I'm Sorry, Young Master

Chapter 6 - Fuyuhiko

A/N: SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT. WRITER'S BLOCK IS AN ASS

A foul, solitary wind hurried across the alleyway, stirring long-forgotten wrappers from the dumpster. A masquerade of smoke and ash drifted on the waves, gently discarding itself across my shoulders and on the floor in a softened turn. I blinked. And I blinked again. Both times I tried to erase this nightmare of a hallucination from my vision; and both times I failed for there she stood, her dusky hair blowing across her face and loose strands catching on her glasses frame. And she stood there, unfaltering, legs submerged in mountains of trash, reflections of light bouncing from the metal blades she wielded from both hands.

She squinted at me through her glasses, like she recognised me, but had no idea of who I was, not even my name. And she inhaled, her chest quickly bursting upward and slowly floating downwards. I hadn't moved in a while and if it weren't for the tense throbbing at the back of my head, I probably would have forgotten to breathe.

It took every last inch of my willpower to not run straight up to her and hug her, feeling her heartbeat against me, her chest slowly rising and falling as she breathed. But my knees stayed planted to the floor and we spoke in looks, the crackle of a distant fire adding all the more feeling to the atmosphere. Which one of us would break the silence?

In the end the one who broke the silence... Was her.

"You can't..." She spoke with little emotion, her eyes staying on me, often glancing down at the gun by my knees. A possible threat. But at the same time, she seemed confused, dazed. Like a hostage first waking up in an unfamiliar room. Even her admittedly terrifying presence, it all seemed too fake. Like a front.

Why?

Chisa's words started swimming around in my head.

"They saved me..." It echoed.

"As I ran out of the room, the door was slammed behind me and they were nowhere to be seen..."

"I banged on the door, trying to get back in, to get them out..."

"When the b-blood started seeping out from under the door I was in such a state of shock I g-guess I kinda... blacked out..?"

"...It wasn't until I saw Chiaki, f-full of h-holes, that I finally realised they were all dead..."

What a dirty trick. I raged in my head. What's traumatised Chisa all these years has been a lie. What's traumatised me all these years was a lie. A trap set by Junko herself to make us fall hard into despair. And we bought straight into that fucking trap!

We had both been played for fools.

"Ex-Master Fuyuhiko? How are you alive?" Peko spoke neutrally, enunciating every word. "The riots were supposed to have taken care of you."

Memories of smoke and blood-curdled screams rang through my head, but through the years, this little scar was nothing but a flesh wound on top of the repeated burns and blood stains that were the tragedy.

"What a shame. Seems like I have to finish the job." She twirled the handle of her right sword in her hand, adjusting her grip.

I found another emotion within me, like a whisper among the confusion and the worsening migraine that stretched across my brain. Anger.

"D-Don't mess with me..!"        

"Oh. Sorry. Just so we're clear. I don't actually want to hurt you." Her words playfully rolled from her tongue. "But she showed me the way, the only way to hope is with... despair."

She?

"I said don't fucking mess with me! What the crap do you mean?!"

Peko let out a laugh, it wasn't like the laugh I'd heard escape her lips on the rare occasion she felt herself to be more than just a tool. The laughter warped and echoed like a broken toy and mixed in with the distant mechanical shrill of Monokumas like paint.

And with that, Peko had the speed and power of a bullet as she charged her way towards me, and all the more dangerous. I scrambled to my feet but she was on top of me. I fell backwards, feeling her breathe on my face. I shut my eyes tight and awaited the cold tip of her blood-stained swords. Which never came.

"E-Ex Young Master F-Fuyuhiko..." She gasped, like her words were a breathe of fresh air among the smoke that filled the sky. I snapped my eyes open, and for a brief moment I swear, among her state of frantic hopelessness, I caught a glimpse of my old friend.

"Hey! Swordgirl!" The Texas-slurred accent rang from around the alleyway corner. "What's taking so long! Did ya shish-kebab him yet?"

"I'm... I'm sorry Young Master..." She spurted out, taking a quick, yet deep, inhale.

And before I could blink twice, Peko was gone.

I threw myself to my feet and looked around frantically,  but the only traces of her left was the trash that lay strewn across the floor. I probably would have yelled out for her, before I was interrupted by more laughter, nasally, like the remnant on the rooftop from earlier. Scratch that. It was the remnant from earlier. I twisted my head up to face him, and I could now make him out in heavier detail. His face was covered by an odd, metal mask but his pink hair shone florescently against his yellow suit.

"FUCK." I cursed. "You too?!" I screamed at Kazuichi, hysterical, furious. "What fucked up shit happened to all of y..." I rubbed my face with my hands, before drawing my attention back to the rooft-

"...And he's gone." I turned to the stack of plastic crates piled up by the brickwork and, without concern for consequence, kicked it with all my might, watched them clatter to the ground in satisfaction and fury, the sound of them bouncing on the gravel like a hammer banging inside my brain. My vision started to fade black at the edges, and I collapsed against the wall just to make the brickwork stop swimming.

"Soldier Kuzuryu! Up here!" A deep voice boomed from, if my head wasn't still playing tricks on me, exactly where Kazuichi had stood less than ten seconds ago. I whipped my head back up, no idea of what to expect, but stood there, was Gozu. And a man in a yellow jumpsuit crying hysterics and desperately trying to wriggle free from the Ultimate Wrestler's iron underarm grip, flailing his arms and kicking to no avail. Before I even knew what to think, my legs gave in beneath me, and I gave up fighting the headache.

Black was all I saw next.