway kingdom. She talked to him about it, but he left her. He was scared. So, she followed him back to his castle… but before she could reach it, a group of bandits had attacked her, telling her that the prince didn’t want to see her anymore.

There were tears. The book had become too heavy. And so she tore through the pages one by one, realizing the sparks she had felt each time. How that spark glittered and died not long after. She felt the same way when she looked at the moon hanging over the bridge. The king and queen had disappeared, but they left her with some words of wisdom: the sun will rise again tomorrow… and that time it never did. All that was left to do was to jump—

Hoshino grabbed Nagamori Arisa’s hand. And he woke up, holding both sides of her face as the light returned to her eyes. “I’ve come to save you, princess.”

Tears spilled from Nagamori Arisa's eyes, carving wet paths through the soot and ash that clung to her body. She gazed at him like a frightened child. And though she was as black and brittle as a bundle of burnt sticks, she found the strength to tilt her head and nod, the edges of her mouth twitching to give Hoshino a ghost of a smile.

“You fucker—”

Satoru conjured a swarm of bolts and rained them toward the pair. Hoshino feared that his shield would break… but before they could even land, Hoshikuzu walked in between them and had these bolts swerve to hit nothing but the ground. Satoru had no choice but to keep firing, but it seemed that the greater the control he put behind his shots, the more his attacks missed. The shadows he asked Hajime to swarm them never seemed to approach them either; they either made a misstep that would make them run in the opposite direction or fell to the ground and kept walking as if it were the natural thing to do.

And then, there was a burst of power—too much for Hoshino to control. He couldn’t really explain it either. Nagamori Arisa was inside him, and with her came a fit of madness. It felt like he could level a city if he wanted to. And that he should. Who was going to stop him? Hazama? No. Ishigami? As if. Hoshino widened his smile and faced Satoru. Snapping his fingers, the only thought in his mind was… bang.