Sometimes, when he looked out over the blast radius that marked what had once been Shinjuku, he wondered if he could have made a difference. Should he have accepted his destiny and fought alongside them? Could he have held her in his arms and truly loved her, as dim memory told him he once had?
Probably not, he told himself. What could an aspiring medical student have done? Everything that had happened during those months seemed more like a distant dream with each passing day. The sleepwalking, the need to find the mysterious crystal his dreams begged him for, the feeling of death stealing his breathe away; it seemed illusionary, as if he had imagined it all.
But the crater was no dream. The death toll was still listed on the daily news as citizens picked up the remnants of their lives. Images of five girls superimposed over the limp, bleeding bodies found at the edge of the crater flashed incessantly across the screen as the government tried to understand what had happened. They had only been junior high students, yet they were involved in what was considered the second greatest catastrophe outside of the bombings during the war. No one had answers.
Aino Minako, Mizuno Ami, Hino Rei, Kino Makoto, and Tsukino Usagi. He had known them, spoken to them so briefly. They had been so sure of themselves, even though he knew their strange secondary lives had barely begun. Only Usagi had survived the battle in the dripping, dank castle he remembered only as being far away up north; he remembered trying to strangle her with his bare hands and a vile darkness telling him to do it.
He had died. He remembered it clearly, above all else. Death was memorable, when all else seemed pale.
When he was reborn, he seemed to move through a strange delirium that wasn’t accurately living; he acted like Chiba Mamoru, but didn’t recall any of it; he acted like a mysterious thief in the night, but didn’t understand why. He was told that it had been Usagi’s wish for everyone to return to life, to go back as if nothing had happened, but it had been more like a puppet show where he couldn’t control what his body did. Was he supposed to be grateful for such a slow nightmare?
The crater mocked him for his answer.
“The police are certain they’ve found the last of the bodies buried during the collapse of the Shinjuku subway station. In response, the Emperor offered a poem he had written on the fragile nature of life; Parliament took a day of mourning, cutting short a vote to fill Hino’s position in the DLP after the senator himself committed ritual suicide at the shrine of his family, Hikawa. His daughter, Hino Rei, was identified as one of the mysterious five girls found at ground zero.
“Also, several mysterious murders have occurred in the Delta district—“
He couldn’t stand to be near the landscape of his dreams. The Tokyo Tower filled him with dread; Motoki’s arcade was physically impossible for him to enter. No matter what, he could hear her cheerful voice mocking him: “Endymion.” Always that name.
It had been almost half a year since he had firmly but gently pushed her away on a rainy street, saying, “I can’t do this. I don’t love you, Usagi.” And he had meant it, too; despite all of his surreal dreams of white gowns and tender kisses, she was not that girl, and he was not her prince. Even though he knew Prince Endymion was a part of him, had been him, he was now Chiba Mamoru. He was not a prince, and he was most certainly not in love with a clumsy girl who, despite her cuteness and finally endearing nature, was just not someone he could be with. She was too young, too innocent, and it felt wrong to desire a thirteen-year-old girl based on a memory.
She had taken it badly, and he had perhaps been a little harsh in the end, but he had stood firm. He was not some tuxedo-clad crime fighter, and he was certainly not her destined beloved. Phone calls were ignored, and every attempt to talk to him in public was brushed off. “I don’t love you.” Her tears were beautiful and sad, but they finally dried.
Life continued; classes, homework, and a studious ignorance of the news once he realized they were still fighting. He felt the tug of his soul trying to divert his attention, and he buried it under his studies, made easier by his returned insomnia. When that didn’t work, he took sleeping pills and forced himself to sleep.
That last day had been cheerfully sunny. Classes were finished; he had gone with Motoki to a lunch counter they often frequented for quick noodles, near Shinjuku station. Neither of them had been expecting the sounds of an explosion as several brightly clad women appeared on the street, gleefully shattering windows. “We’ve come for the queen!” one of them had laughed as they had sat, frozen on their stools.
Then the girls had arrived; the sailor senshi, hurling the elements and throwing themselves into battle without a thought to their own safety. He remembered Motoki pulling at him, trying to get him to run, even as he fought the desire to join them. It was not his battle.
“Mamoru, run!” Motoki had screamed into his ear, and they finally did join the exodus of people as they fled from the brightly coloured magic destroying everything around them. He looked back only once, to see Sailor Moon high in the air, the crystal in her outstretched hands. She was beautiful then, a goddess beginning to mature.
Whatever she had done, whatever the strange women did, it lifted an entire crowd off their feet and flung them with the force of a bomb. Mamoru was hit by elbows and a head cracked into his jaw; Motoki was buried under so many people, he suffocated before they found him. Most of the crowd blacked out from the sudden change in air pressure, only to wake up to find Shinjuku simply gone, a smoking crater left to mark the spot.
It had not been his battle. Even as the despair threatened to swallow him, he turned away towards the unknown future. Time healed all wounds, as conventional wisdom said.
“Interviews with the superintendent-general of the Metropolitan Police indicate that Aino Minako, one of the five girls found at the crater, considered herself a super-hero called “Sailor V.” Viewers may remember two years ago when such a person was catching criminals and leaving them for the police; this young girl, if such information is correct, was that person, Sailor V.
“The rest of the department has scoffed at such an idea, and recommended the superintendent-general be given a leave of absence.
“The father of Mizuno Ami, the renowned Japanese painter, has gone into seclusion followed an attempt by reporters to corner him at a restaurant—“
Most likely, he would never know who the enemies were who killed them. Such people were unlikely to have traditional addresses you could simply trace; they would remain a mystery. It was better that way.
But the feeling of guilt persisted, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.
The news finally left the story of the five girls and moved on to the sensational murders in the Delta region. While the crater remained, buildings began to grow around it, reclaiming property destroyed. It became a sort of shrine for the dead, even as the city continued to live. Mamoru visited only once, to leave a paper crane for Motoki.
It seemed, however, that he was doomed to remember their names, even as the city forgot; Aino Minako, Mizuno Ami, Hino Rei, Kino Makoto, Tsukino Usagi. Even if the world swallowed everyone, he alone would remember them. He had no need to leave a crane for each of them, when he carried them with him, their faces eternally young in his mind as every day passed. Within his memories, they had found immortality.
In the night, he dreamed that she was waiting for him on the other side.
And she would forgive him.
Fin.
