Chapter Text
YUKI
Visions are a physical manifestation of the Gods’ recognition. They are the pinnacle of ambition, designed to be delivered upon a pivotal moment in one’s life. I lack drive. Ambition is but a distant dream, and hope is but a lingering memory.
I am ugly. I’m an awful, uninteresting, selfish person— so it’s only natural that I possess no Vision. Even now, mourning my brother's sudden death, I can only think about myself– how his death was something that happened to me.
Hamamoto Yuta was an accomplished scholar, with a fiery ambition and nothing but love in his heart. His passion even caught the eye of the heavens, who granted him a Pyro Vision.
In my eyes, though, this was all an experience for me. He was right to be so devoted and passionate, but how dare he get accepted by the Akademiya? How dare he leave me? That’s how I thought of him at the time. It’s only now that he’s gone that I realized how crass I was. I needed to change. I need to change.
Yuta was all about improvement. He always thought the world could be better– and he worked endlessly towards that goal without faltering. Now that he’s gone, only I’m left of the family. I feel it’s my responsibility to realize that dream of his, and start my journey towards improvement– however, I must start with myself. I must start with that flickering light of hope that feels ever so distant, and nourish whatever is left of that glow.
“...And that's what this book is about, Lady Yae.”
I find myself awkwardly squeezing at my fingers, waiting for the editor-in-chief to shatter the silence. Instead, she meets my nervous gaze with a dull look. Her interest seems to dwindle with each passing second. With anxiety manifesting an uncomfortable lump in my neck, I clear my throat– a failed attempt to dispel the ever growing unease. “This book is about my brother,” I start, pausing to gauge her reaction, “and how both his and my experiences gave me the push I needed to want to be better…”
“How terribly dull,” she sighs, interrupting my short monologue. Her words manifest a nauseating mass in my abdomen, and I slowly sink further in my seat as she continues. “Why did this warrant my appearance?”
“Please, Lady Yae,” I press my palms together and straighten my spine. “I need this. You're the only person I can think of who can help.”
Lady Yae cracks an amused smile. One hand cups her face, with an elbow rested on her wooden desk. Her other hand extends and grabs the book from my hand. One of the pages falls from the book, the glue I had meticulously crafted failing at its only job. I can only stifle a nervous cough as she lifts the stray sheet from the wood.
“What an adorable plea,” she smiles, sticking the paper back in its respective order. “Since you insist so nicely, I’m sure I could hear you out. But given the… tragic condition these copies are in, I wouldn't have my hopes very high if I were you.”
“I don't even care for the money,” I desperately sigh, my back falling into a comfortable, unattractive slouch. “I just want someone to read it.”
“Hmm…” Her eyes scan my person from head to toe, and her lips form a slight pout. “Pitiful,” she sighs, pushing the book towards me. My cheeks heat up out of embarrassment, and I resort back to slowly sinking in my seat– the most comfortable outlet for my shame. Perhaps if I sink myself enough, the earth will open and swallow me whole… Hopefully.
“If that’s the case, though, I have a good friend who likes to read about this sappy nonsense in his freetime,” says Lady Yae, blatantly unentertained by the matter at hand. She’s caught herself in a trance playing with her fingernails, the pink paint on her fingers seemingly more interesting than anything I could offer. She finally speaks up in a terribly flat tone.“I can have my assistant drop a copy off at the Kamisato Estate.”
“The who-what-where estate now?”
“What?” Yae places her palms firmly against her desk and rises to her feet. “Did you think the editor-in-chief of the Yae Publishing House doesn’t have her own connections? Ayato’s quite the bookworm, you know.” Under her breath, she whispers, “somewhat.” I can hear her mumbling even more, but I’m far too excited to care. If the Yashiro Commissioner is fond enough of my book, I’m sure he’d be more than willing to pay for the publishing expenses… Probably. I just need to fix my grotesque copy. As Lady Yae makes her leave, I notice my book still sitting on her desk. “Lady Yae, you left the book…”
“I’m aware, little one,” she interrupts. “I’ll be making a more functional copy for you. Just the one, though. This is a business, after all.” She blows a kiss, and in the blink of an eye, she's out the door. I follow suit, but not until I’m sure she's long gone.
The walk home is a long one - longer than the walk to the Publishing House. It feels like I’m dragging the weight of time with how aware I am of its passing. Every leaf that falls takes its sweet time, elegantly dancing in the breeze before it touches the floor. The clouds, like swans swimming through a pond, gracefully drift across the sky. Soon, the sun will melt into the horizon and the stars will greet the earth through the fissures in the clouds.
Yuta loved stargazing. He told me about a pen pal he had a while back— an astrologist who wrote for a Fontaine newsletter– the Steambird, if I recall correctly. In her letters, she would often write about people’s destinies being “written in the stars”. If I could ask the stars about my fate— or better yet, Yuta’s, life would be so different. So simple and painless.
I bring myself to a sudden stop, and reach for the dim Vision in my pocket. I remember when it used to glow a proud, vivid red, and how it would emit a minimal amount of energy on days I assumed Yuta was especially happy. I was always amazed that his passion could trigger his Vision’s power from across the ocean, let alone the Almighty Shogun’s thunder barrier.
I’ve always found passion to be such an interesting concept. To establish such a strong connection with something seems so foreign to me. I’ve only ever considered writing in the first place because Yuta told me I had a knack for it— not out of sheer desire. Passion isn’t what drove me to start writing, but I’m glad I started.
If all goes according to plan, I can publish my book and eventually start a column with the Yae Publishing House about my everyday commitment to self-improvement. In the end, that's all I could have done for Yuta, and it’s all I can do now.