#kicho x reader

The walk back to your office is long and quiet, but the fresh memory of the meeting occupies your thoughts. The day is busy for a Thursday, with this emergency meeting pushing all your other appointments to a later date.

Really, why can't they put Professor Uesugi on a leash. The moment you read the email, your brows flew off your forehead because Professor Michel was also involved. Sure you know Uesugi to be an eccentric professor with a penchant for morbid troublemaking, but you never expected Michel to take the bloody bait. If it weren't for the pay, you'd have opted for a career change.

The office, when you enter, feels more hushed than usual, and you wonder whether the mood of the meeting transferred psychically to your department. Knowing this university, anything can happen.

Your secretary waves to catch your attention.

“Why does the office feel like a funeral?” you ask as you make your way towards her, your shoes clacking on the smooth, tiled floor.

She whispers frantically, “He's here, he's here!”

Ah. You know who she's talking about.

Kicho, the university president's executive secretary, is better known in the campus as an ambitious puppet master. Three years ago he left the College of Social Sciences to join President Yoshiaki's staff. Some say it had been because of a disagreement between him and the dean, but when you asked Nobunaga about it he just shrugged and said, “Kicho is free to do whatever he wants.”

Others speculate that Kicho planned on getting a VP position, and he needed to show Yoshiaki what he could do. Needless to say, the three years since his departure as a modern history professor has been ... well, colorful is a word to describe it. You and Kicho weren't closely acquainted during his professorship, but that changed when he began to invade the HR department weekly in an effort to topple Yoshiaki's tenure.

“Please tell me you're not planning an uprising,” you say as you open your office door and find Kicho brewing coffee from the coffee maker—comfortably like he owns the place.

He doesn't blink at your arrival, or your greeting; he's focused on the exact measurement of coffee in the mug with an I <3 COFFEE design (a silly gift from Professor Arthur in an attempt to get on your good graces).

“No comeback?” you go on. “Must be a good day.”

“I've vetoed four of his suggestions to build statues of him around the campus,” Kicho says, calmly, around his mug, “and he didn't blow a fuse. It is a good day.”

Also famous: his hatred of President Yoshiaki. There's a joke circulating in your department that Kicho is actually the president of the school, as it's he who ultimately makes executive decisions for everything. Miraculously, Yoshiaki continues to be none the wiser.

“Why he couldn't see who you really are, I will never know.”

“He's blinded with his power and his privilege,” Kicho comments as he settles himself on the couch next to your bookshelf. He takes one book out, folds his legs, and starts reading. You're left gaping at him and his audacity.

“Do you have the extra time to—to—lounge about like that?” you sputter, entertaining the idea of snatching the book out of his hands.

Kicho pauses and finally graces you a flat stare. “You're the only person in this institution who understands what I want.”

That's a lie, but also the truth. Kicho's never revealed what he truly wants; when you finally managed to corner him one time, three weeks into his being the executive secretary to Yoshiaki, and asked him about his motivations, Kicho only studied you and answered, “Watch me.” Ever since then he's been a staple figure in your work, complaining about his boss in a way that an employee of Cybird University shouldn't say in front of the director of human resources.

“Sure,” you say, suddenly wary. “But it's not like we can remove him at will.”

And then something changes.

Kicho lifts his head and looks at you, his gaze sharpened with something calculating that has you freezing in your place. Your heartbeat accelerates, and in your years in this institution you've developed a sixth sense for anything that spells out trouble (blame Professor Clavis for that). Kicho's posture screams trouble—and the only question is how dangerous, how hypertension-inducing it's going to be.

You gulp. “Kicho?”

Kicho hums. Takes another sip of coffee while never leaving your gaze.

“Like I said earlier—please don't tell me you're planning an uprising.”

“I'm not,” he says breezily.

A nervous laughter. “That's good, that's good! For a second there I thought you're going to stage a coup d'etat against Yoshiaki—”

“My plan has already been set in motion,” he interrupts, and he says it like he's talking about the weather. You feel like you've aged twenty years. “And I'm going to make you the new president.”

“I'm sorry—what?”

⇼

Endnotes:

Kicho has been planning to kick Yoshiaki out of his position since his infamous promotion. He just didn't execute it right away because he hasn't found the perfect candidate to replace him.

You and Nobunaga are drinking buddies, so you're comfortable addressing him by his first name -- a fact that didn't escape Kicho's notice.

Months into your promotion as the HR Director, Clavis blew up a parking lot for an experiment. Your first instinct is to fire him, but Dean Sariel told you that this is unfortunately a regular occurrence. You couldn't believe that because you never got news of anything like that before your promotion.

In those three years of Kicho being an executive secretary, he has told you that he'd been seriously thinking of rebelling against Yoshiaki a grand total of seventeen times. You gave him coffee each time he said that.

you’ve never asked me to stay. in the quiet i hear the future stealing inside the house through gaps in the boards, a low rolling groan like wolf-whales in their underseas dirge.

Let us begin at the end, when you feel that your skin and bones transmute into ashes, a slow-motion dissolution that starts at the bottom, working its way upwards, like a snake slithering around your torso, and when it reaches your ribs you lose your breath and you collapse into yourself, a starburst oblivion, remnants of a bygone future.

This is how it feels, to cease to exist: your heart carved out of your chest, leaving a hollow space where even air cannot enter.

You want to say goodbye. To your loved ones, the ones who became your family. And to the man you gave your heart to, the one who carved your heart out and left nothing in its place.

It’s funny, how you want him to be the last person you’ll see, but he’s not here. He’s out there, raising hell like an incandescent god starved for war. And war does he bring. 

They say that ambition is what makes a man. An ambition so great and grand it puts humanity on its knees.

But the power to realize that ambition? That is what makes a god.

And so Kicho, in the end, with his coat that spreads like a crane’s wings, magnificent and eternal, has become a god.

✤

For now, let us backtrack.

At the Seta-no-Karahashi bridge, two figures face each other, mere inches apart. A passer-by might take one look at them and infer that they’re lovers—or soon to be, because the taut silhouette of the girl implies an oncoming confession. The man, who watches the girl with steady eyes, cuts an elegant figure with his pristine skin and an equally pristine coat, the fabric sewn like tapered feathers as if he’s a crane made human.

Within that snapshot it is easy to conclude that this is a love that tears through social class – a love between a commoner girl and a nobleman. Anyone who sees them would feel a warm rush upon their hearts, the couple’s love a freeing possibility in which they place their hopes and dreams upon.

If only that were true.

✤

It is, and has always been, a love full of questions.

If you see life as invaluable, why wage an endless war where thousands die?

He is looking at you, eyes placid like winter sky. If you had this conversation in the early days when you were both still getting to know more of each other, he would have been dismissive and condescending with his reply. But now, after he has cracked open your heart and unearthed its dazzling treasure, he answers with the truth, because he has finally come to know how pure your heart is, how unsullied by dirty claws and dark smoke that surround you in this turbulent time. How you would listen to him, despite the contradiction between your philosophies.

There are people who do not see life the way you and I see it. And because of their greed, they will do anything to get what they want, and they will not stop. And countless lives will be sacrificed for that greed.

So you fight to purge the world of these greedy people?

These are by no means questions wracked with doubt; rather, they attempt to understand. To step inside his body and see what he sees, trace the lines of his worldview, from the how and the why of its conception to the where of its culmination. A complete immersion.

Oda Nobunaga may have brought the peace your home currently has, but how long will it last? You know that the peace in your world is fragile, and there are still people out there who would readily wage war for all the shallowest reasons. As long as there are people like that in the world, true peace can never be attained.

A pause. And then a gaze that is so gentle as it is jarring, because what follows is:

I fight because I value life. But I also understand the sacrifices I have to make. We do not deserve empty, superficial peace. If we have to suffer first to achieve what we deserve, then so be it.

✤

In the beginning, there are certain rules you have to know and follow, lest you go astray with your being none the wiser.

Time travel, for all its complex and complicated principles, is mostly a game of hide and seek. One hides from the events that could compromise the original timeline, and yet one cannot help but seek these very same events. Human curiosity, perhaps. Or just the unshakable desire to involve oneself in scandalous affairs.

Except in this alternate timeline, Oda Nobunaga upended the fate that history textbooks had articulated about, all thanks to your unwitting disruption. In an ideal time-travel-sanctioned world, you wouldn't have tampered with the Honnou-ji fires, but then again, you wouldn't have let yourself leave a person to die – whether it was Nobunaga or another.

And perhaps it is from that knowledge that you seek Sasuke while he's still in Azuchi.

I'm not certain, he says, bringing his fingers to his chin, giving your inquiry careful thought. I've been here for four years and nothing consequential has happened to me. Apart from, you know, continuous work hazards.

So there’s no time police or something like that, huh.  

None that I know of.

Does that mean … And the hesitation that wrangles your words hangs heavy in the air. Does that mean there’s no consequence to us staying here? No timeline correction or anything?

Sasuke turns his head to the side, the sunlight glancing off the lens of his glasses. He hums in thought. Maybe there will be. The next wormhole will appear in two months, after all. That’s probably a sign that it wants us back to our original timeline. 

To prevent us from further interfering with history?

Perhaps. We’ve already changed so much, though. I can think of only one drastic measure to contain … His eyes drift to you, and he startles a little. Ah … never mind.

No. You want to know what conclusion he’s come up with. What is it? you pressed.

His deliberation takes a while. You can practically see the gears moving in his head.

Then he nods to himself, and tells you flat out: It’s still possible that history would correct itself, and that means our erasure, because we’re anomalies in this reality.

In the end: order over chaos. There’s something to be said about all stories on time travel, and how history is an exercise on preservation. This is no different. Eventually, the ink that is used to write history will spill onto you and Sasuke, blotting out your existence, leaving no marks behind. The only thing left to do is bow your head and not stand out. Surviving the era until you get home is of the utmost priority. After all, what use is curiosity if it ultimately kills you?

✤

Looking back, you should have expected the unrelenting hand of fate tugging at the shadows behind you. No matter what you do, your very existence is a threat itself. It will not stop for anything, much less your love.

✤

And what is love without a genesis?

He glides into your awareness like a glissando at the beginning of a symphony, a glimpse of what is to come. His pristine coat undulating with his every move, radiating a wraithlike quality to his presence. He glances in your direction, recognizes you, stops. Pivots so seamlessly as though all his joints are oiled to preternatural smoothness.

So you’re the girl displaced in time. 

His first words to you, melodic but clinical.

His eyes are moonsheen bracketed by his nightsky bangs, and as he studies you, questions inundate your mind – how does he know who you are? Is he an enemy? Is he the mastermind behind the tenshu bombing? Do Nobunaga and the others know who he is? But eventually those questions are drowned by the immense fascination spilling onto you. A beautiful man with beautiful eyes, porcelain fragility at first glance.

How do you know me?

He blinks, expression a blank slate. They say that Oda Nobunaga has a princess he keeps by his side, and sometimes she speaks of things that bewilder many. Wild things, foreign things … bizarre, inconceivable things like – he quirks his lips – movies.

The word flows out of his mouth as if he has uttered it numerous times. A familiar word to him, apparently, which compels you to ask, You’re from the future too?

No, and he turns his head to watch the people that pass you by. But I have been in your time.

How – no, you were caught by the wormhole too, huh?

His limpid gaze returns to you.

In any case I merely wanted to see the famous Oda princess who has everybody wrapped around her finger. Quite disappointing, to be honest.

H-Hey, that’s rude!

Deliver a message to Nobunaga for me, will you. He angles his body away as if to leave, but his eyes remain locked onto yours. I’ll put a stop to his plans of unification, whatever it takes. Expect more from me.

Wait – He begins to walk away. Wait a second! Tell me your name!

He halts, considering your request. Around him, people flow in different directions, and he’s the only one who is stagnant, resistant to pressure. 

My name is Kicho, he finally answers. Crisp and biting. It doesn’t matter to me whether you remember it or not. You will not live long to see me again, anyway.

And just as how he entered the scene, he glides off the stage in a billow of radiance, his crane-tip coat fluttering along with his movements, a dramatic exit befitting an immaculate villain.

✤

Kicho is proven wrong when, exactly a week later, you and he meet across the battlefield after which you clumsily save him from a gunpowder explosion courtesy of one impatient Mouri Motonari.

✤

It starts in increments, inconsequential at first.

Loss of vision that’s similar to postural hypotension, which you experience every now and then. The dizziness comes a few days later, but they’re quick, short, and you turn out feeling okay right after, as if it didn’t happen at all.

It’s when you wake one late afternoon, your body leaden as if it’s stuffed with rocks, that you find Hideyoshi beside your bed, wearing a troubled smile.

You must have been exhausted from your work. I can’t believe you slept for almost a day!

And the wrongness that you feel then, as though the molecules of your body have been rearranged incorrectly, snatches your heart out of your ribcage. In that moment, you finally understand how Kicho’s plans have become an existential threat to you, the one who lived in the future, the one Kicho is trying to undo. You need to think about this deeply, so you plaster a weak smile for Hideyoshi, and say, with slight difficulty, I guess I was so inspired. I think I’ll rest some more.

You should, and Hideyoshi’s voice rings stern in your small room. He puts his hand on your forehead, feeling for any signs of fever, and, detecting none, smiles and ruffles your hair, relieved. I’ll go now and tell Lord Nobunaga that you’ve woken up. Don’t worry about uninterrupted rest – I’ll warn the others not to bother you for a while. Just rest some more. I’ll send a meal for you.

From your futon, you give him a grateful smile. Thanks, Hideyoshi. Sorry for worrying you and the others.

The smile Hideyoshi returns is brimming with brotherly warmth. You don’t have to apologize. Just take care of yourself, all right?

When he leaves the room, you get up, noting the sluggishness of your body, and heave a sigh.

Should you tell this to Kicho? Would it even change things? He is the sort of man who would refuse to stop for others in his quest. That, or use them instead. Everything is about his ambition, in the end. You hesitate to consider yourself special to him when he has even turned his back on Nobunaga.

For now, you will keep this a secret. Putting an end to Kicho’s plan is more important. Perhaps these spells occur only rarely, and later you will forget about it.

✤

Kicho trails butterfly kisses on your wrist, and he works his way up to your shoulder, then to the nape of your neck, then to the shell of your ear, where his hot breath lights up your skin, making you shudder. The heat of his body clings to your back as he secures your waist with his free hand. You moan when he presses his lips to your earlobe and then bites.

He makes love to you like how he wages his war: attentive, meticulous, rife with contingencies. He thrusts too hard which yanks a pained gasp out of you, and Kicho would slow down, adjust his angle, and lean in to place a soft kiss upon your brow. He would say, I'm sorry, was it too much? and then he would slide back in, taking note of your reaction, and then stay still inside until you squirm and beg for him to move.

Then after you have both spent yourselves on each other, Kicho envelops you from behind and kisses your shoulder. There's a peaceful quiet that slides in between exhaustion and sleep, and you savor that sliver of calm. In the Sengoku era, there is no chance for respite, so you take what you can get.

When morning comes, you wake with Kicho’s hand caressing your hair. His expression is tender and soft like a heaven’s down. The light from the window casts his face an ethereal glow, as though he’s an angel descended to watch over you.

Kicho smiles. Says, Good morning, my love.

✤

What do you think of Kicho, Nobunaga asks you one afternoon, days after your release from captivity. Following the attack on tenshu, he moved into one of the large, empty rooms in the castle. It doesn’t have the same view as the tenshu’s, but it provides plenty of sunlight, and the majesty of the tenshu was mostly carried by Nobunaga himself anyway.

Why the question?

You’ve been summoned to Nobunaga’s chamber with the assumption that your close encounter with Kicho will garner any useful information about him. He’s mysterious and detached, and nothing about him gives anything away. In that regard, he’s more slippery than Mitsuhide.

Perhaps you have something that can provide a new perspective on him and his motivations. Nobunaga cranes his head to stare at the Azuchi sky under the warm filter of summer light. The room hushes to a pensive silence.

A moment later, Nobunaga returns to you, appraising.

Did he say anything crucial to you, in those times you were able to converse with him?

The most important, I think, is that he traveled 500 years into the future.

Nobunaga’s brows rise. It’s the most surprised look you’ve ever seen him since your stay in the castle. That explains his disappearance three years ago.

Hideyoshi mentioned before that Kicho was a vassal of yours.

And now he no longer is. A thought occurs to him. I wonder if his experience in the future has made him come to the conclusion he has now.

Then, clarity surfaces from Nobunaga’s eyes, echoing throughout his face. He looks at you with the utmost expectation.

If we are to figure out Kicho, then … Tell me about your home, 500 years from now.

✤

This is not your first time participating in war, but all the same, it may well have been. The sight of men fighting and dying will always feel new and terrible to you, and you may as well die if you grow numb to the realities of it. War has never been the solution, but here in this era, it is the only answer.

The ringing of clashing steel reverberates through the air, almost distracting you from your work. Ieyasu is out there in the battlefield commanding his men, leaving you to take care of the wounded. At the vanguard Masamune leads the charge, and you can imagine the feral smile adorning his face as he slashes his way towards his enemies.

It’s when you’re too busy treating one seriously wounded soldier that you hear it: a thunderous sound, whistling into explosion, near your camp.

Fire arrows! Fire arrows!

The base devolves into frenzy, the available soldiers evacuating the injured, the others carrying the supplies.

Send word to Lord Nobunaga of the attack! Princess, you must go with them – you’ll be safe with our lord!

No, I’ll stay to help!

Compassion trumps fear of death. This has always been the case with you. It has intrigued Nobunaga, the capacity to muster courage in the midst of death and despair, an ember crackling into flames. 

When Kicho’s forces surround your camp, cutting off your escape routes, you face Kicho head on, meeting him outside the main tent, flanked by loyal Oda soldiers.

I see that you continue to participate in the war, Kicho comments. Which is funny, because the last time we encountered each other, you boldly declared that you detest it.

I contribute what I can. Just because I hate war doesn’t mean I shouldn’t care about the people risking their lives for it.

How admirable, and the mocking lilt in Kicho’s voice has the soldiers by your side shift their stances. There is no way to run, and, in all likelihood, all of you may die here, at Kicho’s merciless hands.

But that is no excuse to surrender to futility; you have to think of the soldiers who need treatment, and the soldiers who are ready to lay down their lives for you. You don’t deserve to be treated specially, just as they don’t deserve to die.

So you buy them time. The small unit that had gone to report to Nobunaga should be arriving at their destination, and then you’ll have your backup.

You muster all the confidence you don’t have, and open your mouth: Have you ever considered that, even if you killed Nobunaga, somebody else will take up the task of unifying Japan?

I can also say the opposite: even if Nobunaga unified Japan, there will always be someone who thirsts for war. However, it really doesn’t matter to me whether Nobunaga lives or dies; though I do take vicious satisfaction of seeing him fall.

You feel a knot forming between your brows. Try as you might, you can’t understand Kicho.

Why are you doing this?

Kicho sweeps a scrutinizing gaze across your tense form. He tilts his head a fraction. Blinks.

I see, he says, and, if you strain your ears enough, you can hear an undercurrent of marvel in his tone. You’re stalling. Expecting a backup, perhaps? I’m afraid to disappoint you, but I will not allow it.

He raises a hand, and his men lift their rifles at the ready.

And you can’t afford that. Wait, no – stop, please! Spare them; take me instead! Spare them, please!

Amidst the raucous protests of the Oda soldiers, Kicho raises a brow at your plea. There is no advantage to him taking you hostage, but it is the only thing you can offer to protect the others’ lives.

And what would I do with you? You have no use for me at all.

Anything. I’ll do anything. Just please spare them.

Kicho doesn’t even think about it, which stings a little. He sighs, as if inconvenienced about the whole thing. You truly have no sense of self-preservation, have you. I’m amazed that you have made it this far. He stares at you like he’s expecting something – an explanation, maybe.

Flustered, you blurt out, I-It’s part of my charm …

He’s not impressed, what with the way his gaze and the line of his lips flatten. But then a second later, he seems to be considering it.

Very well. He signals to his men to put the rifles down. Then he takes a step forward in your direction. I will spare everyone here, in exchange for you. He pulls out his gun, raises it, and declares: If anyone makes any kind of unwelcome move, I will shoot your precious chatelaine. Do I make myself clear?

You know that the soldiers are not happy with this arrangement, but this is no time for hesitation. You give them a reassuring smile and tell them it’s fine. The most important thing right now is that there are no casualties in this confrontation.

Kicho extends a hand to you, his moonsheen eyes glittering against the fires, and you step forward to take it. His grip is firm and almost painful, but to show any reaction is to falter, and this is a battle of convictions.

He smirks at your determination. Make it worth my while, princess.

✤

Motonari is lounging on Kicho's couch, loose but predatory, his back molding around the curve of the cushion, arms splayed over the edge. His alliance with Kicho is at best formidable, but because they do not trust each other, it is at worst tenuous, hanging on by a flimsy thread. Any time one of them may turn around and shoot the other on the back, and either way there would be no love lost between them.

There's a bladed edge that glints in Motonari's eyes as he watches you settle on a chair not far away from his, but he doesn't move, just tilts his head to the side, gaze never leaving you. You've learned to get used to Motonari's hostile curiosity, barbed with thorny comments on your usefulness – or lack of – and the occasional goading. Why are you here, he had said, stepping closer to you with a panther's smile; you're a spy from the Oda, aren't you. Kicho may’ve been fooled but ya ain't foolin' me.

Ya waitin' for that guy? he says now, teeth accompanying the grin. Gonna seduce him again? That what the Oda ordered ya? Strip him off his guard then strike him down?

You're wrong, Motonari-san.

If anything, Motonari's smirk widens. Oh? Then he twists his torso to face you, leaning forward, looming. You think to lean away, but Motonari will interpret that as his victory. Ya wanna explain that t’me, m’lady?

I’m not going to betray Kicho, you say, tone firm, and if you ask Motonari, he’d say it’s almost with contempt. If anything, I’m going to reason with and persuade him. We both want peace, but he’s going at it differently.

The disgust clear on his expression, Motonari sneers. M’lady, ya forgettin’ he’s a warlord. And what do warlords do? It’s in the title – they wage war.

It’s not like you do not know what they do, who they are. From the day you've stayed with Oda Nobunaga, you have learned to swallow your comparisons, arguments that pit the peaceful conditions that you grew up in against their roiling, boiling chaos. Instead you make sense of their context, and figure out how to make the best of what you have and what you can do without forsaking your convictions.

So for Kicho, a man who has lived the past and the future, your present, your understanding of his worldview serves as a crucial point in the matter.

I’ll just have to try my best, then.

And then what? Say you did get ‘im to your side, what d’ya think’ll happen next?

We’re … We’ll be one step closer to unification.

Ha! Ya really think that, huh, princess? Motonari leans closer, his voice an oppressive reverberation against your ears. Let’s not forget me, shall we? Even if you pulled that bastard to your side, it won’t stop me from tearing all of you to dust.

Motonari drops his accent, and it’s indicative of his seriousness; his diction becoming rounder, more solid-land than fluid sea, uttered in a lower register that crawls underneath your skin, and you fail to stop yourself from flinching.

He notices this, and he smirks triumphantly as you try to brush off your sudden fear of him.

His smugness transmogrifies into manic glee as the click of a gun echoes in the room. You look up to find Kicho aiming his pistol at Motonari's head.

Get away from her, Kicho warns, voice calm and even, but his eyes are cold and nothing like the usual apathy gleaned from his gaze.

Motonari leans back on the couch, resuming his previous pose, takes a glance at Kicho, and returns staring at you. Yer really somethin’, ya know. His panther smile reveals sharp, predatorial teeth. Then to Kicho, who hasn’t budged from his position: Fine, fine. M’here for ya anyway.

The gun doesn’t disappear. We’ll talk in another room.

Sure. I’m goin’, I’m goin’. Ya can put that away now. He raises both his hands and rises from his seat. When he passes by Kicho on his way out, Motonari throws a grin at him; Kicho doesn’t react, doesn’t look back, a glacial statue.

I’ll deal with Motonari first; stay here, Kicho says once Motonari has left the room. The icy edge hasn’t left Kicho’s gaze, and you hesitate to ask how much he has heard from the conversation between you and Motonari.

In the end, all you can reply is, All right. I’ll wait for you.

Kicho studies you for a moment, before his lips melt into a soft smile. I’ll be quick.

The sliding doors snap shut, and you are alone in the room. You close your eyes and expire a shuttered sigh, giving in to the silence.

✤

How far will you go for love?

Will you be like a protagonist, bared heart and soul, courage in its purest form? Or will you be like a villain, love taken to its most extreme, a love that becomes mirror-fractured, reflecting the baser, twisted version of it?

And as you wade through the moonlit corridors of the castle, sneaking your way out for a midnight rendezvous, you think of consequences and fate, and how, in the end, happy endings are for fairy tales and festive dreams.

My, my, where is the little mouse going at this hour, Mitsuhide says, revealing himself from the hallway shadows, and he almost fails in masking his glee at your frozen, deer-in-headlights expression.

I can explain, you begin, because what else can you say?

If anything, Mitsuhide’s smirk widens. Oh? Let’s hear it, then.

He doesn’t move from his sinister spot, and you’re aware that his silent waiting is designed to unnerve you. Mitsuhide has always seemed to delight upon your reactions, no matter the situation. It’s nothing malicious, but it’s annoying all the same, bearing the brunt of most of his trolling.

I’m meeting someone, and I’m pretty sure you know who it is.

Mitsuhide feigns surprise. Oh, my! Is it who I think it is? I didn’t know you had it in you, little mouse! Should I report this to Lord Nobunaga and have you imprisoned in the dungeon for your betrayal?

Oh, don’t be so dramatic! You and I both know that Nobunaga has allowed this. We already talked about it.

There’s a little pause before Mitsuhide drops the act. His fox smile remains.

I see little advantage of letting you dabble in this kind of scheme. It’s surprising, I find, that Lord Nobunaga has agreed to this.

Actually, he was the one who suggested it.

And how did you react to it?

Nobunaga knew of my relationship with Kicho, and truthfully I got terrified, but I think he acknowledged it? Because he wanted me to persuade Kicho to go back to us.

And your thoughts on this?

I’ll do it. If it means nobody has to die, then I’ll do it. I don’t want you guys and Kicho fighting.

Mitsuhide seems amused at that. Such courage, our little mouse. But then his smile disappears, serious all of a sudden. I hope you know what you’re doing.

I do know, but thanks for the vote of confidence.

My dear, and for once his voice reaches a level of honesty that alarms you, but you only wait for him to continue. Love may be a wondrous, transformative thing, but it is not an encompassing truth. Remember that illusion also exists in love.

And is that how it is with you and Kicho? A love cascaded in illusion? The frightening thing is that you are certain that Kicho genuinely loves you, but that love he harbors for you carries a particular kind of idealism that reality, most often than not, has a tendency to subvert. Like a villain’s love taken to its extreme, Kicho’s love manifests in service of his ambition, bold declarations of salvation, a hand extended, haloed against cracked, withering edges.

Pain, Kicho had once said, is but a temporary drawback; once I have fulfilled my goal, you will be released from this suffering. I will protect you; I will take care of you, I promise.

Except he cannot protect you from this fate; he is not a god, no matter the scale of the disruptions he orchestrates. His promise is always destined to be broken.

You swallow, to ease the constricting of your throat. To Mitsuhide, you say, I know that. Nevertheless, I will try. What else do I have?

And Mitsuhide seems to understand that. He expires a theatrical sigh, a mischievous fox once again. Well, if you insist. Either way, I am certain that if you failed and came back in tears, Hideyoshi and the others will readily console you of your heartbreak.

Hah! Don’t tell me you’ll be one of them.

Oh, little mouse. Mitsuhide smiles. Don’t hope too much.

✤

The first time you lay with Kicho, the sky is the color of bruise, and it's only been a few days since he has revealed his plans of eternal war to you.

Getting close to Kicho is only a matter of honesty and conviction – and a little bit of earnest wanting to understand the other side. When you both had realized that your ideals aligned, Kicho was more than willing to talk with you, if only to make you see the logic behind his actions.

You and I want peace – but what is peace to them, if only a respite of war? he had told you on a day when the leaves in Sakai were at its most verdant. Emptied coffers, the resources ran out – a time to replenish what has been consumed.

He had looked to the sea then, his hair fluttering against the winds. In those few quiet seconds when the only sounds were lapping waves, his face looked distant, as if in reminiscence.

The hungry will return to fill their sin. And the cycle begins again.

But you were not appeased by that reasoning, so you pushed back.

There are much more people who want peace than those who want war. What are the voices of a few to those of millions?

For a moment Kicho was caught off-center, his eyes a little wider than usual, but then his features tamed and softened, showing you a smile that could make you forget he's a warlord.

You really are a child of that time, he marveled. Behind him the sea waves went on rolling towards the pier, a soothing melody. Your beliefs are utterly remarkable.

And now, in the chambers of your captor, your beliefs are tested, examined with intense scrutiny, like a butterfly whose wings are trapped by long silver needles, gleaming under the light of an examination table.

Tell me, Kicho begins, how one can achieve my goal without bloodshed. If you can provide me an alternative, I am willing to reconsider.

But this is a futile battle, and Kicho is only being indulgent, his fingers tracing the outline of your face, moonglow in his eyes.

You burn so bright, you know, he continues, voice dreamy. You have all these ideals in you. So passionate, so entrancing.

His fingers carry their downward path to your kimono, and your heart starts to beat faster. Your gaze never strays from Kicho’s rapt expression. He notices it, lifting his head to smile at you, warm and besotted and so unlike the cold and calculating man you’ve come to know.

I want to parse them – every single one of them.

And he descends, angling his head to kiss you, lips soft against yours.

A voice at the back of your mind whispers that this is wrong, sleeping with the enemy wrong, but Kicho’s touch on your skin is a trail of heat branding your flesh, coaxing your blood to sing.

When you part for air, Kicho emerges with a playful grin. But its line is askew, the curve tinged with irony. Your beliefs, your convictions … I suppose they crumple in the face of worldly desire, no?

It’s a deliberate jab, one that aims to crush your spirit, but the thing with Kicho is that he’s a very self-aware individual, which sets him apart from the other warlords. He knows where he stands and he knows where he will go. There are no blind spots, no weaknesses to exploit. A perfectionist striving for perfection, a man desiring godhood. And the only way you can answer him is with this:

You say that … but I know that you also want this. You speak of beliefs and convictions – how steadfast you are with yours. And I just want to understand where you’re coming from. It’s you who’s drawn in, so don’t say that it’s me who’s losing.

He recoils, like something scorching has grazed his body. That reaction is a taste of victory, and Kicho agrees, if the slow, crescendoing laughter is an indication. 

He sighs then, satisfaction and amusement radiating all over him, residues of a smirk dancing on his lips.

You are a treasure. Let me keep you.

His eyes are narrowed in mirth, affection now glazing his every move. Every motion of the bed, every shift of fabric, signals of his approach, and when he levels his eyes with yours, when he breathes the same air as you, when his hand braces right beside your hip, his other hand ghosting the corner of your eye, your nose, your lips – it dawns on you, then, that this is something Kicho may not have foreseen but will gladly see through the end.

Bloom for me.

When he takes you that night, you welcome it.

✤

The secret doesn’t last, and the moment you regain consciousness, you know that something has gone very, very wrong.

You open your eyes to an unfamiliar room, decked with ornate red and gold linings on each wall. The design calls to memory a particular chamber, one that you’ve recently got yourself too familiar with.

You’re finally awake.

The flat voice draws your attention, and you turn your head to the source. Kicho, seated on a chair beside the bed you’re currently lying on, prim and proper, but a second look at his face reveals a tight strain, particularly around the eyes, where hints of sleeplessness peek through.

What he says next feels like a dunk in cold water.

You’ve been unconscious for three days. You don’t have a fever. You’re not ill. But you wouldn’t wake up.

The blackouts have begun to increase their frequency, the duration of being unconscious growing to an alarming length. You wouldn’t be surprised – though you dread it all the same – when one day you’d collapse and never wake up.

But the most curious thing right now is Kicho’s tremulous voice, little hitches in the middle of the sentences, powering through the syllables as if uttering your situation is an insurmountable challenge. 

Were you worried about me?

He frowns, and for a moment it seems as though he is surprised at your question.

If you want to see it as worry, then I will not contradict you. He extends a hand to settle it on your cheek, a feather-light touch, his gaze turbulent. You suddenly collapsed while Nobunaga and I were in a confrontation. It was the perfect opportunity to incapacitate him, but the moment you hit the ground, I found myself whisking you off to safety.

A storm passes through his face, darkening his expression.

That was the first and last time I’m allowing my plans to go awry. It will not happen again.

You stare at him. He braved Nobunaga and his men alone just to get you out of there? 

I think … you hesitate. I think my fainting spells are because of your plans.

His eyes widen for a fleeting second. Then he becomes pensive.

Then, it seems that what I’m doing is working. He presents you a reassuring smile. Don’t be afraid. This only strengthens my resolve.

But what about me? you want to say.

I am certain now that I’m on the right path. But it’s not without challenges, as your condition has shown us. Please endure it a little longer; it hurts now, but, in the end, it will all be worth it.

✤

In some ways, this is really where it all starts – the descent to oblivion. But of course, only those who will have survived are gifted with the privilege of hindsight. 

It goes like this:

Ambition is what makes a man, but for Nobunaga, it is his ironclad conviction that paves the way for his ambitions to become reality. This is what allows him to rise above his contemporaries. His is a fascinating case study: after saving him from the fires of Honnou-ji, Nobunaga emerges from the ashes like a risen phoenix, ploughing against his enemies as a recompense for their betrayal and their wickedness, the devil that thirsts for blood. He quickly grasps your value – the girl from the future, the girl who holds the answer to the question he’s been searching for in this war. With his level of intellect it was only a matter of time before you would confide in him your secret.

Of course, there are also other things he can deduce from you.

I am aware, Nobunaga begins, that you have been seeing Kicho for a while now.

The tea that he has poured for you nearly spills from your trembling hand. Are you?

Nobunaga watches you with an aquiline curiosity that you easily mistake for the intensity you usually associate with him. He doesn’t answer right away – only continues to sip his tea.

For all his declarations of owning you, Nobunaga has been magnanimous enough to let you do whatever you wish. Eventually you had figured out that ownership does not mean possession but rather protection in this case, except that Nobunaga is too obstinate to admit that difference.

But the matter with Kicho is a dangerous road to tread on. A vassal turned enemy, Kicho can use you against Nobunaga, and all of you are aware of that fact. 

I will not permit Kicho to steal my lucky charm.

I know he’s your enemy, but –

Which is why you will take him to our side.

You halt. And stare at Nobunaga.

He goes on, unperturbed by your blatant gaping: By now I know you well enough to have figured out that you saw something in him, for you to stay by his side. Use that to persuade him.

A-Aren’t you angry with him? He destroyed your tenshu – he almost killed you guys!

Nobunaga tilts his chin down, and the light hits his face in such a way that the shadows silhouette his expression, but in that moment his eyes seem aglow with a burning that is almost supernatural, like hellfire.

He is in the way of my unification. But if I can surmount this matter using the least amount of resources, I will. He pauses. Are you not angry with him for what he’s done to us?

That’s not it! And now the tea has spilled onto your hand, but it’s no longer hot against your skin. You ignore it. Of course I’m angry! But I’ve been talking to him, and … he just wants peace as you do.

Then you know what to do.

You swallow. How disbelieving it is, to meet two individuals who have chosen vastly diverging paths, yet aiming for the same destination. Both have ambitions worthy of being written in history, in a time when war tears everything asunder. With Nobunaga, you find hope to be a buoyant, reachable thing, one that you can touch and preserve. With Kicho, everything is a glass waiting to get shattered, the shards pricking your fingers to siphon the blood within.

And despite your love for Kicho, this is a battle of beliefs, of convictions. You are reminded of that night, under the bruise-colored sky, when you told Kicho that it is he who had lost.

Now, it is not so much as winning and losing as it is protecting everyone’s lives.

You close your eyes, gathering your resolve, so that when you look back at Nobunaga, he will know of your answer.

All right, I understand.

✤

At the Seta-no-Karahashi bridge, two figures face each other, mere inches apart.

You say: Let us pretend, for a moment, that you have succeeded in your eternal war, and that the future where I lived is destroyed. What then?

And Kicho says: Then I would have saved countless lives.

How? you want to ask, but Kicho’s hand floats over to your cheek, his fingers entwining with your hair. He brushes a stray lock behind your ear, slow and careful, his gaze intent.

You may not understand now, but you will, one day. After all – he smiles, tender – we want the same thing.

Under the bridge where you stand, the river flows steadily, uninterrupted.

✤

One by one they fall like marionettes cut at the strings, no longer of use to the puppeteer. Ieyasu is the first to go down, Masamune next. When it's Keiji's turn, he takes the Oda troops’ morale with him. Hideyoshi and Mitsunari put up a good fight, but they too are felled in the end. Kicho leaves Mitsuhide to Motonari – deception against deceit – watches in detached fascination. He allows Nobunaga to live for a while, relishes the ignominy accompanied by his survival.

And amidst this nightmare, you drift in and out of existence, memories scattered like puzzle pieces, unable to reconstruct the overarching image. It is only your love for Kicho and your desire to stop him that you endure.

And even then, you think that they are not enough. They will never be enough.

✤

There was once a boy who saw life as precious, that he’d value every living thing in this world.

He cared so much that, when he grew up, he would wage an eternal war for it.

But of course, it’s more complicated than that.

✤

I know that Nobunaga has ordered you to get me to abandon my goal and return to his side.

He says this from behind you as he slathers attention to your bare shoulder, tiny nips that sting lightly, but his breathing makes everything almost ticklish. You sigh and arch your back from the sensation, and Kicho presses his hand against your belly, pulling you towards him until your skin comes into contact with his.

The words are thrown so casually as if he’s merely talking about the weather. He doesn’t sound betrayed, and you would’ve felt guilty about it, but Kicho has continuously shown apathy towards your connection with the Oda. That despite your being Nobunaga’s ‘princess’, Kicho has not put you in harm’s way.

The hand on your belly trails lower, lower, lower, until a shot of pleasure spreads throughout your body, jolting you, a loud gasp escaping your lips. The sudden movement has you brushing Kicho, and you hear him exhale a shuddering breath.

He chuckles. That’s not nice.

He grips your hips to stop you from doing anything else, and then grinds, his lips latching onto your neck. You shut your eyes and just feel.

K-Kicho …

He releases you, and the absence of him on your skin draws you to lucidity. Before you turn your body to him and ask if anything’s wrong, Kicho flips you so that you are facing him, settling you on his lap. He goes back to sucking your neck, both his hands roaming your torso, ghostly caresses that have your hairs standing.

You shiver.

I know you’ll convince me that siding with Nobunaga is the right thing to do, he says in between his attention to your body. You’ll tell me that I should abandon my plans on stopping the unification and help him instead.

Are you – are you – you moan loudly when Kicho’s finger slips inside you – are you angry?

Kicho drags his tongue across your jaw, then tugs at your earlobe. His heavy breathing right beside your ear; you fail to suppress your shudder. Should I be?

B-But …

Another finger enters; your hips buck.

I’m not angry. He places a soft kiss on your temple. I’m not angry with you for agreeing to his order. I’m not even angry about your reasons. They’re sensible. Understandable.

You pause, staring at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Kicho realizes this, and he chuckles, giving you a warm smile after. He kisses you, long and wet and loud, and you relax in his arms.

Then he curls his fingers inside.

You jerk and groan aloud, his name on your lips a breathy mantra.

I just want you to remember – his fingers leave you, and your body unwittingly follows him. He kisses you again, guiding your hips, and you feel him press against you – that what Nobunaga plans will not yield any fruit.

And then he plunges inside.

It will not change how I feel for you, he pants to your cheek, breaths hot and thick, as he thrusts over and over. You cling to him, nails digging into his back, praying his name like it’s the only thing you know.

And when you tighten around him, he quickens his pace, his voice cracking when he says, Come for me, my love.

And you succumb to the overwhelming pleasure, white heat lighting every inch of your nerves, and you cry out his name one last time. Kicho watches you with half-mast eyes, clouded with desire, and waits until you settle down.

Then he resumes moving.

He’s close to the edge as well, his rhythm broken, and when he comes, he presses his lips against yours to muffle his moans.

Later, as you lay on top of his chest, breathing relaxed and even, his hand rubbing your back in soothing circles, Kicho murmurs, We are after the same thing, yet our means of obtaining it are so different from each other.

It’s not too late, Kicho.

He shifts so he can look at you. His moonsheen gaze is clear, and he brings his other hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

I admire your conviction, but in the long run, the unification you hold in greatest esteem will crumble into ashes. I aim for something more enduring, eternal. The path I take leads to true happiness, and I only wish you could have taken my hand.

✤

But what is true happiness?

In Kicho’s mind, it is the relief after abject despair, a world razed to the ground, starting anew. To understand the value of life, one must be on the brink of death, for what is reform without violent desperation?

Once, you had asked him about his life in the future, and he had brought his gaze to the side, and you could tell that he was recreating the Japan of your time in his memories.

Tokyo was large and bright – the first time I stepped into the city I was blinded by so much color.

People could travel to distant places in just under a few hours. It was unimaginable for me at the time.

The technology is so advanced – instant communication, knowledge at your fingertips, and all the medical breakthroughs … But then –

Shadows flickered and settled onto Kicho’s features, sharpening the animosity that arose from his recollection.

Even then, there are wars still fought. It may not be in Japan, but in other countries, they are devastating. And I realized that, no matter the era, wars will never cease.

So I made an oath to myself: when I return to my time, I will do everything I can to prevent that era from happening. Instead I will create a new timeline, one that will end all wars by making everyone learn the fragility of their own existence.

So it is a warless utopia that Kicho desires, a world where people can be happy and live in peace, where there is no place for greedy, selfish destruction. Make no mistake: he has the conviction to turn it into reality, the grand ambition sculpted into long-lasting perfection.

But in a way, isn’t that also frightening, to have that kind of ambition? Like shedding everything that ties Kicho to the world; he will ascend like a god who overlooks the earth from the heavens above, passing judgement like an adjudicator, governing people’s fates. How can Nobunaga’s unification compare with that?

You, Nobunaga, Kicho – you all want peace, but who has the right way of achieving it?

You have no answer to this question. Either way it is already too late.

✤

In the pockets of moments when you can slip in some quiet solitude, you wonder if you had crossed paths with Kicho during your past life. What were the chances of such a fateful encounter? In all the years of your rational non-belief, you would have never expected time travel and wormholes to be real, much less getting direct involvement with them. Would that be called fate?

In these solitary moments, you allow yourself the indulgence of fantasies: how easy it is to imagine that you had met Kicho in that future, your former home. Perhaps a brush of sleeves as you frantically rush at Shibuya Crossing, dodging people here and there, to prevent yourself from arriving late at a meeting. Or perhaps a near encounter at the train, only a few feet in distance, with you listening to music while him typing away at his phone, both your gazes never intersecting. Or perhaps it was at a bookstore, passing him by at the history section, his attention rapt in a book about the Sengoku era. 

But why stop there? Why not be more daring? 

The point of fantasy is to surrender to your innermost desire, buried under the layers of guilt and restraint. It’s unlikely to come true, but who wouldn’t dream of it leaping from the nebulous aether of the imagination and into the corporeality of the physical world?

Just imagine:

You at a bookstore, perusing the fashion section for inspiration to your portfolio. You have been planning to quit your job for a while now in order to pursue your dream of becoming a fashion designer, and for that you need to build a portfolio of your work.

When you turn to the corner of the history section, you collide into someone, and the book he’s reading falls from his hands. But he has good reflex – his hand shooting out to capture the book before it hits the ground. You snap out of your surprise and say sorry, and compliment his quick reaction.

It is nothing, he says, his lacustrine gaze sweeping over your alarmed form. He doesn’t seem angry; rather, he seems indifferent, and you would’ve gone on your way, bow lightly, apologizing once more, and move on, except a belated thought occurs to him and then he continues: You should keep an eye on where you are going, especially at a blind corner like this. You might bump into someone or something worse, and you could get hurt from it. Be careful next time.

Oh, how considerate of him! Despite his intimidating aura, he exudes in his words a touch of kindness, and it pulls a smile out of you, which he takes note of, if his arched eyebrow is an indication.

You will not introduce yourself in that moment, because it’s more thrilling to set chance encounters in the future: falling in the same line for coffee at a small, cozy café; entering the same train car during Tokyo rush hour; viewing the skyline at the Tokyo Tower; visiting historical sites during your days off.

And during these encounters you will get to know him better. And if you’re feeling sentimental, maybe you can even pinpoint the moment you fall in love with each other.

You will confess first, of course, because your heart is stronger than your doubts. Whereas he will hesitate, and he will deny you an answer because of his complicated origin. It will take several days before he will visit your apartment and confess to you his predicament, hands wrapped around the tea mug you have offered him, in a logical voice that belied the absurdity of his story.

But love is an unconditional, insurmountable force that can overcome any hurdle that obstructs its path. It doesn’t matter to you where he comes from – surreal as it is to believe that he came 500 years in the past – what matters is that you’re both in love, and what could be greater than a love that transcends time?

Except. Will this fantasy have its happy ending? Reality would have made Kicho return to his own time. Here, in your imagined reality, Kicho will remain by your side, happily ever after. He will turn his back on the war, on the fighting, on Oda Nobunaga and the rest of them all – no more. He will stay with you, in this modern world where peace endures and life is valued. It is his ideals, realized.

Except.

Except.

Except illusion exists in love. You know you will only hurt yourself if you continue with this fantasy. It is, after all, just that – a fantasy, something that will never come true, no matter how much you wish for it. And Kicho, despite how much he looks at you with tenderness in his eyes and how much he touches you like you’re the most important thing in the world – he would have made his choice.

Perhaps –

Perhaps he would have stayed. For you.

Perhaps he wouldn’t.

Kicho is a man with so great an ambition not even the gods could have stopped him.

So.

It’s fate that he would return to his time and it’s fate that he would leave you.

His ambition is, after all, greater than his love.

✤

I love you, Kicho whispers into your skin as he shudders and empties himself inside you.

So here we are, back to the night before your dissolute end, mirror-cracks in your memories chipping off into the darkness, where the cold embrace of fate lies still, waiting for you. The future lurks not with bated breath, but with patient anticipation, for there is no escape from something that is not known.

It's a pity that Kicho has chosen this path of no return, despite all the things you've done to pull him back to the surface. He has plunged himself into the abyss with the purpose of conquering it – a mighty feat – and he is winning, like a god that he will be, in this world of blood and tears.

Tomorrow, my final plan will begin, and I will be there in the front lines, witnessing it. Kicho fits you to the line of his body, snug and warm, and if you only close your eyes you can imagine that both of you are somewhere very far away, in a more peaceful place, without war and death, happy. I want you to stay here where it's safe. Even if I wanted you to watch Nobunaga's downfall, I can't risk you getting hurt. I love you, you understand, right?

And what else can you say? That it's too late for him to keep you like a rare butterfly, only displayed but never free? Ever since the beginning Kicho has laid all the foundations of his ascension; it is already written, and you are but a chapter in his legacy.

You don’t say, I’m scared, Kicho.

You say, I love you too, I understand.

You don’t say, I’m dying, and you’ve made your choice.

You say, Good night, sweet dreams.

And he smiles at you, tender and full of love, and it’s the most beautiful and the most heartbreaking sight. You can't bear to look at it any longer, so you bury your face on the crook of his neck, lest he notices your despair.

Tomorrow, the end will begin, and the shadows have already started clinging to your feet, tugging at you, misty darkness entering your pores, rusting your bones. It will be painful to fade away, reduced into lingering ashes and memories, but perhaps this pain will metamorphose into eternal reprieve. A blissful oblivion.

Tomorrow, it will be the end, and you will never see everyone again. You will never see Kicho again. He has made his choice, and you have yours.