Volume 0

Elaborato per 9s
KURO NO MONOGATARI — VOLUME 0
Chapter 2 — The Meeting That Might Have Been Destined
She was just a strange little girl holding half a sandwich out to me.
And I was hungry.
Very hungry.
I looked once more at the piece she was holding between her fingers, almost expecting her to change her mind.
She didn't.
"...Really?"
The girl tilted her head slightly.
"Mhm."
"Can I eat all of it?"
She looked at me as if the question itself was strange.
"I gave it to you."
That was a convincing enough answer.
I took the sandwich.
"Thanks."
I didn't wait any longer.
I took the first bite.
Then the second.
Hunger immediately defeated every bit of good manners my mother had tried to teach me over the previous six years.
The girl stayed there, watching me.
I chewed.
I stopped.
She kept staring at me.
I chewed more slowly.
"...What?"
She shook her head.
"Nothing."
She took a small bite from her own half.
And kept looking at me.
"You're staring at me."
"So are you."
That answer left me with nothing to say.
I looked down at the sandwich.
I ate another bite.
For a few seconds, all we could hear was the rustling of the trees and the distant sounds of the night.
Now that my initial terror was beginning to fade, I finally had time to really look at her.
She was about my height.
Maybe slightly shorter.
Black hair framed her face, shifting gently whenever the wind passed through the courtyard. Her eyes were dark too.
She didn't look dangerous.
Actually, she didn't look particularly different from any ordinary little girl.
And that was exactly what made it so difficult to understand what was wrong with her.
I stared at her.
She noticed.
"What?"
I didn't answer.
I kept looking.
Head.
Shoulders.
Back.
Then I lowered my gaze.
Nothing.
I frowned.
I moved slightly to one side.
Her eyes followed me.
I took another step.
"...What are you doing?"
I leaned over to look behind her back.
Nothing.
The girl immediately turned around.
"Hey!"
"Wait."
"What?"
I looked her over from head to toe one more time.
The longer I looked, the less I understood.
Then I finally figured out the problem.
Or, more precisely, all three of them.
I pointed at her head.
"Where are they?"
She instinctively put a hand in her hair.
"What?"
"Your horns."
Silence.
She looked at me.
I looked at her.
"...My what?"
"Your horns."
I put a hand on mine, as if showing them to her might help her understand a concept I considered completely obvious.
"These."
Her eyes followed my hand.
And widened.
She froze.
"Those are... real?"
That question confused me even more.
"Of course they're real."
"Can I..."
She slowly brought a hand closer.
Then pulled it back.
"...touch them?"
I instinctively took half a step back.
"Why?"
"I've never seen any before."
I stared at her.
Then looked at her head again.
"Exactly."
"Exactly what?"
"You don't have any."
"Of course I don't."
She said it with an almost offensive amount of confidence.
I frowned.
"Why?"
"Why would I?"
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it.
I didn't know how to answer.
It was like someone asking me why they had two eyes.
"Because..."
I pointed at my horns again.
"...you're supposed to."
The girl frowned.
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes!"
"I don't have any."
"I can see that!"
She was starting to annoy me.
Not because she was mean.
She just kept acting as though I was the strange one.
Then a thought occurred to me.
I looked behind her shoulders.
Nothing.
"And your wings?"
"What wings?"
This time, my eyes widened.
"What do you mean, what wings?!"
Mine moved almost instinctively behind my back.
The girl immediately stepped backward.
"AH!"
I froze.
"What?!"
She pointed behind me.
"They moved!"
I turned just enough to look at one of my wings.
Then I looked back at her.
"Of course."
"You can move them?!"
"...Yes?"
I didn't understand why she was asking.
"Can you fly?"
For a moment, that question made me forget where I was.
I straightened my back.
"Of course."
That was a lie.
Or at least, partially a lie.
At six years old, my relationship with flying could generously be described as still under development.
But there was absolutely no way I was going to admit that to the weird hornless girl.
She stepped half a step closer.
Now she was looking at my wings with a completely different expression.
She didn't look scared.
She looked...
fascinated.
"They're beautiful."
I froze.
No one had ever said it to me like that before.
I lowered my gaze slightly.
"...I know."
Naturally, I didn't.
But it seemed like the best answer.
The girl smiled faintly.
Then she noticed something else.
Her gaze dropped.
She followed something behind me with her eyes.
I turned around.
My tail was slowly swaying from side to side.
When I looked back at her, her eyes were wide again.
"You have a tail too?!"
At that point, I started to become seriously concerned about her.
"You don't?!"
"No!"
I immediately moved to the side to check.
She moved with me, trying to stop me from looking behind her.
"Hey!"
"You really don't have one?"
"NO!"
"Where did you lose it?"
"I DIDN'T LOSE IT!"
"Then where is it?!"
"I NEVER HAD ONE!"
We both stopped.
She was breathing a little harder.
I was still clutching half a sandwich in my hand.
We stared at each other.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I slowly pointed at her head.
"No horns."
"No."
I pointed at her back.
"No wings."
"No."
I lowered my finger.
"No tail."
"No."
I studied her carefully.
"...You're weird."
The girl's cheeks puffed out slightly.
"You're weird!"
"I'm normal!"
"You have a tail!"
"That's normal!"
"No!"
"Yes!"
"No!"
"YES!"
The argument probably would've continued for quite a while if my stomach hadn't decided to intervene.
Grrrrrr.
Silence.
I looked down.
The girl looked at my stomach.
Then at the sandwich still in my hand.
Then at me.
A little giggle escaped her lips.
I stared at her.
"Don't laugh."
She covered her mouth with one hand.
"I'm not laughing."
"You are."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
I had the strange feeling we'd already had this conversation.
I took another determined bite of my sandwich.
She laughed again.
This time, she couldn't hide it.
I glared at her.
Or at least, I tried to.
It didn't work very well.
Because a few seconds later, I started laughing too.
I didn't know why.
Maybe because she had a weird laugh.
Maybe because I was tired.
Maybe because just a few minutes earlier, I'd been convinced I was completely alone in an unknown place, and now I was arguing with a tailless girl about whether tails were supposed to exist.
When we finally stopped, a small silence remained between us.
But it wasn't like the one before.
It didn't feel as heavy anymore.
We finished our halves of the sandwich at almost the same time.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
Then I looked at her.
There was a question I probably should've asked long before asking about horns.
"What's your name?"
The girl hesitated for just a moment.
"Yozora."
I repeated the name in my head.
Yo-zo-ra.
I'd never heard it before.
"Yozora..."
She nodded.
"And you?"
"Kuro."
"Kuro."
Hearing her say my name felt strange.
She pointed at my horns.
"Kuro... what are you?"
That question seemed even more absurd than all the others.
"A dragon."
Yozora froze.
"...A dragon?"
"Yeah."
"Really?"
"Yeah!"
"But you're small."
"I'M SIX!"
"So am I."
I stopped.
"...Oh."
Six years old.
Just like me.
I looked at her again.
Same age.
About the same height.
Two arms.
Two legs.
Two eyes.
But no horns.
No wings.
No tail.
I didn't understand.
"Then what are you?"
Yozora tilted her head.
"A girl."
"I'm a boy."
"No. I mean..."
She thought about it.
"I'm human."
That word meant absolutely nothing to me.
"Human?"
"Yeah."
"What's that?"
This time, Yozora looked at me as though I'd just said something completely ridiculous.
"...Me."
I stared at her.
"You're a human?"
"Yeah."
"And humans don't have horns?"
"No."
"None of them?"
"No."
"Not even when they grow up?"
"No."
"What about wings?"
"No."
"Tail?"
"No!"
I fell silent.
I thought about that terrible existence.
No flying.
No tail.
Not even a pair of horns.
"...I'm sorry."
Yozora's mouth fell open.
"WHY?!"
That was the second time I heard her laugh.
And I think it was also the first time since I'd crossed that portal that I completely forgot I was afraid.
Only for a few minutes.
Because not long after that, Yozora asked me the simplest question imaginable.
A question I suddenly had no idea how to answer.
"Kuro..."
"Hm?"
"Where's your mom?"
The smile vanished from my face.
I looked behind me.
Toward the place where the portal had disappeared.
And I remembered everything.
The mountain.
The argument.
What I'd yelled at her.
The front door.
The forest.
The portal.
Shiroha.
Slowly, I lowered my gaze.
"...I don't know."
For the first time since I'd met Yozora, neither of us laughed.
She kept looking at me.
I kept staring at the ground.
Until then, I'd somehow managed not to really think about it.
First there had been the fall.
Then the unfamiliar place.
Then the sandwich.
Then Yozora.
Her questions.
The horns.
The wings.
The tail.
I'd filled my head with anything I could just to leave no room for that one question.
Where's your mom?
I didn't know.
And suddenly, being six years old became a huge problem again.
I turned toward the place where I'd appeared.
"It was there."
Yozora followed my gaze.
"What was?"
"The door."
"What door?"
"The one that..."
I pointed at the empty space.
"That one."
Yozora looked.
There was nothing there.
Only the courtyard, the trees, and the faint glow of the lanterns.
"There isn't a door."
"I know."
"Then—"
"It was there before!"
My voice came out louder than I'd intended.
Yozora stopped.
"I..."
I swallowed.
"I touched it."
I pointed at the spot again.
"It was in the forest. It looked like water... but it was standing up. And I put my hand inside, and then..."
I stopped.
The words began coming out too quickly.
"Then it pulled me in and I fell here and when I turned around it was gone and I tried to open it but it won't open and..."
I breathed in.
Badly.
"...and I don't know where I am."
Something started burning behind my eyes.
No.
I didn't want to.
I'd already decided I wasn't going to cry.
I quickly rubbed one eye.
Yozora took a small step toward me.
"Kuro?"
"I'm fine."
My voice trembled.
Perfect.
Very convincing.
"But—"
"I'm fine!"
I wiped the other eye too.
The tears came back.
Faster.
"I..."
I tried to breathe again.
My throat hurt.
"I just wanted to see the stars..."
A tear rolled down my cheek.
I wiped it away immediately.
Another followed.
"Mom said no..."
Another.
"And I got angry..."
My voice broke.
"And I yelled at her..."
At that point, I couldn't stop them anymore.
I lowered my head.
"And then I ran away..."
I covered my eyes with both hands.
"And now I don't know how to get home..."
The first sob escaped my throat.
I hated it.
I tried to hold it back.
Another came.
Then another.
And then everything collapsed.
"I want my mom..."
I cried.
Not in that composed way stories sometimes manage to make even crying look elegant.
I was six years old.
I cried the way a lost six-year-old cries.
Loudly.
Messily.
My breathing kept breaking apart, and I pressed my hands against my eyes as if not seeing the world would be enough to make it disappear.
"I want to go home..."
Yozora stayed in front of me.
"I want my mom..."
I missed her.
It was ridiculous.
Not long before, I'd screamed that I hated her.
And now I would've given anything just to hear her scold me.
I would've even agreed to go to my room.
Without arguing.
Maybe.
Probably.
Well, I was six.
Let's not get carried away.
But at that moment, I would've promised anything.
"Mom..."
I kept repeating it.
As if calling for her enough times could make her appear.
It didn't.
And then an even worse thought entered my childish mind.
One of those thoughts that seems ridiculous when you're an adult.
At six years old, it didn't seem ridiculous at all.
"Maybe..."
I sniffled.
Yozora looked at me.
"Maybe what?"
"Maybe she's not looking for me."
She frowned.
"Why?"
I clenched my hands.
"Because she's angry."
"But you're her son."
"I told her I hated her."
Saying those words a second time hurt even more.
Yozora didn't answer.
"And she..."
I lowered my eyes.
"She's always working."
I wiped my face with my sleeve.
"She's always tired."
A sob.
"And whenever I want to do something, she says no."
Another.
"Maybe..."
This time, I could barely force the words out.
"Maybe Mom hates me."
Yozora's eyes widened slightly.
I genuinely believed it.
That's probably difficult to understand when you're an adult.
Adults have an entire collection of complicated words to explain what they're feeling.
Exhaustion.
Responsibility.
Worry.
Stress.
Fear.
A six-year-old has far fewer.
Mom is tired and can't come with me
could easily turn into
Mom doesn't want to spend time with me.
Mom scolded me because I ran away
could become
Mom is mean.
And Mom is angry with me...
...could become
Mom doesn't want me anymore.
Back then, I had no idea how far from the truth I was.
I didn't yet know how many times I would make that woman worry about me in the years to come.
How many times she would wait for me to come home.
How many times she would try to figure out what the hell I was getting myself into.
How many times my ideas would probably shorten her lifespan.
Looking back, I think I gave her an average of thirty heart attacks a day.
And that night, I'd just set a new record.
But six-year-old Kuro knew none of that.
All he knew was that he was lost.
And that he wanted his mother.
"I want to go home..."
Yozora slowly lowered what little remained of her sandwich.
She watched me for a few seconds.
Then she did something I wasn't expecting.
She came closer.
Very slowly.
As if she were afraid I might run away.
"Kuro."
I didn't answer.
"Kuro, look at me."
I shook my head.
"No."
"Why?"
"I'm crying."
"I know."
"Don't look at me."
"Why?"
"Because."
Silence.
Then I heard her voice.
"I cry too."
Slowly, I lowered my hands.
I looked at her through tear-filled eyes.
"...Really?"
"Of course."
"Why?"
Yozora thought about it.
"When I get hurt."
I nodded.
That made sense.
"When I'm scared."
Still made sense.
"When I'm sad."
I lowered my eyes.
"And sometimes when I'm angry."
I looked at her again.
"You can cry when you're angry?"
"I can."
That information seemed surprisingly important.
I sniffled.
"I can't."
Yozora pointed at my face.
"You're doing it right now."
"This is different."
"Why?"
I didn't have an answer.
"Because... it is."
Yozora seemed to accept that explanation.
Probably because she was six too.
We stayed quiet.
Then she sat down on one of the stone steps.
She looked at me.
And patted the space beside her.
"Sit down."
I hesitated.
"Why?"
"Because you're crying."
"I can cry standing up."
"Sit down."
I don't know why I listened to her.
Maybe I was too tired to argue.
I sat beside her.
I left enough space between us.
For a few seconds, we both stared ahead.
The courtyard was quiet.
The wind slowly moved the branches above our heads.
I looked up.
The stars were still there.
They were different.
I didn't know how to explain why.
Maybe some of them were simply in places I didn't recognize.
Maybe I was the one looking at them differently.
That night, I'd left home because of them.
Now I didn't want to reach any mountain.
I just wanted to go back.
"Yozora..."
"Hm?"
"Do you know where the Dragon World is?"
She turned toward me.
"The... what?"
My stomach seemed to drop.
"The Dragon World."
Yozora slowly shook her head.
"I don't know it."
I lowered my eyes.
They started filling with tears again.
"Oh..."
Yozora watched me.
Then she looked ahead.
"But we can look for it."
My head snapped toward her.
"Really?"
"Mhm."
"Do you know how?"
"No."
The tiny bit of hope that had just appeared died immediately.
"Then how are we supposed to do that?"
She thought about it very seriously.
"We ask someone."
"Who?"
Another silence.
"An adult."
I stared at her.
It was a terrible plan.
Not because it was actually terrible.
But because I'd just spent an entire evening demonstrating that I had serious problems with adults.
"No."
"Why?"
"They'll scold me."
"Why would they scold you?"
"I ran away from home."
"They don't know that."
I stopped.
That was...
...a surprisingly intelligent observation.
"Oh."
Yozora stood up from the step.
I remained seated.
She looked down at me.
"Let's go."
"Where?"
"To find someone."
I looked at the unfamiliar place in front of us.
Then at her.
Then back at the sky.
I was scared.
Very scared.
But for some reason, ever since that hornless girl had given me half of her sandwich, the place seemed a little less enormous.
I stood up.
I still didn't know how to get home.
I didn't know what the Human World was.
I didn't know why the portal had appeared.
And most of all, I had absolutely no idea what was happening, at that very moment, on the other side.
Because while I was convinced that my mother might hate me...
Shiroha had just discovered that her six-year-old son was missing.