Chapter 24: The Author’s Responsibility

Chapter 24: The Author’s Responsibility

Now, we have shifted away from the perspectives of Kazuaki and Chinatsu. That’s right—this time, allow me to take the stage and tell the story. Eh, sorry, I haven’t introduced myself properly, have I? My name is Aoba Mitsuki, 23 years old. On paper, I’m just one of the programmers at Tsukiji Animation Studio, the company owned by Kazuaki’s uncle.

But ‘programmer’ is such a limiting word for someone who spends his days debugging the very threads of existence.

Yes, I am a best friend to Kazuaki and the others. I’ve shared drinks with them, laughed at their stupid jokes, and watched them spiral into this celestial mess. I am also the one who remembers the North Star—the one who erased his own existence from their memories just to protect a single woman. And... I’m also Kiriha’s boyfriend. Hehe, excuse my little boast, but even an observer of fate needs a little romance, right?

By the way, take a look at the sky. Why are there only the moon and stars illuminating the world? Exactly—because the sun has been snuffed out like a cheap candle. Haha, sorry, am I being too dry? My humor might be as dark as the current state of Kobe, but I don’t really care.

So, what do you want to know? Should I go looking for Kazuaki and Chinatsu? Should I intervene in a war between a vengeful Moon Goddess and a fallen Sun God? Alright then, the author is heading that way. It’s time to fix the storyboard.

“Hey! The lighting project isn't finished yet! We’re trying to keep the city from descending into a total riot, Mitsuki! Where are you going?” Momiji shouted, her voice echoing through the sterile halls of the command center.

I didn't even look back. “Looking for Kazuaki. ‘Can I come along’? No. You stay here and help stupid Jiro and the others. They need someone with a brain to make sure those artificial lights don't blow a fuse.”

“Tch. And I was just about to say that,” she grumbled, crossing her arms.

“Enough, leave everything to me. After all, I’m the Author.”

“Author?” Her face looked utterly bewildered, the word making no sense to her mortal ears. She watched as I walked out toward the parking lot and kicked my hooligan motorcycle to life. It’s a bit loud, a bit reckless—just like me. Cool, isn't it?

As I sped through the darkened streets of Kobe, a low rumble began to vibrate through the air. It wasn't the sound of an earthquake or thunder. It was the sound of a billion human souls sighing in unison as the Aurigama Comets began to streak across the sky. The sight was intoxicating—a cosmic tragedy painted in gold and silver.

Even in the pitch black, the world felt united by that light. Tch... typical of you, my friend, Kagechi. Even after you wiped yourself from the minds of everyone you loved, even after you retreated into the shadows of the North Star, you still can’t help but be the Arbiter of human perception. You’re still watching, aren’t you? Playing the ‘Death Consul’ from behind the veil while I have to do the dirty work down here.

I sped toward the Kobe Herb Garden, the engine of my bike screaming against the unnatural silence of the city. How did I know they were there? It’s a secret! Let’s just say that when you’ve written the source code, you know exactly where the bugs are going to manifest.

When I arrived at the gates, I saw Yorishiro and Yukifuyu leaning against the car door. They looked like two children lost in a nightmare they couldn't wake up from.

“Oi, why aren't you going in to see Kazuaki and Chinatsu?” I asked, hopping off my bike and adjusting my jacket.

“That’s not them, Mitsuki. Something happened. Miharu... he told us things. You might be shocked if you knew who they really are,” Yorishiro answered, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and terror.

“Oh, really? They’re gods? Ancient lovers? Cosmic entities?” I pretended to be shocked and let out a sharp laugh. I leaned in and whispered softly, so only the shadows could hear, “If it were about Enji, you wouldn't be this worried... but then again, you don't even remember him, do you?”

“E-Enji?” Yorishiro’s eyes went blank for a second. The name hit a wall in his mind—the wall built by the North Star. Of course, the memory of that stupid man hadn't been in his mind since the tragedy. And now, the one you knew as Kazuaki was busy creating a whole new tragedy to fill the void.

“Ah, I’m rambling again... Pay me no mind. Enough, let’s go there,” I exclaimed, marching past them toward the sunflower garden. They hesitated, looking at the dark hill as if it were the mouth of a volcano, but eventually, they followed.

We reached the clearing, and the air changed. It became heavy, smelling of ozone and ancient incense. There they were. Minato Kazuaki and Chinatsu were gone. In their place stood two figures that radiated a terrifying, ancient power.

One was a woman of ethereal beauty, her skin as pale as starlight, dressed in flowing robes that seemed to be woven from the moon’s silver glow—Jouga. The other was a tall, formidable man with eyes like dying stars, holding a bow that felt like it could pierce the heavens themselves—Kougei.

“It’s them... the figures from the scrolls, from the stories my grandmother used to tell,” Yukifuyu whispered. Her eyes were wide, filled with a heartbreaking grief for the Kazuaki she thought she knew, seeing him now as a legendary goddess.

I just laughed, a sound that felt out of place in such a solemn moment. Yorishiro and Yukifuyu looked at me as if I’d finally lost my mind. They couldn't understand why I was treating this like a Sunday brunch.

“Jouga and Kougei, right? The Moon that fled and the Sun that burned too bright,” I said, my voice cutting through the tension.

“How... how do you know those names?” Yukifuyu asked, her voice a mere breath.

“Should I tell you? Or should I keep the mystery alive for another season?” I clicked my tongue playfully. “Should I?”

Jouga turned her gaze toward us. It was cold, ethereal, and utterly devoid of the warmth Kazuaki once had. She didn't want us involved. She wanted to play the tragic martyr.

“Don’t interfere, Mitsuki. This is a debt of eternity. It has nothing to do with you—you humans who live and die in the blink of a celestial eye,” Jouga said, her voice echoing with the resonance of a thousand temple bells.

“Good grief, why has my friend Kazuaki become such a salty girl? I preferred the one who worried about deadlines and coffee,” I teased, stepping closer despite the pressure of her aura.

“Why can't I join in? Even though I’m the one who tied your threads of fate in the first place?” I continued, my smile widening as I felt the threads of the ‘Red String of Fate’ vibrating between my fingers.

“What do you mean?” Jouga asked, her brow furrowing in genuine irritation.

Yukifuyu and Yorishiro stared at me, their brains likely melting from the sheer absurdity of my behavior. They couldn't understand why I was talking back to a deity as if she were a difficult client at the studio.

“Calm down, Jouga. I’m here to stop him too. Chinatsu-san—ups, I mean Kougei—has already gone and broken the toys. She destroyed the sun, ruined the balance, and honestly? It’s bad for business. Should I punish her? Since the High Judge of the North Star is busy playing hide-and-seek with reality, the duty falls to his deputy, doesn't it?”

Kougei glared at me, his presence radiating a heat that began to wither the sunflowers around him. “I am not a fool, Mitsuki. I’ve sensed a stench of divinity on you from the moment we met. You were always too observant, too ‘accidental’ in your timing. Show your true form,” he demanded, his voice a crackling flame. He raised his bow, aiming a shimmering arrow of pure heat right at my heart.

“Oh? You want to rebel against the management, Sun God?” My tone shifted. The playfulness didn't disappear, but it gained a razor-sharp edge.

Suddenly, the dark sky above Kobe didn't just rumble—it screamed. The Aurigama Comets flared with an impossible brilliance, turning the sky into a kaleidoscope of violet and gold. The clouds parted, not to show the atmosphere, but to reveal the architecture of the heavens. Planets that shouldn't be visible—Mars, Venus, Jupiter—aligned in a terrifying formation.

“My, my... the Jade Emperor is throwing a tantrum, isn't he?” I remarked, looking up.

Then, the sky tore open.

A massive, golden portal manifested, and the descent began. It wasn't just a few lights; it was a parade of the divine. First came Taiko Bo, riding his spirit beast, his fishing rod glowing with the power to seal souls. Then the Shikifukujin, the Seven Lucky Gods, but they didn't look lucky—they looked like cosmic executioners. Nata descended on his wind-and-fire wheels, his spear trailing sparks that ignited the very air. Kannon appeared in a halo of white light, her face a mask of sorrowful judgment, followed by the fierce Dakiniten riding her white fox.

The sheer weight of their presence was enough to crush a mortal soul. Yorishiro and Yukifuyu collapsed to their knees, their lungs seizing. But Miharu—or rather, the Goddess Giwa—immediately cast a shimmering veil over them, a divine antidote to keep them from being obliterated by the sight.

I sighed, reached up, and snapped my fingers.

The ‘Mitsuki’ persona peeled away like burnt paper in a breeze. My casual clothes dissolved into flowing, midnight-blue robes embroidered with silver phases of the moon. My hair lengthened, shimmering with a starlight sheen. In my hands, thousands of glowing red threads manifested, weaving themselves around my fingers like living snakes.

“Alright, formal introductions are in order, I suppose. I am Getsurou, the Handsome Man under the Moon. The Weaver of Ties but not the Fox one. But me. The one who decides who loves, who hates, and who is bound to whom.” I looked at Kougei with a sharp, piercing gaze. “You know who I am, and you know the laws of the Heavens. You’ve destroyed a pillar of the world. What punishment should we drop on you, Mr. Sun? Oops, but of course, I have to follow the protocols laid out by our dear Death Consul—the North Star—before I can turn you into stardust, right?”

Jouga and Kougei were trembling now. Even as gods, they were but players on a stage, and they had just realized the Director had arrived. Yorishiro and Yukifuyu watched from the ground, their world shattered, caught between the terrifying glory of the descending gods and the realization that their sarcastic friend was the one holding the strings of their lives.

I looked up at the empty space where the North Star should be, a cold smile on my lips. “Are you watching, Kagechi? Their tragic little play is reaching its climax. Don't worry... I'll make sure the ending is one for the ages.”

The celestial host surrounded the garden, their weapons drawn, their eyes like cold stars. The final act was beginning, and I was holding the pen.

Leave everything to the Author.