What Rules Cannot Hold (A Naekusaba story)

Postscriptum I: My Promise

It was the second day of the festival. The swarms of people that overwhelmed the school grounds on the first day dissipated, though many ultimates continued to be preoccupied with showcasing talents other than their own. The headmaster was pleased with this state of affairs, often visiting some stalls to the consternation of students managing them. In the evening, the place appeared particularly impressive and welcoming; the soft glow of winking lamps and constant shouts of delight and surprise invited everyone to shelter themselves from the coming darkness.

Mukuro was offering free hairstyling with the help of her sister. People flocked to them, both boys and girls, and, without Junko's assistance, Mukuro would've failed to meet the demand. Fortunately, the most laborious and exhausting segment of the festival seemed to be over. But Mukuro's mind didn't have the privilege to partake in this relief.

Junko has become exceptionally restrained and helpful; her responses were still vulgar, sarcastic, or snide, but there was less malice behind them, and they weren't caused by her ill-temperedness. When Mukuro told her that she wanted to do hairstyling at the festival, Junko's response was almost kind and strangely genteel, as if her real self suddenly broke the chains of the wicked, vulgar spirit that held her captive for so long.

''Splendid idea!'' Junko exclaimed and threw herself into Mukuro's arms, hugging her tenderly. ''Maybe you aren't that bad, after all.''

The last time that Mukuro heard a similar expression of commendation from Junko was when they were kids, though she couldn't recall the circumstances. What that event impressed upon her was the memory of overflowing gratitude and ecstasy for everything around her; it was this that she felt again.

''...T-Thank you... t-thank you, Junko.'' She choked out the words, hoping that her sister wouldn't find her sentimentality too distasteful.

''it's no problem, really!'' Junko assured her. ''So many unnecessary quibbles could've been avoided if you were like this all along, don't you think?''

Mukuro nodded, her lips quivering and tears soaking her sister's cardigan. Uncertainty and doubt were no more; Makoto loved her; Junko accepted her; there was nothing else that she wanted from this world.

However, while no one was approaching their stall, her mind then trailed to the events of yesterday, the first day of the festival. Makoto was eager to take her somewhere, ascertaining her with his usual modesty that it wasn't exceptional, but that it was preferable to share their time together there rather than on the school grounds. Intrigued, Mukuro assented and they left their stalls late at night.

The autumnal cold bit their skin, while the solemn whistling of the trees hang in the air as if to discourage them from entering the thicket altogether. Once they reached the footpath, their every step impressed itself on the damp, barren ground, though in the thicket's thick darkness they could make little use of those footsteps in case they got lost.

Tightly holding onto Makoto's arm, Mukuro regularly took a tentative glance at him; he was wholly composed and assumed a slightly stern stance following his confession. No longer was he the same shy boy that she trained for the first time only a few weeks ago.

When they passed through the thicket, they arrived at the tall grasses near the lakeside. Mukuro lacked the sensitivity towards nature that was shared even among the most despicable persons, but seeing the lake while holding onto Makoto saw a gentle sense of calmness seep into her.

She remembered sitting down next to him, his arm caringly wrapped around her shoulder; the shimmering stars and the sky that witnessed all this; sounds of ducks plopping into the lake for nocturnal foraging.