InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ One ❯ Rebirth ( Chapter 8 )

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Rumiko Takahashi and other associated companies.

 

 

Chapter 08: Rebirth

 

 

“Earlier today in downtown Tokyo, a potential tragedy has turned into a miraculous feat of heroism,” a young reporter announced; her manner polite and professional. “A man saved a boy from a delivery truck by using his body as a human shield. An act that would without a doubt, seriously injure or kill anyone who tried to do it.” Taking a step back, she turned to the side and with a wave; she revealed a web of yellow police tape and just beyond it, the crushed front end of a large truck. “But as you can see, there's no body to speak of. Just a few drops of blood, a mangled hunk of metal, and a mystery.”

 

The scene flashed to a thin businessman whose ill-fitting suit made him look bigger than he really was. “I was crossing the crosswalk when I saw the boy just jump out into the road. I thought he was dead for sure. I mean, there was no way the truck could stop in time or even swerve out of the way.”

 

Another flash. Balancing a baby on her hip, a frazzled mother spoke next as she struggled to hold onto her other child who tugged relentlessly on her hand. “There was a silver flash, and the truck crumpled up like it had hit a wall. Some sort of man had grabbed the boy, and then stopped the truck by just getting in front of it. I've never seen anything like it.”

 

Two high school students giddy with excitement. “It was crazy. The guy just stood up like it was nothing. And this is even crazier.” They pulled out a pair of digital cameras. “We're in the photography club on campus, and we take our cameras everywhere, because you never know what you might see. We took a dozen pictures of the guy, and they're all the same.” They turned the display screens to face the television cameras and held them close. Slightly out of focus from the distance, the boy's face was fairly clear, but the man was completely blurred. “Every single one is like that. It's impossible. It's like he's a ghost or something.”

 

Sesshoumaru snorted indignantly. Sitting cross-legged, he regarded the moving picture box with mild disgust. “I am not a ghost.”

 

Kagome squeezed out some ointment onto her finger from the metal tube in her hand. With a light touch, she then dabbed it over one of the deep cuts on his back. “They don't know any different. Youkai now might as well be ghosts.”

 

He snorted again.

 

She tore open a packet of gauze and laid the bandage over the cut. “And by the way, I didn't realize that I would have to use my priestess skills again so soon.”

 

“Your tending is unnecessary.”

 

She reached for the roll of soft white tape and snipped a piece off with a pair of scissors.

 

“I will heal on my own.”

 

“If that's the case,” she remarked as she adhered the tape to the edge of the gauze, “Then hurry up and heal, so that I don't have to keep tending to you.”

 

Silence.

 

“That's what I thought,” she said with a kind smile as she cut off another piece of tape.

 

The television flashed back to the reporter. “There is one other unusual development. The driver of the truck is missing. It's believed that he fled the scene right after the accident, and for a good reason. Stolen televisions, stereos and other electronic equipment have been discovered in the hold of the truck, and it is believed that he might have been involved with the KuroSakura Gang. As of right now, the police are currently investigating all leads, and are optimistic that if anything, they will catch the perpetrator.”

 

Souta scoffed. Sitting beside the living room table, he crossed his arms. “Not likely.”

 

Sesshoumaru looked at him. “Stealing is against the law here, is it not?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“The police are meant to uphold the laws. They will catch those responsible. Their sense of duty and honor will not permit them to do otherwise.”

 

“It's not that simple,” Kagome explained. “The police have been trying to get rid of the KuroSakura gang for years, but instead they just keep growing larger.”

 

“And they're not afraid of the cops either,” Souta said, “They think they're samurai. Some are even willing to die rather than betray their gang. And if that means getting in a shoot out, they'll do it.” He shook his head. “It's messed up.”

 

“If they believe that they are samurai,” Sesshoumaru said, “Then they must have a master. A lord whose orders they will follow even to the death.”

 

“If the police knew that, then there wouldn't be much of a gang anymore,” Mama said as she walked in, a dish of pickled vegetables in one hand and a tray of sautéed fish in the other. “Souta, can you please fetch some bowls and the rice cooker.”

 

Souta stood up and left for the kitchen.

 

“It's a closely guarded secret,” she went on. “Even if it means a shorter prison sentence, members who are caught won't expose the identities of those in charge.”

 

The warlords in present day Edo aren't as easy to identify as they were in the Feudal Era,” Kagome added.

 

“The corrupt cops don't help either,” Souta said bitterly as he returned.

 

“We don't know that,” Mama said, taking the bowls and the rice cooker from him. “You can't make blind assertions about people, Souta.”

 

“Well, if they're not corrupt, then they're cowards.” Anger shook him, and he looked at Sesshoumaru. “They're not heroes.” With his jaw clenched, he left and went to his room, his steps thudding up the stairs.

 

Mama sighed, and began to pile rice into the bowls with a spoon-like spatula. “Too much has happened today.” She looked up and caught the daiyoukai's bewildered expression. “I don't know how I ended up with two of them, but he's idealistic just like his sister,” she explained.

 

Kagome looked up quizzically at the reference, her hand sneaking out to grab the first bowl.

 

“He wants to believe that evil can be vanquished, and he idolizes his sister who was able to do just that.”

 

Sesshoumaru nodded, remembering the battle as his hand unconsciously felt for the scar on his chest.

 

“But the world isn't that simple. Good and evil aren't cut in stone, but written in sand. And now he's reached the age where he has to face that fact.”

 

“The leaders of the KuroSakura Gang are lucky though,” Kagome said as she piled a chopstick's worth of vegetables onto her rice. “They can hide their faces. The police can't. If it only meant placing themselves in danger, then maybe a few cops put their lives on the line. However, the KuroSakura Gang goes after their friends and family instead. They stalk them or beat them up. Sometimes they even set their homes on fire. Horrible stuff.”

 

Mama picked up the remote. “I think that's enough.” She flipped through the stations until she found a silly sitcom. Listening deafly to the stiff jokes and canned laughter, they finished their meal in silence.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Sliding the door open, Sesshoumaru stepped out into the shrine's courtyard. He took in the pleasant night air as he rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, trying to rid it of the sour taste. At Ms. Higurashi's insistence, he had tried the pickled vegetables. He felt no regret. Every experience is an opportunity to learn something, and he learned that they were revolting. Too often human food presented itself as a chance for him to challenge and strengthen his fortitude. Although, the fish had been quite good.

 

His mind steeping with the day's events, the pebbly ground crunched under his sandals as he walked toward the shed tucked away in the far reaches of the shrine. He entered it and pulled the cord to the lone light bulb hanging inside. Under the incandescent glow, he surveyed the workshop. Clean and polished, his tools hung on the walls or sat neatly in their drawers, and the floor didn't have one feathery bit of sawdust on it.

 

At the center of his worktable, a block of wood lay. Cream-colored with a smooth grain, it was leftover from another project. Sesshoumaru stared at it. The future was strange, but the more he learned, the more he understood it. The more he felt it. There were still lords, and there were still samurai. Their names and laws may have changed with the world, but the conflicts never did. The honorable are fangless dragons, and their enemies laugh at them, taunting them to bite as they file their claws down as well.

 

Sesshoumaru stared at the block of wood. And even without eyes, it soon began to stare back. Compelled by it, he picked up his ruler and his flat pencil. And he began to draw.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Towering conspicuously over the humans squeezed in around him, Sesshoumaru waited in the crammed elevator. Pressed into the corner, the metal handrail dug into his back and hip. He ignored the discomfort, preferring it over being at the center and completely surrounded by people. Their strong, starchy scents curdled in his nose, the fabricated odors of their industry. It clung to his clothes and skin where they brushed up against him. But the more he endured, the less he noticed as his senses slowly acclimated to their constant presence.

 

The elevator slowed and then hiccupped to a stop. With a cheery ding, the doors opened. A few people began to pile out, and he squeezed through the rest as he escaped from the claustrophobic cube. Next time, he would take the stairs.

 

As written on the sign hanging from the ceiling, the men's department spanned out around him. On hidden speakers, a benign, classical tune played as he walked down one of the gridded walkways. On either side of him, closely spaced racks of clothes stood amid fields of indoor/outdoor carpet. And at every corner, blank-faced statues posed, confidently dressed in the clothes hanging behind them.

 

At a loss, the daiyoukai wandered between the racks, prodding at a few as he passed. Every so often, he glanced up to watch the shoppers around him. While they perused, he tried to deduce what was best to buy. The men were always quick, snatching up what they wanted and promptly paying for it, while the fickle women sauntered between the racks, comparing colors and styles with a critical eye. Neither proved to be much help.

 

“Can I help you, sir,” a bubbly voice asked behind him.

 

Turning around, Sesshoumaru stared in silence at the smartly dressed man in black slacks and a button up, pastel shirt.

 

“I'll take that as a yes,” the associate said when an answer didn't seem to be forthcoming. “Do you know what size you are?”

 

“I do not know what number I am,” Sesshoumaru replied. “I have not bought clothing before.”

 

“Ah,” he replied at the revelation, “I must say, it shows more than the aimless wandering.” He pointed to his pants. “Those awful pants are a huge clue. They're all baggy in the butt, and they barely reach your ankles. I mean, the whole look screams old, stuffy schoolteacher from the eighties.”

 

Sesshoumaru looked down at his clothes, mystified by his descriptions.

 

“Who dresses you?” the associate asked.

 

“A woman?”

 

The man shook his head in disappointment and clucked. “Don't worry. I'm here now, and I'll save you from anymore fashion disasters.” He reached up and squeezed the daiyoukai's shoulder for reassurance. “Oh my, “he gasped. “Do you work out?”

 

“Work out?”

 

“Never mind,” he said, his hand drifting down to Sesshoumaru's forearm as he gave it a gentle tug. “Let's get you to the dressing room and I'll take your… measurements.”

 

The associate guided Sesshoumaru toward the far wall. Near the back, were a series of discount racks and the demon abruptly stopped.

 

“Did something catch your eye, sir,” the associate asked in bewilderment.

 

Looking over at a rack of coats leftover from the winter season, Sesshoumaru began to tow him toward it.

 

“Winter is still a ways off,” he insisted. “We need to worry about what you're wearing now.”

 

Ignoring him, the daiyoukai pulled out the trench coat that had caught his eye. Blazingly white under the burning glow of the fluorescent lights, it was made from a thick, khaki material. A stylized design of red flowers wove along the cuffs and up from the hem at the bottom.

 

“You have flashy tastes,” the associate said approvingly. “I like it.”

 

Sesshoumaru nodded and held the coat up.

 

“Why don't you try it on?”

 

Sesshoumaru put his arms through one sleeve at a time and shrugged it on.

The associate took a few steps back, his finger at his lips as he looked him over. Then he grinned. “It's perfect. As if it was made just for you.” Pointing toward one of the pillars, he said, “There's a mirror over there. Go see for yourself.”

 

Sesshoumaru's eyes widened when he found it. In the reflection, he saw a glimpse of the old warrior he used to be. His confidence surged in his chest, emboldening him. He thought about the finished piece of wood back at his workshop. There wasn't any doubt anymore. He knew for certain that this is what he wanted.

 

“Do you have anything sleeveless that I can look at?” he asked the associate without looking.

 

The associate nodded eagerly and sang, “Right this way!”