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Moon - XVIII

The arcana is the means by which all is revealed. 

The path before humanity is a labyrinth of uncertainty shrouded in darkness. Mortals fear what lies beyond, yet they create illusions to hide from the truth. The Moon reflects a borrowed light, offering guidance that is both deceptive and incomplete. Is this not humanity’s nature? To wander in darkness, swayed by fleeting dreams, refusing to confront the void within? Will they continue forward, knowing that the answers they seek may only deepen the abyss?

The late evening sun filtered through the red torii gates of Naganaki Shrine, its amber light painting the stone path in hues of blood and gold. The air was heavy with the crisp chill of winter, yet the stillness of the shrine felt timeless, unyielding to the march of the seasons.

He hadn’t intended to stop here. He never did. But something about the quiet always pulled him in—a faint echo of peace, perhaps, or the lingering ghosts of a time he no longer dared to remember.

As he ascended the stone steps, he caught sight of a figure slouched against the offertory box. A boy—too gaunt for his age, too tense for someone sitting in a place meant for prayer. The kid looked up at the sound of his boots scuffing against the stone, his sharp, wary eyes taking in the figure standing before him.

Nozomi Suemitsu, the visitor realized. The so-called Gourmet King. He’d heard about the kid before—one of the many strange personalities orbiting Makoto. He remembered brushing it off at the time, but now, standing here, he couldn’t help but notice the tension in the boy’s posture, the faint sheen of sweat on his brow.

“Am… Am I in your way?” Suemitsu stammered, his voice a mix of nervousness and suspicion.

He stopped a few feet away, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. He shook his head slowly, his gruff tone carrying none of the hostility Suemitsu seemed to expect. “Nah. Just passin’ through.”

Suemitsu relaxed slightly, though not entirely. His eyes flickered over the young man’s form, something about him tugging at the edge of familiarity. “You look familiar. Are you a Gekkoukan student too?”

A shadow passed over his face, his gaze hardening. “Was. That was a year ago.”

For a moment, neither spoke, the silence punctuated only by the distant caw of crows and the rustling of leaves. Finally, Suemitsu spoke, his voice hesitant. “Are you here to pray?”

He blinked, caught off guard by the question. He glanced at the offertory box, then at the boy. “Something like that.”

Suemitsu tilted his head. “Prayin’ for what?”

“Forgiveness.” The word left his lips like a sigh, heavy and sharp. He turned his eyes to the sky, his expression unreadable.

Suemitsu shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling the weight of the man’s presence. “Yeah,” he muttered, staring at the ground. “I’m here for that, too.”

The intimidating teen studied the boy, his sharp gaze softening for the briefest of moments. “You know, Yuki told me about you.”

The mention of the name sent a jolt through Suemitsu. His head snapped up, his mouth hanging open. “Makoto? You… you know him?”

He nodded, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah. I live in the same dorm. He used to talk about your ‘misadventures.’ Said you were a real character.”

Suemitsu’s face flushed with equal parts embarrassment and pride. He straightened up, puffing out his chest. “Well, yeah! The Gourmet King, they call me. No one knows food better than I do.”

Both had been helped by the enigmatic Wild Card. A name unspoken yet understood—a presence that lingered in their lives like the faint scent of rain after a storm.

“He saved me,” Suemitsu said, his voice steady but tinged with gratitude. “I was so blind to the truth, but he showed me how to stand on my own two feet. How to stop running.”

His gaze narrowed, though not unkindly. “That right? Kid’s got a knack for that, huh?” He shifted his weight, the leather of his coat creaking as he leaned against the nearby stone pillar. “Still… he’s a danger magnet if I’ve ever seen one. Trouble’s always circling him like a damn vulture.”

Suemitsu let out a short warm laugh. “Yeah, I’ve thought the same thing. It’s like he’s cursed and blessed all at once. Wherever he goes, things just… happen. But somehow, he always pulls through. Always.”

Aragaki huffed, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Sounds like him. He’s a stubborn little shit. Reminds me of someone else I know, annoying as hell but would risk his life for you in a heartbeat.”

For a moment, the two stood in silence, bound by their shared connection to the boy who had touched their lives in ways neither could fully put into words. The wind rustled the leaves above, the faint echoes of the shrine offering a kind of solace neither had expected to find here.

Suemitsu grinned, but it faltered as he looked back at his new gourmet friend. There was something in his eyes—something haunted, like a man walking around with the weight of another life on his shoulders. “You said… forgiveness,” Suemitsu ventured. “What for?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted toward the torii gates, the red paint peeling at the edges, before returning to the boy. His voice, when he spoke, was quieter, tinged with a sorrow that cut through the chill air.

“For the ones I couldn’t save… my brother and sister.”

The confession landed like a stone in Suemitsu’s chest, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, words failing him. What could he say to someone carrying that much pain?

“I… I’m sorry,” he managed, though he wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say.

The proceeding silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, though. It was the kind of silence that came with understanding, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. For all his flaws, Suemitsu understood loss—understood the weight it left behind.

“I think… I think we pray for the same thing,” Suemitsu said at last, “Forgiveness. For the things we’ve done, and the things we couldn’t do.” He hesitated, his fingers curling slightly as if grasping for something unseen. “I… I lost my brother too. He was my younger twin brother, but he died from food poisoning when we were in the eighth grade.”

The trench coat wearing teen shifted slightly, his gaze sharpening at the boy’s confession, though he said nothing.

“Since then, I’ve been trying to copy him,” Suemitsu continued, his voice growing heavier. “He was good at everything—better than me at everything. I thought if I could find something I was good at, maybe… maybe it would feel like he wasn’t really gone. But nothing worked. Nothing except eating, that is.”

Nothing worked for the man. He tried to honor his brother’s memory, but he could only see the smile on his face as he died in his arms.

He gave a small nod. “I caused an incident that ruined a kid’s way of life,” he admitted. “That kid despised life so much that he swore vengeance against me, only to have another role model taken from him. I should be the one dead, but my annoying brother got in the way and took a bullet for me. He’s… with his sister now.”

Suemitsu’s breath hitched, his eyes widening as he stared at the older teen. The realization struck him like a hammer. He had been there—he had seen it, even if only from the sidelines. Makoto’s deadened gaze flashed in his memory, hollow and distant, the look of someone who had lost yet another piece of himself. 

October 5th, the funeral of Akihiko Sanada. 

It was a gut wrenching affair. Sanada had many fans and admirers. His death saddened the hearts of many.

“I didn’t see you there,” Suemitsu said.

The man didn’t flinch, but the faint flicker in his eyes was enough. He said nothing, the silence between them speaking louder than words ever could.

When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than Suemitsu expected. “You can’t change what’s already done. No one can. But carryin’ that weight? That’s what makes you human. If you’re lookin’ for forgiveness, it starts with learnin’ to forgive yourself.”

Suemitsu blinked, taken aback by the unexpected wisdom in his gruff voice. “Forgive… myself?”

The man nodded, his gaze steady. “Ain’t easy. Hell, I’m still tryin’ to figure out how to do it myself. But if you’re still breathin’, you’ve got a shot at makin’ things right—one way or another.”

He turned to leave, but before he hit the stairs, Suemitsu called out to him. 

“Wait!”

He stopped at the arch and looked over his shoulder, his expression intense.

“I… I wanted to know your name.”

There was a moment of silence. “Shinjiro,” he said. “Shinjiro Aragaki.”