Chapter Text
ACT ONE
The man at his feet gurgles on his own blood. Ogata has never liked to kill people up close, but certain people deserve special treatment.
His father, for one. This man too.
He crouches down. "Come on," he taunts, "you know the rules. I give you the names of the people I want to kill, and you give me their locationYou know why I've come - I won't stop until all of you are dead. Either you tell me, or I can flay your skin layer-by-layer until you die from shock."
"I, I don't know where any of them are!" the man blubbers, tears leaking out of his ugly, swollen eyes. "But I know some of them ran off to Otaru."
Thinking about Otaru makes him nostalgic in ways he hasn't expect. "What else?"
"I know this, this old beggar who sells information. He's at the crossroad near the Crystal Hotel every day from dawn to dusk."
"Wonderful." Ogata presses his handgun against the man's temple, only for the man to flail as he tries to crawl away.
"You said you won't kill me if I give you information about my accomplices!"
"I never said that I won't kill you," Ogata informs slowly, "I only said that I won't kill you slowly. " He pulls the trigger before the man can respond. The blood splatters across the concrete, the body flopping with a heavy thud. Ogata grimaces as he stands up - his body is no longer as hardy as it used to be - and heads out of the warehouse.
He climbs onto his horse. "Back to town," he mumbles to himself, and rides off.
-
Here is what's happened:
At the end of it all, Ogata has looked Sugimoto in the eye and spat on his face.
Behind all that fury, there is a tinge of something in Sugimoto's face that Ogata dare not name. Sugimoto doesn't wipe off the spit, instead lunging forward in a move so clumsy that Ogata manages to escape with a gut wound.
For some reason, Ogata lives.
-
The ride over has been long and tedious, and the ride back isn't much better. As the sky darkens, Ogata is lucky enough to pass by a way-station. Luckier still to have enough money to pay for it.
He eats his dinner before retiring to his room for an early night.
"Think I'll kill all of them by winter?" he wonders aloud in the dark.
"Some of them may have left the main islands," Sugimoto points out as he sits on the bed. He pulls his foot in, hooking it under his knee.
Ogata tsks. "Well, I'm not resting until I kill all of them."
"They may kill you first."
"If they do kill me, then it's your fault," Ogata accuses. He sits on the opposite edge of the same bed, slowly stripping off the bulkiest of his weapons. It's frustratingly difficult to conceal a rifle these days. "Where were you just now?"
"Watching your six."
"Bullshit. I know you weren't there." Ogata loathes how Sugimoto just shrugs. Revenge should be hard and personal, not flippant. "You'll be useless from a distance anyway, so how's that going to help me?"
Sugimoto is giving him that strange smile again. The one that he can never parse, with the slight crookedness at the ends of his lips and the unflinching gaze that has always made Ogata feel exposed. “I won’t let you die, remember? I won’t let anyone kill you first.”
Ogata snorts. “You,” he scoffs, “are an asshole and a hypocrite,” and rolls over to go to sleep.
-
When Ogata finally meets the beggar, Sugimoto hovers two steps behind.
He will never admit it, but he likes Sugimoto’s presence; it makes him feel like a kid dragging around a huge security blanket over their shoulders - embarrassing, but comforting.
“Mister,” the beggar is saying as he pockets the money, “revenge is never a long-term solution for grief. It always ends in tragedy.”
Except Ogata isn’t grieving. Ogata is furious. “That is my business.”
“You don’t know what they are capable of,” the beggar warns, “this gang is notorious. Haven’t you heard? To be able to kill a man like him -”
“Why do you think I’m here?” Ogata interrupts.
“Ah,” says the beggar, “I see that you are a frightening man yourself.” Ogata smiles wider at that, to make a point. “Go on, then. Try your luck.”
Ogata receives his information and leaves after tipping the beggar with the rest of his change. Sugimoto treads steadily behind him. “We are very far south,” Sugimoto suggests. “It’s easier to try finding more leads on the ones still on Honshu, rather than return to Hokkaido.”
“The Hokkaido lead is more concrete than everything else we’ve got,” Ogata counters.
“But to traipse across Honshu when we may have to come back sounds like a waste of time.”
“Fortunately for me, I have the rest of my life to hunt them down,” Ogata snaps. He pulls his hood further down. “Now stop talking to me.”
Sugimoto frowns. “Where are we going?”
“To see Asirpa.”
“Oh.”
Ogata eyes him. “You can’t avoid her forever.”
“When I… left her, it hasn’t been pretty.” Sugimoto winces. “I don’t think she has forgiven me for that.”
“Then that’s her problem.” He takes a turn down an alley, a shortcut he’s discovered by accident while chasing down his previous mark. “You still haven’t met her?” Sugimoto looks away. “Heck, Sugimoto - I’ve met with her five times already.”
“I know - I was there each time.”
“No, you’re moping in another room.”
Sugimoto opens his mouth, thinks about it, and closes his mouth. Ogata raises an eyebrow. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Sugimoto admits, “but you’re right.”
“Of course I am.” He rejoins the main street, dodging the bustle of carts and wheels rushing past as he dashes across the road. “Hang around today. You won’t know how she’ll react unless she actually sees you.”
“If she sees me,” Sugimoto mutters, resigned.
For once, Ogata doesn’t know how to reply. He slips into the restaurant instead and there is Asirpa, sitting by the window, a hat fashioned with embroidery of Ainu patterns resting between her hands.
“Hello,” Ogata greets, feeling Sugimoto’s steady presence beside him.
“Hello, Ogata,” she says, unblinking.
A sharp inhale, and Sugimoto leaves, the curtains above the entrance fluttering in the breeze.
-
Here is another thing that’s happened:
After a decade since the Ainu gold, he meets Asirpa again by accident in Kyoto.
The war has gone well, even if the rest isn't so clear-cut: their emperor is sickly and the masses are getting more agitated, a foolish post-war enthusiasm as though people have forgotten how hard it is to reintegrate veterans after the previous wars.
(It's also ages since he's met an Ainu person. The most recent one is a young recruit whose grandmother is Ainu, except he's always mispronounced her name.
Kiroranke must be smug in hell, Ogata thinks, because all his stupid cause and predictions are coming true after all.)
In Kyoto, Ogata ducks into an inn for a meal, and finds Asirpa sliding into the seat opposite him.
It takes him too long to recognise her. "I never thought I'll see you in Western dress."
"I like to keep up with the trends." Asirpa sweeps her hair over a shoulder. She's changed so much in the past decade: strong shoulders and towering height, her features as delicate as they have been in her childhood, her beauty striking. She wears the huge spirals on her ears that Ogata has come to associate with the Ainu. "Kyoto is ridiculously hot."
Ogata has never expected Asirpa to ever come this far south in the first place. "It'll get worse in the next few weeks."
"Horrible." She snatches Ogata's cup and downs the tea. To his own surprise, Ogata doesn't feel annoyed. "How do you stand it?" she continues.
"You'll get used to it." He weighs the questions lodged in his throat and goes for the easiest one. "What are you doing here?"
"Travelling. Thought it's time I explore the rest of Japan." She rests her cheek on her knuckles. "But Japan is getting bigger these days. I may need to re-organise my itinerary."
"Like what you see so far?"
"I think I picked the wrong season," she admits. It feels so surreal, talking to Asirpa again. He hasn't expected to live long enough to see her again, much less for Asirpa to forgive him enough to sit at the same table. "You know, you haven't changed."
"Surprise: I defied ageing."
Asirpa laughs, deep and sincere. "I'm glad this part of you hasn't changed too." Quietly, as though guilty, she adds, "Sorry about your eye. I don't think I've ever apologised for it."
"Well, I shot your father and Sugimoto, so I supposed that makes us even." He waves over a waitress to refill his cup. "So, is the Immortal still terrorising your enemies, or has he finally decided to do anything apart from being your personal guard dog?"
If Ogata hasn't been a sniper for so long - has he not been sensitive towards any shift in the body language of his opponents - he won't have noticed the way that Asirpa stiffens. It is so subtle, the way the slump of her body becomes charged with tension, even as she continues to sneak another piece of Ogata's food.
(She's really grown up.)
"Didn't you know?" she says with feigned indifference, "Sugimoto is dead."
-
“Have you ever killed anyone?” Ogata is asking now, after giving her an update on his latest hit.
“Of course not. He wouldn’t have wanted me to do that.”
Ogata knows that. Sugimoto’s dug out Ogata’s eye to absolve Asirpa from the guilt of murder. “Even for self-defence?”
“I haven’t had to kill anyone for self-defence yet.” Asirpa eyes Ogata’s bowl. “Are you eating that, or can I have it?”
Ogata pushes his food over, rolling his eyes at Asirpa’s beam. “Then I supposed you’ve gotten lucky.”
“Inkarmat gave me some tips back in the days on how to make my way through cities.” She wolves down the food. Chews; swallows hard. “I can also fight well enough that I don’t have to kill anyone to incapacitate them.”
“Good for you.” Ogata does not see the point, but at least Asirpa is willing to fight. It would have irked him if she manages to survive so far through sheer luck, the way Yuusaku had. “So what’s your plan now? Travel the world alone and occasionally send me scraps of information on Sugimoto’s murderers?”
“Something like that.”
“You’re in your mid-twenties already.” The same age as Ogata has been when they first met. “Aren’t you worried about becoming a spinster?”
“Are you worried about me?” Asirpa finally puts her chopsticks down. “Come on, Ogata. You know I don’t care for sisam customs.”
“So long as you’re aware that there are customs.” Ogata itches for a cigarette; he’s picked up smoking again during the recent war, although he’s trying to curb that vice too. Can’t afford to have shortness of breath if he is to snipe independently. “The next lead I have is at Otaru.”
Asirpa snickers. “Back to Otaru again.” She puts on her hat. “Well, you’ll have to detour, because I have another lead. There’s a duo who’s been making their way up the eastern coast. Apparently, they’ve buried some gold in Ibaraki, and are going back for it.”
“Ibaraki,” Ogata repeats stiffly.
“Yeah. Is there going to be a problem?” She squints at him. “Is your sworn nemesis lying in ambush, waiting to tear you apart the moment you step foot in town?”
“Wha - no.” His sworn enemy is dead and a ghost haunting his every step. “I’ll get to it. Where do I meet you next?”
“How about in two months? In Hakodate, how’s that?” She stands up. “See you around, Ogata.”
Ogata watches her leave. He doesn’t know how long he’s waited, but eventually, Sugimoto rejoins him: a light breeze, and he’s there like a shadow.
“She’s come a long way,” Sugimoto mutters quietly, his voice soft with fondness. “I am so proud of her.”
There’s nothing to say to that, so Ogata waves over the waitress and, upon understanding that Asirpa has paid for the meal already, decides to search for an inn.
“Do we have the money for that?” Sugimoto presses, trailing after.
“I still have some left over from the deer pelts,” Ogata informs. “Asirpa told me that she has a lead in Ibaraki. Two men and a chest of gold.”
Sugimoto whistles. “And the catch?”
“Ibaraki is my hometown.”
“Ah,” says Sugimoto, “bad memories?”
“Of sorts.”
Sugimoto shrugs. If he is trying to be encouraging, he is failing miserably. “Let’s hope it’s a short trip then.”
-
It is not a short trip.
Ogata spends days trying to get used to all the changes in town, and then even more time deliberating whether he should visit his grandmother’s house. He finally gives in after Sugimoto can’t stop whining about seeing Ogata’s childhood home (being dead has stripped Sugimoto of any fear of consequences), only to find that his grandparents are dead and a writer’s family has moved in.
(“Your grandparents' tombs are by that old cherry blossom tree, where they have requested to be buried,” the writer explains. Then, his voice dripping with sympathy, he adds, “You can stay for a night, if you would like. Visit the old rooms. I understand what it must feel like to be caught up in sentimental memories.”
“It’s fine,” Ogata has answered tightly. “Thank you for the offer.”)
So it’s back to the hunt.
It is only two weeks away from his self-imposed two months deadline when he finally snipes the sharper one of the duo. The other then leads him on a wild goose chase for three days until Sugimoto does his ghostly thing (which doesn’t even work consistently. He’s like a faulty grenade, or - or an old gun that jams . Sugimoto is a useless ghost) and leads Ogata to his mark.
“ You, ” Ogata hisses after he finally pins the man down. He has a face that looks like a snivelling rat - an unfortunate curse of genetics that does not endear him anymore to Ogata. “Do you know why you’re going to die?”
“The gold? Is it the gold?” The rat man tries to wriggle away; Ogata slams the butt of his rifle into the back of the head. It’s less satisfying than whipping the man with his handgun, but it’s lost somewhere in the sewers during the altercation. “We can split fifty-fifty! No, thirty-seventy: you can have the seventy.”
“Sure.” Ogata can play along. “Show me the gold and maybe I will let you get away with only a limp.”
The man gulps. “It’s sunk in the Fukuroda Falls! All of it - we have to leave them behind because the Kempeitai was chasing us. I’m risking my life coming back here!”
“The Kempeitai?” Sugimoto echoes. “Then he’s a dead man already. Can’t believe he didn’t immediately leave Honshu. I’m sure Fukuoka has many syndicates willing to offer him protection in return for his information about the gold.”
Ogata ignores him. “And if it’s not there? How do I know you won’t run?”
“You shot out my kneecap! I can’t run even if I want to. L-look, I’ll lead you there,” the rat man bargains, “and you can see for yourself. I swear, I’m not lying - it’s a lot of gold, mister, please -”
“Ooh,” Sugimoto adds, “he is definitely going to try and kill you there.”
Frankly, Ogata doesn’t care for the gold. He has no use for it. But this man has given him so much trouble that Ogata wants to draw out his death. “Sure,” Ogata drawls, “but try anything, and I will make you sorry.”
Sugimoto snorts. “You need to turn down the melodrama.”
“I promise!” Oh gross, the rat man has wet his pants. Ogata steps back, not lowering his rifle. “When do you, uh - oh. You mean to head over now?”
“Of course it’s now, what are you waiting for? A new era?” Ogata kicks him in the face. “Because the emperor may be dying but he’s far from dead yet. So get up.”
He tosses the man a broom propped on the backdoor of some family restaurant. The rat man squeals as he forces himself up, favouring his broken leg - Ogata has seen men bear through worse without a sound during the wars. “Hurry before I change my mind,” he barks.
“Maybe you should get him a horse,” Sugimoto remarks, “I don’t think he can walk that far in this state. You will draw attention. Don’t worry: I’ll watch him. If what he said is true, he’s not going to try to run until you have escorted him out of town.”
When the staggering becomes too painful to watch, Ogata gives up and takes Sugimoto’s advice, returning with the horse. He tosses the rat man onto it after cocooning him with a filthy rag that Ogata has stolen from a careless vagrant. It’s enough to earn them a few weird looks, but the rat man’s identity is hidden along with his injuries, and mockery is always easier to bear than suspicion.
Fukuroda Falls is a day’s walk away; Ogata would like to continue walking after nightfall, but Sugimoto insists that they stop before the rat man gets an infection or, worse, they run into bandits in the dark.
So they stop. Ogata rewraps the makeshift bandage around the rat man’s knee and reluctantly shares part of his provisions.
Then they go to sleep.
Ogata wakes before dawn to Sugimoto poking his cheeks.
"Morning," Sugimoto greets, "your prisoner is running away."
Ogata immediately scrambles to his feet.
"Don't worry, the horse threw him off," Sugimoto explains as he trudges ahead, blanching every time foliage passes through him.
(Ogata remembers Sugimoto describing the visceral sensation of passing through solid: it is nauseating, cold, like being frozen from the inside out while soaked in tar.
"You'll get used to it," Ogata has dismissed.
"You really don't."
Ogata has wanted to mock Sugimoto for being queasy, but then Sugimoto's eyes seem to fog over with a glassiness that makes him look even more corpse-like than his usual gauntness. When Ogata tries to slap him, Sugimoto vanishes, and appears three days later with no recollection of the conversation.
He starts leaving doors open for Sugimoto, after that.)
They find the rat man moaning on the ground, clutching his injured knee, while the horse grazes two feet away.
Ogata shoves the man back onto the horse and returns to camp to pack up.
"That could have gone better," Sugimoto comments, sitting on the horse this time. "Foolish and desperate, but better."
"Are you going to kill me?" the man squeaks, cowering in his seat. "I promise I'll cooperate from now on, please don't hurt me!"
"Shut up," Ogata commands, and ignores both of them. This, apparently, makes Sugimoto more amused and the man more terrified, and the next two hours are spent listening to the rat man weeping.
"You can kill him now," Sugimoto finally speaks, "and then we can move on."
Ogata shakes his head. "Asirpa's kotan can use the gold."
The rat man stops his blubbering long enough to ask, "Who are you talking to?"
"Me," Sugimoto answers pointlessly.
"Not to you," Ogata sneers, "now shut up before I tear your tongue out."
-
Fukuroda Falls is as beautiful and as majestic as Ogata remembers. It's still too early for the trees to change into its autumnal coats, but hints of pink are already starting to darken the tips of leaves.
The water roars in the background, the air damp and earthy.
"Are you diving in?" Sugimoto asks.
Ogata makes a face. "I'm not a strong swimmer."
"O-oh?" the rat man stammers, "what if I go get it instead?"
"Don't do it," Sugimoto cautions, "he's going to let the currents sweep him downstream to escape you."
That is an escape plan so obvious that it is embarrassing; for a split second, Ogata misses Shiraishi’s ingenuity. Ogata heaves the rat man off the horse. "Sure," he lies, "but if you drown, I will not be fishing you out."
"Ogata, what are you -"
"Thank you." The rat man pulls off the old rag from his shoulders, then his top, revealing tattoos on his back; no surprise, there. Then the trousers are off too. He staggers to the edge and, rolling his shoulders, wades into the water.
Ogata cocks his rifle and shoots the rat man in his better knee.
The man howls as he goes down, flailing in the water as he struggles to pull himself forward. Ogata marches forward and drags him back by his hair.
"Why?" the man wails. "You said you'll let me live."
"I said I may let you live," Ogata corrects. "But then I decide that you don't deserve a second chance."
The man is bawling now. Ugly, sniffling cries that invokes only disgust. "But I have children! My mistress's son - he's only four years old. Please, mister, you can have all the gold you want, just let me live."
Ogata really wishes more people know that he's killed his own father; maybe then they’ll come up with a more enticing plea . "Nah." He flips the man over and steps on his chest to pin him down. "Any last words?"
"Mister," the rat man sobs, "if I am going to die, can I at least know the name of the man who wants to kill me?"
"It's Sugimoto," answers Ogata, and shoots him between his wide, horrified eyes as realisation dawns.
-
"You could have waited a bit to see how he justifies my death."
People have always described waterfalls as tranquil, but Ogata has thought it more like violence, the thunderous clamour of nature forcing her way to the ocean.
It is calming, however, to watch Sugimoto coax the horse towards the water, the horse confused but obliging at an invisible presence cooing at it.
(Animals are really much more attuned to the otherworldly than humans, it seems.)
Ogata rolls the corpse into the water. There is a chest in there, but Ogata isn't good enough of a swimmer to try and pry it open, or even lift it back to shore: he'll have to return another day. When he looks up, Sugimoto is still staring expectantly at him. "It's always the same answer."
Sugimoto rubs at the back of his neck tiredly. "Because they can?"
"Because they can." Ogata stretches his waist. "Why else?"
"I won't know." Sugimoto sloshes over, his burial kimono floating in the water. The horse trots nervously behind him. "Hey, what you said at the end. I never told you to kill anyone."
Ogata snorts. He grabs the horse by its reins and leads it towards dry land. "Don't pretend you don't know I'm killing all these men for you."
"I know, but - why?"
"The same reason as why you didn't kill me back then." Ogata pats the horse on its neck before climbing onto it. "You were supposed to be mine to kill. I should be the one to decide when your life will end."
"Sorry I died."
Ogata can't tell if Sugimoto means it. "Don't you want to take revenge?"
"Well, I killed many people. In fact, many people killed a lot of other people in the past two wars. If everyone wants to take revenge, then the world will be wiped out."
"But that is war. Soldiers against soldiers." Ogata checks his rifle before slinging it across his back. "If someone hurt Asirpa, won't you raze half the country to find the culprits?"
"But that's Asirpa - she's innocent."
"And you're not killed because you're a soldier, but because you are Sugimoto the Immortal," Ogata reasons, "so they killed you for sports. See who can complete the challenge. Kill a man who is seemingly unkillable."
Sugimoto hums. "You say it like you won't be interested if you're one of them."
"But if I were them, I won't beg for my life when someone comes to kill me," Ogata argues. “If you’re going to get your hands dirty, then you shouldn’t be scared that someone will hold you responsible.”
“Not everyone has guts like you.”
“This is not about having guts,” Ogata insists. “This is about what I deserve . They take a life that is supposed to be mine, then it's only right that I take their lives as a replacement. Maybe that’s why I can see you: you owe me your life." The horse shifts nervously. Ogata tightens the reins. "Now get up the horse before I ride off without you."
For the longest while, Sugimoto stands there with the water up to his knees, watching Ogata silently for so long that Ogata wonders if this is another of those episodes where Sugimoto blinks out of existence. Then, wordlessly, Sugimoto comes closer and climbs up behind Ogata.
“I wish I could have seen how angry you are when you killed for me for the first time,” Sugimoto mutters. “It was, what, only a week since you met Asirpa again in ten years? And you killed three men in that time.”
Ogata urges the horse to head north. “Is that the moment you decide to haunt me instead?”
“Something like that.” Sugimoto is a bitter chill at his back. Ogata suddenly wonders who it is that found Sugimoto’s body. Realises that he’s died.
Then he figures that there is only one person who could possibly fit the bill. “Asirpa found you, didn’t she? That’s why she can’t see you now, even though she’s gotten over the worse of her grieving.”
Sugimoto doesn’t speak, only tightens his grip around Ogata’s waist.
-
The first time Ogata sees Sugimoto again, it is maybe six months since he first met Asirpa again, and Ogata’s killing spree is starting to make his remaining marks cagey.
This one infront of him, he catches leaving his mistress’s home for his other mistress. He’s also a fighter, so Ogata has to load him with bullets before the man finally goes down.
This man is dying already, wheezing for his final gasp of air as Ogata leans down and demands for answers.
“You’re here for Sugimoto?” he guffaws: a thin, choking noise that sounds more machine than human. “Oh, boy… You should have seen him: the great legend on the battlefield, shot like some worthless street dog."
“Is that so.” He glances around the room. There, at the corner, is a piano, the metronome on it still swinging. Ogata has interrupted while the man’s little son has been practising for his father. He walks over and picks it up, weighing it in his hand. “I guess then you ought to have a death that fits you better.”
“Wh -”
Ogata smashes the metronome over and over the man’s skull until the metronome breaks apart.
He sits back. Leans against the wall. Tosses the metronome across the room. This is why he hates kills that are close-up: too bloody, too emotional, and more importantly, he’s not very good at them - this is a mess . He wipes his palm on the nearby table cloth.
“Well then,” he mutters, “time to clean this up.”
“It’s easier if you just burn down the whole house.”
Ogata sucks in a sharp breath. His heart is beating so loud that he must be going deaf. "Sugimoto."
"Hey," says Sugimoto, "didn't know you miss me that much."
"If you turn out to be a hallucination right now, I would be extremely upset."
Sugimoto chuckles humourlessly. "Nah." He spreads his arms out, palms up. "Unfortunately, I am right here."
Ogata runs a hand through his hair. Tongues his inner cheek. "A ghost."
"A ghost," Sugimoto agrees.
"How long?"
"From the very start," he admits, "but no one noticed that I'm right here."
“Because no one should be able to see you,” Ogata stresses, “you died. ”
“I guess none of us ever understood how the afterlife really worked,” Sugimoto admits. He doesn’t have his cap, or his scarf, or any of the outfit that Ogata has come to associate with Sugimoto. He still has the same scars on his face, but there is a hardness to his features that marks the past ten years. Ogata wonders how he must look like to the rest of them too. “How are you going to clean this up?”
“I honestly don’t know.” Ogata forces himself to get up. “I think I’ll roll him up in a blanket and set him on fire outside.”
“No burial?”
“Does it matter? Most people don’t have a grave during the wars.” He pushes open a door. The son is trembling in his mother’s arms. “Give me a blanket.” The mistress turns to a cupboard and fishes one out, her hand shaking as she passes it over. Ogata snatches it and slides the door shut. “Think he’ll become a ghost too?”
Sugimoto toes the corpse. “Nah,” he answers, “he doesn’t have anything left on earth that he needs to finish.”
“Good,” says Ogata, and gets to work.