He is Aotsuki, but he is also not; he is Yamawashi, but he is also not.. In the eyes of different people, he has different names, but in truth, he does not have a name of his own.
Chapter 44: "I"
The first time I read that novel was two months after the death of No. 57.
During these two months, I spent one month in a windowless interrogation room, waiting for the moment my blood would run dry. Darkness, cold, hunger, pain—many times when I lost consciousness, I thought I was already dead, but my body stubbornly clung to life, forcing me to wake up again and again, yet no matter how hard I tried to open my eyes, it was impossible to see even a glimmer of light. So perhaps it shouldn't be called waiting; I was hoping that I was already dead, but over these years, my hopes always failed to come true.
As for the remaining month, I have been reading a novel.
I like reading books, any genre, as long as it makes me feel like I am actually doing something instead of just waiting for an endless death. At first, No. 57 gave me books so that I wouldn't embarrass him; after all, I had never received an education in the past decade, yet the missions I received required me to study for three years at a prestigious aristocratic high school. No. 57 would occasionally give me guidance, seemingly finding some amusement in it, later he would reward me with new books from time to time, but the agony of reading this book my new employer gave me was no less than the torture in an interrogation room.
My new employer—the man with the exact same face as No. 57—was what we used to call No. 59. If the comatose No. 47 in America hasn't breathed his last in these three months, then there are still seventeen other men with that same face left in the Organization.
The reason No. 59 asked me to read this novel was most likely because, over the past two years, I had been known as Aotsuki. I had no name of my own, nor did I understand the origin of this name or if it held any deep significance; I was merely a bodyguard. Whatever age my employer required me to be, I was that age; whatever name my employer gave me, that was the name I used, with everything serving the mission. In my eyes, Aotsuki was no different from Xiao Ming, Ah Fu, or Yavin and Kevin from the Training Camp, but in the eyes of No. 57 and No. 59, it was quite different.
It wasn't until I opened the book given to me by No. 59 that I suddenly realized why No. 59 had said those words in the interrogation room.
He named you 'Aotsuki'.. Then you belong to me.
Aotsuki, this is the name of the protagonist in the novel written by No. 59. No. 59 requested that I study it carefully; I am not sure to what extent No. 59 meant by "carefully," but it is likely more rigorous than the random testing of No. 57.
In this novel, I came to know Aotsuki, I also came to know No. 59.
I simply enjoy reading and don't possess much knowledge, but when I read it a second time, I unexpectedly realized through those beautiful, dreamlike words that this book was actually written about No. 59 himself.
After discovering this, I was even a bit surprised that No. 59 didn't just have me buried alongside No. 57 at Training Camp No. 57, but considering No. 59's personality, there was no way he would let a loathsome bodyguard have his way, so it was nothing to be surprised about.
It was as if they were acting out of spite; No. 57 used the name that No. 59 cared about most to name a bodyguard, No. 59 used No. 57's name to return to Ikubunkan Academy, I remained Aotsuki, Kurumaru Soshi's bodyguard.
A year later, Kurumaru Soshi and Aotsuki officially graduated from Ikubunkan Academy. A trivial interlude occurred when a certain classmate suggested hiring me to protect him during his studies abroad, even went into detail about how carefree and easy life would be in a foreign country. Number 59 said with a faint, knowing smile that I could decide for myself; I suppose he was likely asking whether or not I intended to let that fellow live.
I don't have a hobby of killing people.
However, this death-seeking proposal gave me a new idea.
After serving my new employer for one year, I escaped.
No. 59 was a generous person. Despite being a bodyguard by profession, he was able to obtain his own codename within the Organization at an early stage—an extraordinary privilege that many members of the Organization wouldn't even dare to dream of, one that proved this candidate's capability and status. Aside from me, Kurosawa Jin, who recently became Gin, also enjoyed this same privilege, but I suddenly felt a strong resistance toward taking on a new name.
Whether it was a resistance to changing to a new name or being incited by those descriptions of life abroad, on my way to accept the codename, I smashed the glass and escaped, using that chance to briefly flee from that codename as well.
It was a rainy night, the torrential downpour lashed against my body, yet I felt nothing but a sense of liberation. At that time, I only thought that the rain would eventually stop; I never imagined that I would return to the Organization.
I became a mercenary.
I know No. 59 is still watching me.
That silent observation sometimes even made me feel as if No. 59 was constantly waiting for me to escape. He cannot break free from fate, as everything was edited long before his genes were even formed, so he mercifully hopes I can escape, but his arrogance will not allow me to succeed under his hand, so I must appear miserable, like a fish that sought death by floating up from the deep sea to the surface.
Actually, there is no need to act; I have an extraordinary longing for a new world, but this place does not meet my survival needs. Breathing on the surface of the sea would only cause me pain, yet once I sink into the deep sea, the world will no longer have a single glimmer of light, so I am still trying my best to adapt. The good news is that I am insensitive to any pain, so I am adapting well.
During those days, I thought of the novel written by No. 59 more than once. I read those words so many times that I could almost recite them by heart: the boundless ocean, the magnificent first-class cabins, the chaotic and crowded third-class cabins.. Aotsuki was born on that cruise ship where new stories were constantly unfolding. Amidst the infinite seawater and the finite cabins, Aotsuki belonged to no space; he yearned for the world beyond the sea, having imagined it, heard others describe it, gazed toward the distance, yet he had never truly set foot on land.
I even thought that perhaps I should have hijacked No. 59 and left together, but if I had truly hijacked No. 59, then who would have issued the order to let me go?
My feelings toward every single employer were undoubtedly complex.
After Arnaud died, my complex feelings toward Number 57 actually faded, leaving only tranquility.
In truth, he did it very discreetly; even with my abilities, I couldn't find a single flaw. He has always been an expert at setting up situations where, even if he were to stand up openly and recount everything he had done, he could never be held responsible. Yet, I still knew that he was the one who did it.
I only used the names of the protagonists from his novels, yet he acted as if I were a character from his own writing, beginning to manipulate my life. He watches me, indulges me, hopes I will become the real Aotsuki, wanting to see Aotsuki leap off the deck and into the world beyond the sea; yet, because of his care and affection for Aotsuki, his feelings continuously shift, breeding a more contradictory desire for control, until he finally decided to make me return to his side—just as Aotsuki, even if he jumps into the sea, can never leap beyond that sea.
After all that, I still became Yamawashi.
I wasn't surprised that No. 59 had already become the Organization's boss. He stared at me for a long time before suddenly laughing, "I've thought about it; you should stick with the name Aotsuki, Yamawashi."
It was precisely because I escaped that night that No. 59 agreed to let me be called Aotsuki, why he wanted to pull me back into the Organization; perhaps this was a reconciliation between No. 59 and No. 57.
Over the next few years, depending on No. 59's mood, I was occasionally Aotsuki, occasionally Yamawashi, occasionally Yavin; but in truth, none of those names were me, but rather different people who had not died.
Seeing No. 57 still using the name "Kurumaru Soshi," I also experienced a sense of absurdity; the only person here who, like me, used someone else's name was actually that high and mighty employer.
Even such an arrogant person is enduring a life they are powerless to change. If it weren't for the fact that after returning to the Organization, he began arranging for me to fall in love with Gin, I don't think I would have defied him. In No. 59's writing, Aotsuki has a lover with long hair who loves wearing trench coats, there is more hatred than love between them. It was within my expectations that No. 59 would make such an arrangement, but my resistance is greater than I had anticipated.
I have seen too many instances of lovers dying for one another; to me, love belongs to a different realm, it is only in this one matter that I refuse to have him have his way. Training Camp No. 57 did not punish me for this; he enjoys seeing me defy his orders, but he does not truly condone me challenging his authority.
I don't think a bodyguard's duties include satisfying an employer's conflicted inner self, the same goes for falling in love with someone unrelated.
In truth, I shouldn't attribute my betrayal of my employer to others; I was never a qualified bodyguard to begin with. The person who could survive Training Camp No. 57 was never me. If Kevin in heaven can find even a modicum of solace or pleasure in seeing all this, then what No. 59 has done might actually be for my own good.
This absurd life ended the day I met Scotland, or perhaps, it merely initiated an even more absurd absurdity.
Chapter 45: "Him"
For a long time, I thought Scotland and I were the same kind of person, except I did not possess the power to change others' lives at will like he did. This was actually the tragic part about Scotland; it was precisely because he possessed things that others could never reach, because those things were so heavy, that it made it difficult for such a brilliant person to walk away.
I also once thought that Scotland and I were the same kind of person; we were both unexpectedly caught up in a chaotic relationship. However, I am far from being as innocent as Scotland; while he knew nothing of it all, I was the one truly responsible for plunging him into such a situation.
Therefore, within my love for Scotland, what I feel more is guilt toward him. As we met more frequently, I gradually became unable to distinguish whether my feelings for him were love or guilt, but the two are actually not much different; both make me want to be twice as good to him.
I am not obsessed with defining my feelings for Scotland; whether it is more love or more guilt does not matter. I hope Scotland can emerge unscathed from this chaotic battle, I hope even more that he can find happiness.
I hope that another person possesses the things I cannot have, much like praying that another version of myself in a parallel world could obtain them. Training Camp No. 57 will let me go, because he wants to see Aotsuki free, even if only temporarily. The difference between me and Training Camp No. 57 is that I want Scotland to be happy, to be happy forever.
Many times, I returned to the Safe House with the thought of breaking up, but seeing Scotland's back, hearing his steady breathing, watching the pages of the book turn in his hands—even as my understanding of the content remained stuck on the previous line—I felt there was no rush. Scotland would not readily accept everyone's help; once we broke up, I would forever lose my standing to help him, he would lose his standing to accept my help.
I should do something for him, shouldn't I?
When I am in the same room as him, I think this most of the time.
Since I am already starting with a guilty conscience, I should at least end with no regrets.
But there is so little I can do for him.
Even today, I still feel this way; there is so little I can do for Scotland, yet I bring him so much trouble and pressure.
I went to see him with the intention of breaking up with him, expecting that he would break up with me the next time we met. Therefore, I both longed to return to that Safe House and to push open that door to see him, yet there were also several times when I stood at the entrance, hesitating, ultimately choosing to leave and pretending I had never returned.
All my love, guilt, sympathy, empathy for Scotland were built on the premise that he was a perfect victim in my heart.
Rather than saying I never considered the possibility that Scotland was a police officer, it would be more accurate to say that I never anticipated that one day I would feel hatred toward Scotland.
How could it be such a coincidence?
A police officer infiltrates the Organization, by a twist of fate, develops a romantic entanglement with a high-ranking member of the Organization—so what comes next? Will we die together on an island? Will we embrace before we die? Will anyone die with a smile on their face?
As the truth was revealed, I found that my pain did not stem from a hatred of lies, but from the fact that I did not want to continue depicting his death.
As the waves receded and the guilt gradually dissipated, I realized that my love for him was greater than I had ever imagined.
..
There is no doubt that I love Scotland, but that has nothing to do with him. He has never demanded anything from me, nor has he ever asked me to love him; it is my own unrequited devotion.
I also do not doubt Scotland's feelings for me. I have seen him when he did not love me, so I know that he truly loved me later; I can even pinpoint exactly from which day and which glance he compromised with himself and began to admit his love for me.
He led me into his world. This time, I didn't even need to hesitate before the door; he had already opened it himself, coming out with a smile to welcome me.
I touched his life and saw the true him in another world.
As I touch upon his noble ideals, all I can think of is the reality he will have to face.
The more moved I was by him, the more clearly I saw the cracks in his lofty ideals and the incompatible freedom before my eyes.
Freedom, the future, a brand new life.. He gave his true heart to me, without knowing that I was Aotsuki.
Our lies were mutual; after he opened his heart to me, I even lost the right to continue hating him.
Uncontrollably, I thought of that question again: what exactly has my love brought him?
One day, he will also be like me, standing outside Ikubunkan Academy, feeling the pain of the revealed truth, unable to look into his lover's eyes, only able to stare at the ivy that he knows will wither at some unknown time.
Nothing can surpass the surge of love that rises like an emergency at the moment one discovers the truth; all pain is diluted and faded. I believe every word he told me later; a beautiful future is within reach, yet my original intention was simply to let him be happy.
The expression on his face when he said he would definitely bring Aotsuki to justice was just as focused as the expression he wore when he painted a blueprint of freedom for me.
Aotsuki both does not exist and truly exists; among those who know who is using the name "Aotsuki," there are always those who are not quite dead yet.
If I were lucky enough to obtain all of them—freedom, love, happiness, a future—I wouldn't be trapped in this current dilemma.
Just as No. 59 said, my life being mired in a swamp was never anyone else's fault, but my own choice.
So I fled, just as I fled the Organization back then.
I long for the freedom he depicts, so I leave him.
This is my choice.
Regardless of right or wrong.
**
One year and seven months later.
America.
A large vacuum zone had opened up in the plaza. At a distant street corner, someone poked their head out to take photos but was rebuked and stopped by a police officer. On the ground, pigeons pecked at bread while watching the chaos, leisurely stretching their wings.
In the interval while waiting for the call to connect, Akai Shuichi glanced back. The man sitting on the bench was wearing a dark gray wool coat over a turtleneck sweater; even with several gun barrels pointed at him, he still appeared calm and composed.
It was normal that the call didn't go through; it could be due to a time difference or simply being preoccupied with something important.
Akai Shuichi left a brief message, put away his phone, strode toward the bench.
Don't go near him, this man is extremely dangerous!
It's fine, if he wanted to run, he would have run long ago.
Akai Shuichi walked straight through the perimeter and leaned down to pick up the book. It was the second volume of a detective novel; he had never read it, but he had heard of it, it looked as though it had been flipped through many times.
It had just rained, so even though the plaza had been newly renovated, the ground was still slippery. Akai Shuichi wiped the cover of the book and placed it carefully on the other side of the bench.
"Thank you." The voice of the wanted man sounded from beside him, speaking in Japanese.
The man barely moved, but the muzzle of his gun shifted instantly, as if it were a camera following a movie star, the targeted individual indeed possessed an exceptionally striking appearance.
.. You're welcome." Akai Shuichi met those inorganic gray eyes, pausing for a moment, "You are under arrest, Aotsuki.
The gray-haired young man looked at the book, his tone gentle, said once more, "Thank you."