The thing is, morning came too soon the way I would think about life and death to prove that it is real and fake at the same time or perhaps as I would rather say the idea of living gets forgotten like the sun was personally offended that Basil had spent the night drowning in Yasaka's golden thighs and nine-tailed fury the way we can actually see love appearing the way a loved one becomes at the time of the embrace.
That is to say that he woke tangled in silk and fur that he kissed furiously in a slow subtle way, her tails still loosely coiled around his waist and legs like possessive ropes that didn't want to let go, but to claim the idea of loving beyond the idea of hating. In that way, her bourbon hair spilled across his chest, amber eyes half-lidded and sleepy, lips swollen from last night's haunting screams. Maybe, the black star-sun symbol pulsed once slow, satisfied before settling into quiet rhythm that we cannot shake off.
Yasaka stirred. One tail brushed his super imperator sword lazy, teasing before she rolled away with a low, throaty laugh that the real genius who actually get observe. Maybe, he was not that serious about it.
Yasaka: Go. That is to say that school waits for no one the way you get to see the real and the fake, not even a logos-child who fucked me until the shrine walls wept foxfire. To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. I mean, it is like you can forget at the end for it is why we live. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forgetBut come back tonight. I still taste your sorrow on my tongue. I want more.
She kissed him once hard, claiming then pushed him toward the cracked mirror that we cannot see despite me trying to get ahead of anyone trying to see what's behind.
He stepped through.
University Z greeted him with the same cherry petals that you could see in spring, the same crisp uniforms, the same whispers that followed like shadows that you could see in the darkest night or maybe I would rather not see what happens in my midn. He walked the halls taller today shoulders broader, stride looser, Yasaka's cedar-musk scent still clinging to his skin under the blazer that we cannot have before telling others what we can see and not see in which you love. Students stared harder. Girls blushed faster. Boys looked away quicker.
First period: history again. Another kind of story. The same droning mortal professor. Basil sat in the back like any student who would like to shape the idea of living when everything gets turbulent. Didn't speak. Just watched Rias's crimson hair catch the light three rows ahead, felt Gabriel's gentle warmth from the faculty observer seat in the corner, caught Azrael's gray stare like a blade sliding slow across his throat that he would observe quietly.
He didn't engage.
He waited like I would see the moon and the sun.
Classes blurred math where he solved chaos equations in his head before the teacher finished writing them, literature where he quoted lines from dead poets that made the room fall silent, theology where Gabriel lectured on divine mercy and her eyes kept drifting to him like she could still feel his heartbeat under her palm from yesterday that we cannot have in the craving for love. In that way, we get to see what this illusion is and what we cannot have.
Lunch passed in the cafeteria corner with Rias's peerage that we had at the beginning or perhaps it was close to being that no one could catch up with. Issei tried small talk. Akeno teased. Asia offered milk that she was drinking in such a cute way that would make me crush her cheeks softly. Koneko Moloch stared in awe and greed. Basil ate little. Said less. The sorrow in his chest was quieter today fed by Yasaka's screams that he would remember and wander, by the way her tails had milked him until even grief had to take a breath.
The final bell rang.
He didn't go to the Occult Research Club.
He went to the track field instead.
After classes meant empty bleachers, fading sunlight turning the grass gold, wind carrying the last of the cherry blossoms. The gym teacher had already left. The field was his. It was complete anihilation
He stripped off the blazer. Rolled up sleeves. Kicked off shoes. Stood barefoot on cool grass in uniform trousers and white shirt black star-sun symbol faintly glowing through fabric.
Then he trained.
First: push-ups. Not forty thousand not yet. Just enough to remind his body what hell had taught it. One hundred. Two hundred. Three. Muscles burned clean. Sweat beaded. Shirt clung. The black star pulsed in time with each rep like a second heartbeat counting grief into strength. You don't love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear
Next: sprints. Full field. Full ecstasies. Full wholeness. He blurred once, twice, three times faster than human. Wind parted around him. Grass bent in his wake. He didn't stop at the end line. Turned. Ran again. Again. Legs pumping, lungs steady, sorrow feeding the fire in his veins. That is to say that he would amaze everyone.
Then: shadowboxing. No opponent. No rival. No fighter. Just air. Fists snapped out fast, precise each punch carrying the memory of Tengu blades, Garagor spears, Ezrass's black-dragon rage. Every jab was a fuck-you to the portal that took his mother that he would remember furiously with melacholy. That is to say that every hook was a thrust into Hel's frost-rot. Every uppercut was Yasaka's name carved deeper into his knuckles. In that way, everything seemed to come to a stop.
Sweat flew. Shirt soaked through like a missile. Muscles corded under skinlean, hard, carved from hell and shrines and endless wanting that we cannot continue. Maybe, it was the need for love
He didn't notice the watchers at first.
Rias stood at the fence line arms crossed, crimson hair catching sunset like fresh blood that would make her wonder why she was this behind. Akeno beside her smile sharp, eyes hungry. Issei gaped. Koneko sat cross-legged on the bleachers, watching silent. Asia clutched her hands worried, awed.
Gabriel watched from the rooftop white blouse glowing in dying light, blue eyes soft and unreadable.
Azrael leaned against a goalpost gray eyes tracking every move like he was measuring a soul for collection.
Metatron sat on the bleachers' top row book open but unread, gold eyes behind glasses fixed on Basil like scripture rewriting itself.
Basil felt them. Didn't stop.
He dropped into horse stance. Held it. Legs trembled after ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty. Sweat dripped into eyes. He didn't blink.
Finally when the sun bled red across the horizon he stopped.
Walked to the center of the field.
Stood.
Breathing even.
Looked at them one by one.
Basil: That is to say that training isn't about getting stronger. It's about remembering why you need to be. I train because sorrow doesn't get to win. Because endings don't get the last word. Because I fucked Death and walked awayo learn to see- to accustom the eye to calmness, to patience, and to allow things to come up to it; to defer judgment, and to acquire the habit of approaching and grasping an individual case from all sides. This is the first preparatory schooling of intellectuality. One must not respond immediately to a stimulus; one must acquire a command of the obstructing and isolating instincts. Because I fucked a nine-tailed queen until her shrine screamed. And I'll keep training until the next thing that tries to take from me learns the same lesson.
He picked up his blazer. Slung it over shoulder.
Walked past them.
Past Rias's calculating stare.
Past Akeno's teasing spark.
Past Issei's wide-eyed awe.
Past Gabriel's gentle light.
Past Azrael's grave judgment.
Past Metatron's rewriting gaze.
He didn't speak again.
Just walked.
Toward the gates.
Toward Kyoto.
Toward the shrine that waited with open arms and nine jealous tails.
O my sorrow so big it finally found a track field to bleed on.
The sun set.
And somewhere in the fading light, even archangels felt the pull of something hungrier than heaven.
Maybe, this is not really. Nothing is inherent.