The troops poured into the large, steely-gray room like drops pouring into canteen, at least two score, all wearing their navy blue uniforms. On top of the stage that stood in front of them, the admiral and his advisers stood, along with their own colonel, an older man in his mid-forties. He wore black-rimmed spectacles that drooped down to the bottom of his nose and a full military uniform, just as all the pilots wore below him, except his bore more badges and honors. Setsushi stood near the left end of the front row where if he chose to look forward he would stare directly into the rising sun of Japan plastered on a white flag. Silence began to reign on the room very quickly as each of the pilots were filled with the same dreadful thought. The admiral began with a quiet yet stern voice that echoed across the steely chamber like a ball bounces from wall to wall.
"I want to thank Colonel Utsumi, as well as my own lieutenant Kuroto. I also want to thank all of you, for your brave service to the great empire of Japan." He held his arms behind his back, and began to slowly pace. "I know you all have done so much in the name of our country, and Japan is proud of you. However, there is one more thing you can do to help our great empire. We require a number of volunteers to carry out a certain operation for us. As you all know, the Tokkō Tai squadrons always need new recruits to execute their Kamikaze attacks. I would ask all of you to volunteer."
The words fell upon the group of pilots there as a wave on rocks, although from sight their faces seemed made of stone. They had heard of the Tokkō Tai, the group of pilots that carry out suicide-missions, and many of them, including Setsushi, secretly dreaded the prospect of being asked to volunteer, where honor dictates only one choice as viable.
Colonel Utsumi stepped forward and spoke with a much deeper and more demanding voice, heavy with pride. "I personally chose you pilots to present to the admiral, as each of you posses much honor. Those that wish to volunteer, please raise your hand."
The choice the colonel gave them would be laughable, if humor came to any of the pilots' minds. One would have to be without a shred of honor to decline when personally asked, as they were, especially in front of the admiral himself. An insult not only to them, but their families. And so, at differing paces, each hand was raised.
The first to go were the bolder ones, the ones renowned for their courage yet not much else. They covered their fear under their bravery, hoping to show their own strength. Soon, the followers raised their hands, the ones who find themselves in others. Setsushi looked around, and found that he was among a very few, under ten, who kept their hands down, yet the colonel did not continue, but he waited for his fruit to fully ripe. Their number dwindled, and Setsushi raised his hand with the others.
"I did not expect anything less from you all." Utsumi spoke a few seconds after Setsushi joined his brothers. "You are the greatest pilots I have had the pleasure to command, and Japan will not forget your brave actions."
"Kaito, stay out of the deep water. It's dangerous."
Kaito heeded his mother's advice, and took care to avoid the deeper end of the lake. The shallow area he was playing in was about three feet deep, going up to his shoulders, but he knew that in the middle it went far above his head. He kept to the water where he could see through it, and didn't going out far enough to where the water was a deeper shade that reflected the rising sun back onto him.
It was here that Kaito first learned to swim, as a small child, inching deeper into the lake with his mother's watchful eyes following him. He knew not to go out too far, though, lest he cause his mother to panic. Ayako would often swim with him, although she never went out as far out as he did, and never troubled herself with trying to swim as fast. But she swam much more gracefully than he, copying the strokes of those she saw almost to perfection. For him, the strokes were all too hard to learn, and so he found his own ways of doing them. His swimming was more awkward and odd, to the point where those that noticed might point or laugh at him. At first, he tried to ignore them, and act as if he didn't care. Acting it was, because at every laugh or jest thrown at him, like a rock thrown at a wooden board, left their mark. So, one day he decided, instead of turning to metal, he would move away from the rocks, and began to pick up the same swimming strokes Ayako had mastered at this point. It took him a while, and many laughs not at his awkward strokes but his ineffectiveness in the water, but he did it. His strokes now, less successful than his own, were as commonplace as the next boy's.
