Azuma had just poked at something at Kaguya’s center—deep at her core—which had left her unable to speak.
Obviously, Sakura’s words were a motivating factor for Kaguya. Every time she felt unsure or like she wanted to quit, she found herself remembering the last words Sakura had said to her.
However, it would not be incorrect to say that Kaguya’s focus had shifted. When she started, her feelings had been pure, but at some point, those feelings had festered into a kind of compulsion, a conviction that this was just something she had to do.
Kaguya did not want to admit that her own feelings had turned into a curse inside herself. Because if she did, then she would have to reject even Sakura’s final wish.
“I just…thought that this was my mission…”
“Your mission? Don’t kid yourself.”
Azuma sneered. His attitude had grown ruthless. Did Kaguya really think she was being righteous? No, she could see the truth by now.
It was fixation.
“This has all been for your own self-gratification. Can you tell me I’m wrong? I don’t think you can.”
“How can you say something like that…?”
“It’s the truth. This may be unfair of me to say, but we never forced you. No one forced you to do any of this. And no one would have blamed you if you had chosen not to. There’s nothing righteous about being so pigheaded.”
“Oh, but you weren’t against it, were you…?” Kaguya could hear the accusatory note in her voice, but she couldn’t stop herself. “No one would have blamed me if I hadn’t handled everything, but none of you really cared if I stopped, did you? At least, not until it put me in a coma. What else was I supposed to do? No one had to force me. I wanted to do what I did, but it seems damned cowardly to me now to pretend that you had nothing to do with it.”
Azuma was obviously at a loss for words.
“You were happy to let me be pigheaded because it made things easier for you. If you really thought I was in so much danger, then why did it take you this long to—?”
Kaguya suddenly came to her senses, realizing what she was saying. She felt ashamed.
Azuma had in fact protested her behavior, on one occasion at least. Kaguya was the one who had steamrolled over all his objections.
“I’m…I’m sorry. That isn’t what I meant to say.” She was acting like a spoiled child. It didn’t matter how the others around her felt or reacted. Only she could take responsibility for her own words and actions. “I’m trying to shift the blame for what I did onto others. I shouldn’t have—”
“No, you’re right,” Azuma said, surprising Kaguya. “I’m sorry we let it go on like that. We were cowards.”
“Captain Azuma…”
Azuma bowed humbly, which only caused Kaguya to feel more flustered.
“However, there is still something I need to say,” he added, not backing down. “I don’t want to watch you keep hurting yourself anymore. None of us do. If Sakura’s words are what is holding you back…”
Azuma hesitated for a moment. At least, it seemed that way.
“…If that’s what’s holding you back, then just forget them. You’ve got no obligation to keep clutching onto that.”
“B-but how could I just forget what she said?! Sakura was our friend. She meant so much—”
“Yes, she did. But she’s gone.”
The simplicity of his words left Kaguya dumbfounded.
“Sakura was important to me, too. I have no intention of forgetting her, even now. But she’s already dead, Kaguya. Don’t beat yourself up over a few words. You need to live your own life.”
“But…,” Kaguya whispered. That wouldn’t be fair. How could she just allow herself to forget about what Sakura had said to her? Sakura had trusted her.
And what about Koyuki?
“I agree with Azuma…”
Someone else had entered the room.
It was Koyuki herself. She leaned against the door as she spoke and then approached slowly. She was standing on the opposite side of the room from Azuma, who was by the window where the curtain divider stood.
“We’re not telling you to forget about Sakura. I think it’s good to remember her. But we don’t want to see you destroy yourself like this because you’ve let the past control you,” Koyuki said, mirroring Azuma’s earlier words.
They stood on either side of Kaguya, leaving her trapped with her feelings.
“There was no choice today. Things just worked out that way. But what about the other heroes we’ve encountered so far? Did you really need to take everything on all by yourself? Just let it go. All of it. Even Sakura.”
Even Azuma lifted his head in surprise at that.
“Sakura…?”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean forgetting her. Let me put it a different way. Stop trying to hoard her death all for yourself. Yes, you were the only one able to hear her and speak to her directly in the end. That’s true…”
Koyuki crouched down. She made eye contact with Kaguya, her catlike vermilion gaze crossing with Kaguya’s distinguished violet hues.
“…but Sakura was our friend and colleague, too. As are you. Don’t try to carry all this weight on your own shoulders.”
This room is too quiet for just one person.
“That was what I was trying to tell you the other day, Kaguya.”
Kaguya finally understood. What Koyuki said was true. Though it may have appeared as if Kaguya was valuing their memories, the truth was that she was hoarding them all to herself, and she had let that get to her head. She meant it when she said she didn’t want to shoulder everything by herself but also took some sort of perverse pride in doing so.
“Even Mari Ezakura stepped forward to tell us the truth about the Chronoses,” Azuma interjected. “She trusted us, even though that must have been scary for her.”
“She did…?”
“People from Technical seem to have a habit of keeping things bottled up inside.” Azuma’s smile was blatantly uncomfortable rather than accusatory. “Even the Director had apparently failed to mention what she knew to anyone else, despite how important it was.”
Come to think of it, Kaguya recalled that was true, too. For someone with so much responsibility for someone so young, the Director had rarely—if ever—shown weakness. But she must have been struggling with a lot of things in her own way.
Kaguya quickly turned to the windowsill, which was adorned with red flowers—the same color as Kaguya’s hair. These appeared to be roses, which didn’t fit the setting.
Roses had thorns; it seemed unlikely that those would be allowed in a hospital room.
Kaguya stared at the flowers and said softly, “I’m sorry, Koyuki… I finally get it.”
The difference between Kaguya and the Director was that Kaguya had someone she could talk to. Someone who was there to stop her before she crossed that final point of no return.
“Thank you for everything. For worrying about me all this time.”
Koyuki lowered her gaze slightly and then asked a question.
“What about today’s hero? What was it like…?” she asked as if it were a casual discussion topic. Kaguya slowly began to share what she had seen.
The human inside the rocklike hero had originally been a member of the Extermination Bureau. His ideal world had been a gorgeous beach with a young woman who he called his sister and doves—the image of peace. He must have hated fighting, so much so that he had willfully abandoned reality.