The Essence of a Wish

“Why!?”

As much as I’d always hoped for a hot tomboy to mount me while crying tears of joy, I couldn’t help but want Aoko off of me as soon as possible.

After all, these tears weren’t for me, and they certainly weren’t tears of joy.

“Hey, uh, could y—”

Her fist thudded into my chest. Hard.

I shut up.

“Why do you have to stand in my way every time!?”

It was Izanami who answered.

“Didn’t I already give you my declaration of war? Fine then. I’ll say it again: ‘I’ll destroy that world of yours.’”

“...You just couldn’t let me have my way even once, could you? Just a single miracle would’ve been fine, but you had to ruin it even if it cost you your life.”

Izanami laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I don’t believe in miracles.”

“Huh...?” Aoko stared at her, confused. It was understandable. Wishes were made nearly daily all across the globe. It was simply insane to deny their existence.

I mean, there were people flying around using only the power of their will or even conjuring flames from nothing. There were even people who managed to manifest their true loves out of thin air, merely by the power of a wish.

If wishes weren’t miracles, then what were they?

“What? Did you really think that wishes were miracles? Don’t be childish. What even is a miracle, anyway?”

There was a long pause. It seemed that Izanami was actually expecting an answer, but the only sound that was present was Aoko’s quiet sobbing.

Since she clearly wasn’t prepared to give Izanami an answer, I elected to do it for her.

“Something with an astronomical chance of happening, maybe? Something like one in a million?”

“One in a million.” Izanami repeated. “Let’s presume that the average person remains active for eight hours a day for seven days a week. For each second that passes, they witness phenomena. Fans turning, water boiling, light cascading. It matters not.

“There are 28,800 seconds in eight hours. What does this mean? The average human will witness what is deemed a ‘miracle’ once every thirty-five days. Thus, what you deem as ‘miracles’ are simply events that occur on a monthly basis. Can something so mundane be deemed a ‘miracle’?”

What the fuck is she going on about now?

“Of course not. So what then, is a wish if not a miracle? The answer is quite simple if you consider what I just said. If the desire that you deem a ‘miracle’ does not occur even after that ‘one in a million’ chance, what must you do? How should you produce the result that you desire?

“You simply increase the number of repetitions. One in a million becomes one in a billion. One in a billion becomes one in a trillion, and so on. That is the true nature of a wish, Nakamura Aoko.”

Izanami deftly strode over to us and pulled Aoko off of me. The motion was effortless despite her frail figure even if Aoko didn’t look like she was in any state to resist.

“A wish is merely the crystallization of probability. It is the power to pull that infinitesimally small chance of your desire toward you and bring it into reality. However, that can only be done if such a possibility even exists. In your case, Aoko? There was never even a chance.”

She gripped Aoko by the collar and jerked her upward, forcing their eyes to meet.

“Your chances of having that desire become reality was zero the moment you involved me.”

Each of her words pierced into Aoko like daggers, stabbing into her relentlessly. Despite all the wounds she suffered, what Aoko bled was not blood. It was tears.

Aoko shoved Izanami away roughly, but the slender girl regained her footing instantly, moving her feet as if it were second nature for her to recover from such a large stumble.

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up! Shut the fuck up, Nakano Ichika! What the fuck do you know!?”

With tears still in her eyes, Aoko threw a punch with her right hand. At least, I thought she did.

It was too fast for me to follow, but Izanami had dodged it effortlessly, tilting her head to the side and letting it pass by harmlessly.

There was a moment of surprise for both Aoko and I. Izanami didn’t strike me as the type to know how to fight. I mean, her body was delicate. Fragile, even.

The last thing I expected her to do was dodge one of Aoko’s punches after having gone on a five minute long rant about wishes and how they were the crystallization of probability or whatever.

Frustrated, Aoko fired her fists again and again. Left hook, right straight, right cross, left jab, right uppercut.

None of her attacks landed.

Izanami had dodged each of them just as effortlessly as she’d dodged the first, almost as if she knew where and when they would be coming.

Aoko let out a roar of frustration and began truly attacking in earnest. It was beautiful to watch.

The setting sun reflected off her tanned skin, and the droplets of sweat that flew from her body were like crystals glinting in the light.

Roundhouse kick.

Spinning backfist.

Crescent kick.

Front kick into side kick.

Izanami weaved through all of her attacks with ease. Perhaps even contempt.

Aoko’s latest attack was a thrusting front kick but just as it looked as though it would connect, Izanami stepped to the side and caught her foot as if it were the most natural thing to do. With a single sweep, Aoko fell to the ground.

It was honestly disrespectful. Aoko’s display of violence had been the closest thing to an empty-handed sword dance that I’d ever watched, and Izanami had interrupted it unceremoniously.

“Eighteen quintillion.” Izanami stated. “That’s the number of times I’ve fought you.”

At that time, I didn’t actually comprehend the enormity of the number. Sure, I knew it was big, but I didn’t truly understand it.

At least, not until I experienced it for myself.