Fuuka beamed and transformed into a big white dog. Nudging his head against Sora’s cheek, he coaxed Sora to head on their walk.
“You’re strong and beautiful. I’m proud of you, Fuuka.”
“Coo?” Fuuka whined adorably, his eyes round.
“Let’s go. Come on.” Sora took Fuuka’s red leash and made for the door.
If Fuuka had been able to stay in the form his brother expected to see, perhaps that meant he didn’t have a will of his own back then. From the day Sora had begun to doubt Fuuka’s words, his existence, perhaps the brothers were no longer an inseparable pair, and each of their bodies started to grow in their own ways.
“That day at Awata-guchi, I couldn’t see Fuuka clearly.”
Tamuramaro’s unforgettable words were still haunting Sora. According to him, he hadn’t even fully grasped Fuuka’s presence. He’d suspected that Fuuka had never been there in the first place. What’s more, he’d clearly stated that this was no longer the case. Even if Fuuka had never existed in the beginning, he was certainly alive and present now. He was starting to breathe on his own.
“I don’t have any control of myself anymore. I can’t go back to being little. Looks like I can’t disappear, either.”
Fuuka had no control of his own life—that in itself was proof of his existence.
“Don’t you want to become a human being, Fuuka?” asked Sora for the first time, when they stepped out of the house with the leash tied, even though Fuuka couldn’t talk anymore.
There were things he wanted Fuuka to have now that he’d grown up and begun to learn, fully present in his own life.
“Coo.” Fuuka whined as he tilted his head to one side. It almost looked as though his mind was blank.
But no. Sora had only assumed that Fuuka never had any desires of his own. And when Sora’s refusal to think otherwise as they lived together plunged him into doubt and anxiety, he had left Tamuramaro’s home. He had been frightened of discovering what might have lain beyond his field of vision—of realizing that the world he had been focusing on was just one small part of it. Meanwhile, a wider, unknown world containing multiple forms of righteousness and justice unfolded just outside it.
“Fuuka.”
They were, indeed, a pair. Fuuka must have been there since they were little, repressing Sora’s nature, but even his presence had become uncertain. Why did Fuuka suddenly turn into a killer that time at Awata-guchi?
One reason why Sora was able to accept Tamuramaro in their home, forty years after their last parting, was because he could be certain that he heard heartbeats inside Fuuka.
Fuuka was there, alive.
“I want to interact with people and to understand ritsuryo, so I’m sure you’ll also…”
So Fuuka, too, would find a way to live. If he turned into a human being for good, Fuuka would have his own interactions with others. As his brother, Sora could only hope for this with all his heart.
“Coo?” Fuuka whined gently.
Sora found himself clinging to Fuuka’s neck just outside their front door. He was listening to his brother’s heartbeat again. Fuuka’s body was sounding a steady rhythm. He was alive.
“Fuuka.”
For 1,200 years, Sora had thought of Fuuka as his little brother, and he had been running away from thinking about his presence because he couldn’t bear even the possibility that Fuuka might not actually exist. Outwardly, he’d been saying that he wanted to find a way to turn his brother back into a human, but some days, Sora merely wished to hold his breath and keep living together with him—just as he had done in the valley at Awata-guchi. Even though Fuuka might not have been present back then.
Now, for the first time, Fuuka had admitted to Sora the uncertainty of his own existence, and how that ability to disappear seemed to be gone now.
“I love you, Fuuka.”
In the end, more than anything else, Sora wished to stay as close as they were now. He wanted to live as they had when they were little, just the two of them together. He wanted to leave everything behind—the house, the town, even Tamuramaro.
“Coo,” Fuuka murmured softly.
For Sora, Fuuka was the only warmth in the world. They were brothers who had nothing but each other.
“I love you, Fuuka.”
His voice wavered as he tried to force a laugh. He tried to stand up, but his legs wouldn’t cooperate. He looked at the sky.
“Woof.”
The sky was clear. He stared into the blue past the leaves of the low trees. From this height, he wouldn’t be able to look straight into people’s eyes. He wouldn’t be on equal footing with anyone, let alone be able to talk with them.
“Don’t think you can die so easily.”
Miroku-bosatsu’s voice echoed in his head.
Sora thought about his brother’s world when he lived among others. When he was in their presence, his perspective would have been like this—looking up from below. That was his present reality.
“Woof, woof.”
“Let’s go.”
Once he’d had a good look at Fuuka’s world, Sora planted his feet firmly on the ground and stood up. He took a step forward, ready to face whatever lay ahead in the future.
On Friday afternoon, Sora visited the Kouichi Koudera Tax Accountant Office in his dark-navy suit. With Natsuki leading the way, they made their way to Odajima Construction on foot. It wasn’t very far to Nerima-Takanodai—just one station over.
“You know that old man at the liquor store? Watch out for him; he’ll grab any chance to hand out blank invoices like little pieces of candy. If you want to fill one out, make sure you don’t put down any big, clean numbers or numbers that are just low enough not to require a stamp. The tax office has their eye on that shop, you see.” She pointed out the owner, who looked like the type to do exactly that.