French Cup: A Neighborhood Story

Chapter 101: -Kazuya- Swirling in the Sickness

The pale moonlight was like a wisp coming in from the cold. The bitter wind flew about our ankles, spiraling up into the abyss of night. Threatening clusters of clouds told a tale of yet more cold, the possible rain. A shivering rain. 

It only made me tug my coat around myself more. Using only one hand, because the other one was around Gyeong-Wan's. His mittened one was keeping it warm. Together, we'd set out to go to the meeting. Just as the wind made me tremble, so did the idea of seeing everyone there. Charlotte, probably handing out warm food to the people arriving, reminding me of refugees from the cold. Ayane and Hiran, if Ayane could make it. I hadn't checked on her since what happened. Sudden guilt flooded me. Her business was so close to the Charlotte's theater. Surely, she would be there? Should I go check to see if she could make it first?

As we walked, slow and lingering, my mind wandered to others. Julia and Colette. They'd left before everything happened, just barely, but knowing Julia they'd probably never be back. The negativity would linger for them, especially for Julia. Julia would never forget what happened. It wasn't a matter of forgetting. It was the fear. Would I ever see them back inside there, talking about video games and seeing Julia's rare smile? 

Then there was Prin and his partner, Somchai. I knew they'd never back down. Somchai was more of a follower, ever since I'd known him. He'd follow Prin anywhere. Prin would fight for what was his, no question. But, they were both getting older. Would they have the ability to fight?

My mind was getting away from me. Skipping from subject to subject, from person to person. We were walking so slowly, that we hadn't made it up the block yet. We were coming from the other way, avoiding the hotel. Neither of us wanted to see it, but that way was so familiar. Going the opposite way to only the next street over felt almost foreign. I'd just taken this path not too long ago, but it was too strange. It was longer, too. 

Neither of us spoke. Just carrying on. As we did, I began to wonder what we'd find. How many people were going to be there? Had Minoru been successful? How many people had the time? It was short notice, though we'd tried to plan. There wasn't much wind in our sails yet, despite how hard we were trying. We had no permit to gather. Certainly no permit to hold a protest. What kinds of things were we going to say at the meeting? How would it be organized? 

Would they expect me to speak? I was an owner of French Cup. But, as we walked, I began to realize this was bigger than French Cup. We'd been through so many more atrocities. In scale, what had happened at Zombie Walk was even bigger than what had happened at French Cup. So many more people involved, though nobody had been hurt. If I compared, which one was worse? But there was no comparison. Each event was too different. Then, there were the microevents. Little transgressions that added up to something so much more. What they meant, all together. 

What this all meant, all together. What had surged this, to cause all this. The real question: where was all of this coming from? Then there was what I knew and others directly involved knew, that the vast majority of people coming tonight wouldn't know: the people who'd caused the hurt at French Cup, all the fear, were two little boys. How one family, so full of hate, had caused all this. But how complicated it was. How many layers. Suddenly, in my mind I thought of the process for making croissants. All those layers one must make before the final product. How much work goes into it. How each layer builds and builds, until you have the final product.

How many layers were there to this? How much work had gone into this, by so many people, to make it literally explode? 

"Kazuya."

It was all spilling out. Like a croissant, if the butter gets too warm, it will spill out and be ruined. Everything was ruined. How could I control my emotions when I saw everyone-