InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Entrapment: A 21st Century Adventure ❯ The Higurashi Identity ( Prologue )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: King Baka 
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Adventure / Action | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 04.08.2011 | Updated On: 05.01.2011 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.8K | Visits: 1.8K | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Adventure / Action | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 04.08.2011 | Updated On: 05.01.2011 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.8K | Visits: 1.8K | Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimer: I don’t own Inuyasha or any of the publicly known characters, plot, etc. I’m just renting them from Rumiko Takahashi, Viz, etc. I do own the plot of this story and any original characters I’ve created. I will make no money from this fic; I write for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of my readers. This disclaimer applies to all the chapters in this fic, though I will probably post abridged versions in every chapter.
A/N – Greetings. KB here with a new multi-chapter fic. I expect it to end up being 10-20 chapters, nowhere near as long as Metamorphosis. This story takes place soon after the end of the original anime; Kikyou is alive again and the Inu-gang just survived their brush with death in the belly of the stone oni, but none of the later events have come to pass. It is a divergence from canon, but as the title indicates, much of the story will take place in the modern era. So kick back and enjoy this little teaser. More to come soon, hopefully.
“Oh, isn’t this so exciting, Sasaki-san?!” Murakami Makoto declared, watching as the bulldozer positioned itself to remove the massive boulder blocking the entrance to what was supposedly a cave used hundreds of years ago. For what no one knew.
“Yes, Murakami-san,” Sasaki Kurou replied wearily in an attempt to humor the old man. Makoto was in his late fifties, and was in Kurou’s opinion an archaeologist of average skill at best. But he was a family friend, and such ties should be preserved, even if the person couldn’t properly excavate his way into a child’s sandbox. In truth, Kurou found Japanese archaeology rather boring; he much preferred the more exotic, out of the way places of the world. Studying Olmec or Totonac ruins was far more interesting that digging around in one’s own backyard. But one did not refuse a family friend’s invitation to join him on an “exciting” new excavation, even if one would prefer to watch paint dry. And one also kept such thoughts to himself.
Sasaki Kurou was a young man, in his early thirties. His tall, lanky build labeled him an academic, as did his close-cropped, neatly kept hair. He wore one of his typical ensembles: impeccably pressed slacks and a white button-down shirt. He adjusted his wire-framed glasses, the thoughtful brown eyes behind them indicating a keen, calculating intellect. More than a few had found those eyes to be quite cold, especially if his words and demeanor were condescending, as they often were.
He had good reason to be arrogant. At his young age, he was one of the preeminent archaeologists in Japan, and a tenured professor of archaeology at Iwate University. He was also uncommonly wealthy, thanks to the extensive inheritance from his parents; his estate on the outskirts of Morioka was opulent, the mansion filled with priceless artifacts gathered from his travels or purchased at great expense. Most were Central American in origin, his area of specialty. His handful of expeditions to Mexico and Guatemala were documented in dozens of journals and books; all seemed to result in one incredible discovery or another. Of course, the public records did not tell the whole story. For there was a darker side to Sasaki Kurou, one which he did not reveal unless in the field, in the midst of an all-consuming investigation. At those times, consequences meant nothing, and as a result there were episodes which would never be reported in any publication.
None of his colleagues at the university knew of this other side of his personality. To them, he was simply Professor Sasaki, a fellow academic to be respected for his brilliance, if not his character. He was not well liked, as he made no attempt to conceal his distaste for the university setting or the ineptitude of his students. He wished he could spend every day out in the field, but that was not possible. Even his fortune would run out eventually without his income from teaching high-level archaeology classes and writing of his exploits. While he did not enjoy either occupation, he recognized Iwate University as a good location for him. He despised the larger schools and the hustle and bustle of the truly big cities, much preferring the more rustic appeal of Morioka, which was tiny by comparison. It was a city, for sure, but the kind of city he could cope with, surrounded by natural splendor. Mount Iwate towered over the landscape, its dark surface both beautiful and foreboding. The volcano loomed like a sleeping giant, waiting to erupt again.
“The locals say this cave has been sealed off for five hundred years,” Makoto continued eagerly, blissfully unaware of his companion’s thoughts. “And as far as we know, no other archaeologist has ever visited this site. Who knows what we might find?!”
Kurou rolled his eyes. Hopefully nothing so I can go home sooner. He had a long drive to get back to Morioka; they were currently outside Miura, over three hundred miles away. Not the way he imagined spending his Saturday afternoon, but he preferred driving to flying or riding the train.
“Whatever it is, I’m sure it will be fascinating,” he replied instead.
Makoto nodded absently, watching intently as the bulldozer began to slowly push the boulder from its resting place of half a millennium. The task completed, the driver backed up and shut off the machine, then climbed down and walked into the woods for a smoke. He didn’t particularly care what the scientists hoped to find in that cave. What he did care about was the nice fat check the old man’s university was writing him for lugging his bulldozer out here to the middle of nowhere to move one rock. He didn’t know how people five hundred years ago had moved the boulder to the entrance of that cave without modern equipment, but he was grateful they had figured out a way.
Both archaeologists approached the cave now, stepping cautiously lest they disturb something underfoot. Darkness closed in after a few meters, but their powerful flashlights illuminated the rock surface. Pointing the beam into the mysterious depths of the cavern, Kurou was surprised to find that he could not see a rear wall. Apparently the cave extended for at least several dozen meters. So far there was nothing to see; the walls were bare and lifeless. No stalactites hung from the ceiling, and no stalagmites ‘grew’ from the floor. This was a dry cave, the air oppressive and dearth of humidity. It had a stuffy, ancient scent caused by centuries of limited to no circulation. All of those were positive signs, as far as Kurou was concerned. If there was something here, the dry atmosphere would have preserved it far better than a moist one. That is, if this cave had remained dry for the full five centuries, which was possible but by no means a certainty.
“Oh, Kami,” Makoto exclaimed from up ahead, drawing Kurou from his musings. “Sasaki-san, come look at this!”
Mildly intrigued, Kurou strolled briskly to join his colleague. What he saw astounded him. There, sitting in what could only be termed a massive pile, were literally hundreds of ancient artifacts. Armour, swords, spears, bows, arrows—a feudal era stash of archaeological goodies. Now Kurou knew why his friend was so excited. Some of the artifacts were in better condition than others, but all had been fairly well preserved in the dry atmosphere of the cave. How they came to be placed here, and for what purpose, were mysteries, but he was sure Makoto would have a lot of fun—and make a lot of money—writing about the possibilities. A find like this did not go unnoted in the academic world. For a brief moment he felt a pang of jealousy, then brushed it aside. This was not his find, nor his area of expertise. In fact, this would probably be Makoto’s last hurrah before retiring from field work. He would let the old man have his moment of glory; Kurou was certain there was much more of that to be found in Central America.
As Makoto bounced around like a schoolgirl, Kurou took a more scientific approach and began scanning the surrounding cave for anything else of interest. His flashlight beam passed back and forth over the floor, then abruptly he paused. There had been something strange just now, an unnatural glint in the rock. Slowly he retraced the path of the flashlight until the glint reappeared once again. Kneeling, Kurou picked up the object, his eyes widening impossibly as he realized what it was.
A modern ID card of some kind. His logical mind tried to argue, but he could not make logic comport with what he saw and felt. It was perfectly rectangular, its four corners rounded, its depth thin and uniform. It was smooth to the touch, laminated, he realized. This side was more or less unvaryingly white; it appeared there had once been legible writing, but it had faded until it was no longer readable. He turned the card over and gasped aloud.
That was definitely a girl’s face. A small picture, taking up most of the left half of the card. It too was faded, but he could still make out her features clearly. She appeared to be a teenager, and unless he was mistaken, the top of a sailor fuku was visible. Scrolled across the top in large, forest green lettering was a message Kurou could almost make out. Unlike the small print on the back and the right side of the front, this lettering had maintained some of its integrity. Fukuz…Fukuza… He was fairly certain the last word was “school.” That fit with the age of the girl and the sailor fuku. Now if he could just figure out how the hell it got in here, and why it was so faded…
“You find something, Sasaki-san?” Makoto asked, moving to peer over his shoulder. Kurou froze, mentally debating what to do. If he showed Makoto the ID card, revealed that his precious site had been contaminated…it would crush him. The old man’s last hurrah would be ruined; he would never be able to publish his findings in a respectable journal without being accused of trying to pass artificially aged replicas off as the real thing. At the very least, there would be controversy, and Kurou wasn’t sure the old man would be able to handle it. So no, he couldn’t let Makoto find out about the card. In this case, helping a friend was more important than strictly following the rules.
“Nope!” Kurou hastily declared. “Just dropped something. So, uh, why don’t you tell me about those artifacts?” he asked, trying to change the subject. “I’m not that familiar with early Japanese weapons and armour.”
Makoto took the bait, launching into an animated monologue, which Kurou promptly tuned out. His thoughts were elsewhere.
Once he arrived back in Morioka, he had spent the evening trying to decipher the mystery behind the ID card. A quick google search revealed the school to be Fukuzawa Middle School in Tokyo; pictures of their ID cards posted online matched the one currently in his possession. He had also made out part of the student’s name: Hiyuroshi Karomi, or something similar. He couldn’t be exactly sure because of the ever present fading. That was the greatest mystery of all. If some student had somehow gotten into the cave and dropped the card, he would expect it to look more or less brand new. Laminated materials were tough, after all. The fading didn’t look artificial, either; it appeared natural, as if the passage of time alone had been the culprit. But that was impossible. ID cards did not exist hundreds of years ago.
So he was left with several equally implausible explanations. One—some kid got inside the cave and dropped her ID card. He couldn’t rationalize the fading, but he was sure there was an explanation. Two—Makoto dropped the card. Never mind the potential shadiness of a fifty-something year old man carrying around a girl’s ID card—and he didn’t think Makoto was that kind of guy—he still couldn’t explain the fading. And he couldn’t just ask Makoto if the card was his, because if it wasn’t, then the old man would know the site had been contaminated. A third option did explain the fading, but was utterly ridiculous in every other way. Ugh, why am I even entertaining the thought that this ID card has been sitting in that cave for five hundred years? What, did somebody go back in time and leave it there? But as ludicrous as that sounded, why was he getting this gut feeling…like maybe the most absurd answer was the correct one?
Kurou shook his head. Go home. Go to bed. Lack of sleep is making you irrational. Rising tiredly to his feet, he snatched up the ID card and tossed it in his bottom desk drawer. Then he resolved to forget about it. Some things were better left unexplained.
Name Translations:
Kurou = “nine” and “son” (he’s actually an only child, but I like the name)
Makoto = “sincerity”
A/N – a couple shout-outs. This chapter was based loosely on the beginning of the book, Timeline by Michael Crichton. Also, the title was based on one of my favorite books, The Bourne Identity by Robert Ludlum. The Bourne movies were good, but the books are better (and completely different).
The Cities of Morioka and Miura, Mount Iwate, and Iwate University are all real. From what I can tell, IU doesn’t have an archaeology department, so that was made up. Here is a good description I found of the area: http://www.iwate-u.ac.jp/english/outline/index.html. I did make Fukuzawa Middle School up. I don’t think Kagome’s school was ever named in the series, was it? I named it after Fukuzawa Yukichi, whose name I found after doing a google search for “famous Japanese people.” Not my most scientific research strategy, but it worked. Wikipedia him if you’d like more info.
Also, can you believe that a high-quality, laminated ID card could last for 500 years in a dry, undisturbed environment? If not, I would love to hear any suggestions you might have for something that might work better. I did quite a bit of brainstorming before finally deciding on the ID card, but it’s not too late to change it if the consensus is that I’m warping the laws of nature.
Converting /tmp/phpAGHQIr to /dev/stdout
A/N – Greetings. KB here with a new multi-chapter fic. I expect it to end up being 10-20 chapters, nowhere near as long as Metamorphosis. This story takes place soon after the end of the original anime; Kikyou is alive again and the Inu-gang just survived their brush with death in the belly of the stone oni, but none of the later events have come to pass. It is a divergence from canon, but as the title indicates, much of the story will take place in the modern era. So kick back and enjoy this little teaser. More to come soon, hopefully.
~Entrapment: a 21st Century Adventure~
The Higurashi Identity (Prologue)“Oh, isn’t this so exciting, Sasaki-san?!” Murakami Makoto declared, watching as the bulldozer positioned itself to remove the massive boulder blocking the entrance to what was supposedly a cave used hundreds of years ago. For what no one knew.
“Yes, Murakami-san,” Sasaki Kurou replied wearily in an attempt to humor the old man. Makoto was in his late fifties, and was in Kurou’s opinion an archaeologist of average skill at best. But he was a family friend, and such ties should be preserved, even if the person couldn’t properly excavate his way into a child’s sandbox. In truth, Kurou found Japanese archaeology rather boring; he much preferred the more exotic, out of the way places of the world. Studying Olmec or Totonac ruins was far more interesting that digging around in one’s own backyard. But one did not refuse a family friend’s invitation to join him on an “exciting” new excavation, even if one would prefer to watch paint dry. And one also kept such thoughts to himself.
Sasaki Kurou was a young man, in his early thirties. His tall, lanky build labeled him an academic, as did his close-cropped, neatly kept hair. He wore one of his typical ensembles: impeccably pressed slacks and a white button-down shirt. He adjusted his wire-framed glasses, the thoughtful brown eyes behind them indicating a keen, calculating intellect. More than a few had found those eyes to be quite cold, especially if his words and demeanor were condescending, as they often were.
He had good reason to be arrogant. At his young age, he was one of the preeminent archaeologists in Japan, and a tenured professor of archaeology at Iwate University. He was also uncommonly wealthy, thanks to the extensive inheritance from his parents; his estate on the outskirts of Morioka was opulent, the mansion filled with priceless artifacts gathered from his travels or purchased at great expense. Most were Central American in origin, his area of specialty. His handful of expeditions to Mexico and Guatemala were documented in dozens of journals and books; all seemed to result in one incredible discovery or another. Of course, the public records did not tell the whole story. For there was a darker side to Sasaki Kurou, one which he did not reveal unless in the field, in the midst of an all-consuming investigation. At those times, consequences meant nothing, and as a result there were episodes which would never be reported in any publication.
None of his colleagues at the university knew of this other side of his personality. To them, he was simply Professor Sasaki, a fellow academic to be respected for his brilliance, if not his character. He was not well liked, as he made no attempt to conceal his distaste for the university setting or the ineptitude of his students. He wished he could spend every day out in the field, but that was not possible. Even his fortune would run out eventually without his income from teaching high-level archaeology classes and writing of his exploits. While he did not enjoy either occupation, he recognized Iwate University as a good location for him. He despised the larger schools and the hustle and bustle of the truly big cities, much preferring the more rustic appeal of Morioka, which was tiny by comparison. It was a city, for sure, but the kind of city he could cope with, surrounded by natural splendor. Mount Iwate towered over the landscape, its dark surface both beautiful and foreboding. The volcano loomed like a sleeping giant, waiting to erupt again.
“The locals say this cave has been sealed off for five hundred years,” Makoto continued eagerly, blissfully unaware of his companion’s thoughts. “And as far as we know, no other archaeologist has ever visited this site. Who knows what we might find?!”
Kurou rolled his eyes. Hopefully nothing so I can go home sooner. He had a long drive to get back to Morioka; they were currently outside Miura, over three hundred miles away. Not the way he imagined spending his Saturday afternoon, but he preferred driving to flying or riding the train.
“Whatever it is, I’m sure it will be fascinating,” he replied instead.
Makoto nodded absently, watching intently as the bulldozer began to slowly push the boulder from its resting place of half a millennium. The task completed, the driver backed up and shut off the machine, then climbed down and walked into the woods for a smoke. He didn’t particularly care what the scientists hoped to find in that cave. What he did care about was the nice fat check the old man’s university was writing him for lugging his bulldozer out here to the middle of nowhere to move one rock. He didn’t know how people five hundred years ago had moved the boulder to the entrance of that cave without modern equipment, but he was grateful they had figured out a way.
Both archaeologists approached the cave now, stepping cautiously lest they disturb something underfoot. Darkness closed in after a few meters, but their powerful flashlights illuminated the rock surface. Pointing the beam into the mysterious depths of the cavern, Kurou was surprised to find that he could not see a rear wall. Apparently the cave extended for at least several dozen meters. So far there was nothing to see; the walls were bare and lifeless. No stalactites hung from the ceiling, and no stalagmites ‘grew’ from the floor. This was a dry cave, the air oppressive and dearth of humidity. It had a stuffy, ancient scent caused by centuries of limited to no circulation. All of those were positive signs, as far as Kurou was concerned. If there was something here, the dry atmosphere would have preserved it far better than a moist one. That is, if this cave had remained dry for the full five centuries, which was possible but by no means a certainty.
“Oh, Kami,” Makoto exclaimed from up ahead, drawing Kurou from his musings. “Sasaki-san, come look at this!”
Mildly intrigued, Kurou strolled briskly to join his colleague. What he saw astounded him. There, sitting in what could only be termed a massive pile, were literally hundreds of ancient artifacts. Armour, swords, spears, bows, arrows—a feudal era stash of archaeological goodies. Now Kurou knew why his friend was so excited. Some of the artifacts were in better condition than others, but all had been fairly well preserved in the dry atmosphere of the cave. How they came to be placed here, and for what purpose, were mysteries, but he was sure Makoto would have a lot of fun—and make a lot of money—writing about the possibilities. A find like this did not go unnoted in the academic world. For a brief moment he felt a pang of jealousy, then brushed it aside. This was not his find, nor his area of expertise. In fact, this would probably be Makoto’s last hurrah before retiring from field work. He would let the old man have his moment of glory; Kurou was certain there was much more of that to be found in Central America.
As Makoto bounced around like a schoolgirl, Kurou took a more scientific approach and began scanning the surrounding cave for anything else of interest. His flashlight beam passed back and forth over the floor, then abruptly he paused. There had been something strange just now, an unnatural glint in the rock. Slowly he retraced the path of the flashlight until the glint reappeared once again. Kneeling, Kurou picked up the object, his eyes widening impossibly as he realized what it was.
A modern ID card of some kind. His logical mind tried to argue, but he could not make logic comport with what he saw and felt. It was perfectly rectangular, its four corners rounded, its depth thin and uniform. It was smooth to the touch, laminated, he realized. This side was more or less unvaryingly white; it appeared there had once been legible writing, but it had faded until it was no longer readable. He turned the card over and gasped aloud.
That was definitely a girl’s face. A small picture, taking up most of the left half of the card. It too was faded, but he could still make out her features clearly. She appeared to be a teenager, and unless he was mistaken, the top of a sailor fuku was visible. Scrolled across the top in large, forest green lettering was a message Kurou could almost make out. Unlike the small print on the back and the right side of the front, this lettering had maintained some of its integrity. Fukuz…Fukuza… He was fairly certain the last word was “school.” That fit with the age of the girl and the sailor fuku. Now if he could just figure out how the hell it got in here, and why it was so faded…
“You find something, Sasaki-san?” Makoto asked, moving to peer over his shoulder. Kurou froze, mentally debating what to do. If he showed Makoto the ID card, revealed that his precious site had been contaminated…it would crush him. The old man’s last hurrah would be ruined; he would never be able to publish his findings in a respectable journal without being accused of trying to pass artificially aged replicas off as the real thing. At the very least, there would be controversy, and Kurou wasn’t sure the old man would be able to handle it. So no, he couldn’t let Makoto find out about the card. In this case, helping a friend was more important than strictly following the rules.
“Nope!” Kurou hastily declared. “Just dropped something. So, uh, why don’t you tell me about those artifacts?” he asked, trying to change the subject. “I’m not that familiar with early Japanese weapons and armour.”
Makoto took the bait, launching into an animated monologue, which Kurou promptly tuned out. His thoughts were elsewhere.
* * *
Kurou sat in his dark office, the only illumination provided by the lamp on the desk. It was well past midnight, and the damn card sitting innocently in the circle of light still vexed him. After talking for perhaps an hour, Makoto had decided to call in some graduate students to help him continue the investigation. Kurou had excused himself once they arrived; Makoto had barely noticed. Once he arrived back in Morioka, he had spent the evening trying to decipher the mystery behind the ID card. A quick google search revealed the school to be Fukuzawa Middle School in Tokyo; pictures of their ID cards posted online matched the one currently in his possession. He had also made out part of the student’s name: Hiyuroshi Karomi, or something similar. He couldn’t be exactly sure because of the ever present fading. That was the greatest mystery of all. If some student had somehow gotten into the cave and dropped the card, he would expect it to look more or less brand new. Laminated materials were tough, after all. The fading didn’t look artificial, either; it appeared natural, as if the passage of time alone had been the culprit. But that was impossible. ID cards did not exist hundreds of years ago.
So he was left with several equally implausible explanations. One—some kid got inside the cave and dropped her ID card. He couldn’t rationalize the fading, but he was sure there was an explanation. Two—Makoto dropped the card. Never mind the potential shadiness of a fifty-something year old man carrying around a girl’s ID card—and he didn’t think Makoto was that kind of guy—he still couldn’t explain the fading. And he couldn’t just ask Makoto if the card was his, because if it wasn’t, then the old man would know the site had been contaminated. A third option did explain the fading, but was utterly ridiculous in every other way. Ugh, why am I even entertaining the thought that this ID card has been sitting in that cave for five hundred years? What, did somebody go back in time and leave it there? But as ludicrous as that sounded, why was he getting this gut feeling…like maybe the most absurd answer was the correct one?
Kurou shook his head. Go home. Go to bed. Lack of sleep is making you irrational. Rising tiredly to his feet, he snatched up the ID card and tossed it in his bottom desk drawer. Then he resolved to forget about it. Some things were better left unexplained.
Name Translations:
Kurou = “nine” and “son” (he’s actually an only child, but I like the name)
Makoto = “sincerity”
A/N – a couple shout-outs. This chapter was based loosely on the beginning of the book, Timeline by Michael Crichton. Also, the title was based on one of my favorite books, The Bourne Identity by Robert Ludlum. The Bourne movies were good, but the books are better (and completely different).
The Cities of Morioka and Miura, Mount Iwate, and Iwate University are all real. From what I can tell, IU doesn’t have an archaeology department, so that was made up. Here is a good description I found of the area: http://www.iwate-u.ac.jp/english/outline/index.html. I did make Fukuzawa Middle School up. I don’t think Kagome’s school was ever named in the series, was it? I named it after Fukuzawa Yukichi, whose name I found after doing a google search for “famous Japanese people.” Not my most scientific research strategy, but it worked. Wikipedia him if you’d like more info.
Also, can you believe that a high-quality, laminated ID card could last for 500 years in a dry, undisturbed environment? If not, I would love to hear any suggestions you might have for something that might work better. I did quite a bit of brainstorming before finally deciding on the ID card, but it’s not too late to change it if the consensus is that I’m warping the laws of nature.
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