Crossover Fan Fiction / Neon Genesis Evangelion Fan Fiction / Tenchi Muyo Fan Fiction ❯ Reason And Accountability ❯ Hachimitsu no Clover ( Chapter 24 )

I woke up in Japan this morning. I know it is Japan, because the tatami mat I’m resting on is foul, stinks of sweat, and should be burned and replaced with new ones after a thorough decontamination of the floor and removal of what I am sure is probably mold. This must surely be a student-owned room. It was tiny, miserable, and offered no bathroom or kitchen. It was a place to sleep and not much more than that. The laptop was old and the screen resolution poor compared to what I’ve seen, yet I can tell it is well cared for and heavily used. There are some important email addresses with current messages, and the year is 2000, and the month is August. Some of the emails have addresses like ILM.net and Well.com. The Well was a particularly important collection of early adopters and tech giants in Marin County, California, USA, and contained big names like George Lucas and some of the wealthier talents and filmmakers outside of the Hollywood cesspool. The guys who are really important. And they had jobs and login information and contracts and Fax numbers for signatures, and due dates. This body I am wearing is in demand for digital arts. He was making movie special effects. He had an invitation to the academy awards in Hollywood.

I have a sneaking suspicion, as I look at myself in the shared bathroom mirror down the hall, combing my hair and buttoning my floral shirt, that I may be in the body of one of those overly talented artist types. Not so sneaking. And I wondered why, as I shaved and cleaned myself up a bit, why he lived in such a crap apartment. A query of his memory directed him to classes he sometimes attended at the school of industrial arts. Several of those in the apartment building were attending as well, including a short guy who was a good friend, and the two later found themselves meeting a tiny blonde hair girl who was a master painter and sculptor. I could see the Kuropukuro likeness immediately, and stole a giant banana leaf from the herbarium just so I could photograph her against different backgrounds. This in exchange for very expensive shoes she called “mules”. She was adorable. My competitor found himself carefully making tiny Roccocco furniture for her Barbie doll collection in caveman outfits, because for all her skill in paint and wire and clay, and all her professional shows and awards, she was not good at some things. Our tiny little maiden was also very shy and hit behind her cousin’s legs. She was cute and short. My friend was in love. I could see it the moment it hit. The dissonance between her shyness and size and the massive grandeur of her art studio and awards cabinet her cousin showed us, it was a prime example of gap-moe.

Of course, it was around then I realized WHY I was here. I found an awkward conversation between a very emotional gigolo helping a woman with a wheelchair and the most profound despair in her face, trying to escape into a van. He loved her, painfully so, and she was in agony because she was crippled. I approached, healing as I helped, finding organs lost, bones crippled, degenerative disease from a car crash working to end her life. I healed them all without letting them see what I was doing, and without interfering in their very important discussion. Bones straightened and aligned correctly, organs regrew, like her spleen that had shattered. Her liver needed healing, and her bone marrow cured. There was a lot wrong, actually. She was worse off than many of the bomb ward patients, even the Oncology lab patients. She must have been in extreme pain. I Detoxed her for good measure and some clarity returned to her eyes. She took the moment to close the door in his face and drive away. She was going to have a weird day tomorrow, being able to stand up on her own, without crutches or a wheelchair.

The really sad part for all of this is seeing Ironwoman, a master potter prodigy, walking her dog at the corner, frozen at the scene. This gigolo from our building was her crush. I could see it clearly, and she was in agony. College romances can be beautiful, or they can scar you for life, and this is the kind of hurt I can’t cure. She stared at her crush crying in the street, and then quietly retreated to her own tears. I left him to his misery and went home. I had work to do, but it was the work of this man, not me. I’m no digital artist.

I did notice that some of the financial statements indicated accounts with millions of yen saved, and stock portfolios heavy in a certain company. I sensed there was a story but I drifted off to sleep. What a taxing day.