ETERNAL SUMMER
⸻ 無限には始まりも終わりもなかった

( 8th April 2018 )

     If only Satoru could see the future as clearly as he sees the world around him, then he might have been able to prevent it all. Infinity is a limit too, even if it means that the end has no end. Just like their love for each other, just like the grief they hide away at the bottom of their hearts. This grief, like a translation of the final act of loving someone, haunts them for the rest of their lives. He asks himself, what does it mean to be the strongest if he's not able to do the one thing he's supposed to do? There is no answer. He can only do what he can. Everything else is just an unspoken wish that he carries silently inside him.

The kitchen smells of smoke and citrus as he walks in. Sayuri sits outside on the patio with a cigarette hanging from her lips as she peels an orange. It's a familiar sight, one that he's seen numerous times before, in another place and time. Moonlight spills across her skin and catches the highlights of her hair. She takes a bite of the orange and grimaces. Back then, she never sat alone.

Satoru walks over. "What are you doing at this hour?" he asks. Her gaze turns to him and she smiles as he takes a seat on the empty chair beside her. He opens his mouth expectantly and she slips an orange wedge between his lips. It's sour. She chuckles lightly as his face twists with displeasure.

"No good, right?" she says mournfully and discards the unwanted fruit onto the plate with its skin. "What a waste..."

"You can make juice and add sugar," he tells her. "It doesn't need to go to waste."

She hums thoughtfully and takes a drag from her cigarette. "I suppose you're right." Her gaze drops low and her carmine eyes swim with ghosts beneath her lashes. He reaches over to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear and she turns back to him while he strokes her cheek with the back of his fingers. "What is it?" she asks softly and when she smiles, the apparitions disappear.

That's better, he thinks. "Nothing," he murmurs to her and the night almost swallows his voice. "You just look so..." ( Sad. ) "...beautiful."

She chuckles. "What is it really?" she repeats as if she knows his inner thoughts. Then again, who else but her would know him better than he knows himself?

He savours the moment that hangs between them. The warmth of her face against his hand, the sight of her lips parting with anticipation and the way she looks at him with so much affection that he's not sure he deserves any of it. ( How can he when he's failed her so many times? ) He leans forward to kiss her. The taste of citrus and ash lingers sharply on her tongue. It's bittersweet, just like the memories they cling to, like the way she touches him, like the day they met. "I love you, Sayuri," he whispers and his soul trembles.

"I love you too, Satoru," she says and it's the saddest words he's ever heard. Loving a god is not a death sentence, Karina once said, it's only a tragedy when the god loves you back. The searing ache in his chest is almost unbearable but the thought of him without her is even worse.

Even if she came to him with a face he has never seen, or a voice he has never heard, he would still know her. Despite the centuries that separate them, between the seas and galaxies and moons, there is a pulse that echoes of him and her. This love that binds them for eternity is inevitable, unbounded. Always fated to converge and collide, his inescapable destiny. Like walking into a house and knowing she is home. That she is his home. His soul will always know hers, wait for hers, and love hers. Infinity has no beginning or end, it simply exists through all of time, just like them.

Six years of marriage is a long time but it's not forever. He still wakes up with a sigh of relief to see her lying next to him, still admires the way the soft light of dawn caresses her cheeks. Every morning they get out of bed to brush their teeth, sit in the kitchen for breakfast and make their way to the school classrooms are small miracles he thanks the universe for every day. The brief moments where they run into each other in the hallways or the pranks she sets with the third years on him and the juniors. The arguments they have with the higher-ups in their dingy cellars and coming home exhausted to each other after another day of gruelling missions. He's memorised them all, every pattern and routine, and etched them within his heart.

He recalls the New Year fireworks from the forty-first-floor bar of Park Hyatt. The black cocktail dress she wore and the way her hair cascaded over her shoulders in waves. It's a rare occurrence for her to doll herself up and he thinks it's a waste. Unlike himself who was born into luxury, Sayuri was made for it like an Aphrodite emerging from the white-foamed seas as a goddess of love and beauty. He loves spoiling her with material goods and dresses, indulging in every one of her whims and fancies. The curve of her nape and the glossy cherry-red lipstick she wore. How her eyes sparkled under the luminescence and her smile that set his heart alight in his chest. She deserves a place on the walls of the Louvre, have an entire gallery dedicated to her image like the Mona Lisa.

He had leaned into her then, catching the moonlight on her face with a gentle caress. "I would ask you to marry me again if I could," he tells her.

She turns to him with parted lips, her eyes searching his with heartfelt yearning. He sees his past, present and future reflected in her vivid cerise gaze. "Just being here with you is enough for me," she says softly and her hand reaches for his. "This is more than enough."

At that moment, he didn't care for anything else. Not the vengeful curse that held them within its clutches, not the woes of the life of a sorcerer, the duties that bound them to their clans or even the conventions of the entire society that they live in. All he sees is her and the love that they held for each other that was as unshakeable as the cosmogony of this world. He wants to hold that moment in the axiom of his infinity and immortalise it within the perpetual relativity of their souls. That night they went back to their room and made love on the carpet under the sparkling lights. Her body wrapped around his, every inch of skin pressed together limb to limb, the way she held his name between her teeth. His fingers traced every quiver of her body as the fireworks bloomed above them in the night sky and the taste of her was the only delicacy that he craved.

When did he start thinking that nothing could go wrong?

Satoru parks his McLaren coupé in front of the house and confirms the reservation he's made at his family's hotel. The name AKIRA appears on his screen, a keepsake from the sister he lost so many years ago. The notification from the staff informs him that the entire restaurant on the observation tower has been booked for their dinner tonight. He picks up the bouquet of camellias and roses from the front seat, hoping to surprise Sayuri for her birthday, and kills the V-8 engine. There's a fond smile on his lips as he remembers her awestruck face when he first drove the car home and took her for a ride in the city.

He thinks the change of scenery will be good for them both; that there's more to life than their repetitive labours of exorcism and uninspiring meetings with old men who sit on their lofty pedestals with their cut-throat schemes. He has everything prepared for a perfectly intimate night ahead and he inhales the cool spring evening as he steps out of the car. His eyes fall on the dim windows of the house, the still air devoid of her usual bustling energy. The smile slips from his face and disquiet slowly settles on his features.

Satoru quickly walks into the house to find it empty. The floors are cold and not a light was on in any of the rooms. He checks the kitchen to find it deserted and the peeled oranges from last night still sit on the table outside. The sun is setting low and the last vestiges of light cling to the dusky sky in a shade of burnished gold. He sets the bouquet on the countertop and pulls out his phone from his pocket. He scrolls past several messages that he ignores but doesn't see any from her. He tries calling her several times but she doesn't pick up. Satoru remembers her leaving in the mid-afternoon for a mission but she should have been back by now.

She always came back.

He taps his contacts and raises the phone to his ear. A nervous voice picks up on the end of the line. "Have you seen Sayuri?" he asks as he struggles to keep his voice even.

Ichiji seems surprised. "Is she not back yet? She left for a mission hours ago... and there's nothing else on her schedule as far as I know."

"Where was the mission?" Satoru questions.

"Koga, Ibaraki," he answers and Satoru frowns. He's been to Ibaraki with her before to view the peach blossom festival. She wouldn't have needed to travel there conventionally and she certainly would have no trouble traversing her gates back home.

"Ichiji, ask everyone if they've seen her today," Satoru says imperatively as he walks to the door. "Call me as soon as you hear something!"

He hangs up and immediately activates his technique when he's outside. His cursed energy surges around him, infinity converges to his will, and it takes him north across the countryside. The dirt path he lands on is a familiar one, he's walked its length with her before through the sprawling park. He looks around and finds the peach blossoms still in full bloom around the adjacent lake. Traces of her residuals stipples the ground and he follows the trail to a sloping hill overlooking the village. The barren clearing seems to have been abandoned long ago and only a lone cypress tree stands in its middle.

He tries calling her again and starts when he hears a ringtone nearby. Satoru approaches and the ringing grows louder. Her phone lies there in the grass and he picks it up with a chill that seeps into his bones. "Sayuri..." He clutches the phone and surveys the area, calling out her name. "Sayuri, where are you?!"

There's only silence that greets him. He strains his eyes but there isn't a single trace of cursed energy around him and her residuals have mysteriously disappeared. His phone rings and he picks it up to Ichiji's concerned voice. "Gojo-san, we haven't seen or heard from Sayuri but..." He hesitates.

"What is it?" Satoru snaps impatiently.

"Some managers have spotted her gates," he said. "There's one in Shinjuku, another in Kyoto..." Satoru frowns in confusion. Why would she...

He uses his infinity to bring himself back to Tokyo and starts with Shinjuku. Her gate is easy to find, it percolates the air with its immense cursed energy and it bothers him. The black torii gate looms high over him like the yawning mouth of an abyss. She barely uses Hell's Gate unless she needs to. There is something sinister about it that repels every atom of his being but he thrusts a hand through its rippling surface and forces himself down its nefarious paths. Kyoto. Sendai. Tōhoku. Hiroshima. Sakurajima. All six gates of hell are placed in crucibles of cursed energy or prefectures with a history of natural disasters. He finally traverses back to Shinjuku where the neon lights and flashing billboards of the city greet him once more. The breeze blows through his hair and the bustle of the streets below replaces the emptiness of the void. There's no sign of her anywhere.

Satoru turns sharply when the gate ripples behind him and his heart seizes with her name lodged in his throat like a jewel. A figure steps through and a sigh of devastation escapes him through deflated shoulders. Homura looks at him wearing a perturbed frown of his own. "So you're aware," he says when he sees him. "Good."

"Do you know where she is?" Satoru asks hopefully.

Homura is quiet in that brooding way of his. "This evening..." he starts. "I felt her cursed energy within the sacred shrine. When I went down, the barriers were activated and it took me a while to get through them. By the time I reached the sanctum, she and the Prison Realm were gone but... she left this behind." From the front of his ebony kimino he pulled out a small ornate mirror decorated grotesquely with shrivelled hands and eyes. "You have any idea what this is?"

"No," Satoru answers. "What is it?"

"I wouldn't be asking if I knew," Homura retorts. "The good news is that as long as the gates are open, she's not using the Prison Realm to seal herself again, but there might be bad news. I followed her gates to reach here and I saw Heaven's Gate briefly open in Sendai. Has she been able to open both gates at once?"

Satoru thinks back with a frown. "No... she always alternates between them when she has to."

"That's not a good sign." Homura slips the mirror back into the folds of his kimono. "The only person within the history of our lineage who could open all twelve gates of heaven and hell died one thousand years ago before divulging its secrets." The air turns frigid as Satoru's eyes widen with realisation. "You know where I'm going with this, don't you?"

He feels his breaths grow shallow and icy trepidation immobilizes him. His mind churns for an answer or a clue, but all he sees are the last six years of his life. The cloying taste of aged sake on her lips and the snow-white shiromuku she wore, the endless azure skies of the Sunda Isles and her salt-stained hair dripping between his fingers. The intoxicating warmth of her bare body against his and her wine-stained lips that spoke lifetimes of yearnful prayers. How she drew constellations across his skin and recited verses with her eyes. To drown within the oceans and tides of her heart that came back to his with every wave that broke against the shore of time. He holds the memories in the palms of his hands, each second like a grain of sand suspended within his infinity, and he can't let go. He can't let this love turn to grief too.

Where did he go wrong again?

( 8 Hours Earlier )

     "Me-gu-mi!"

Sayuri crushes the boy in a bone-breaking hug that causes him to squirm within her grasp. He attempts to swat her away but her hold on him is unyielding. The third-year seniors snicker behind her gleefully and she finally releases him, only to seize his shoulders to give him a once-over with her eyes. The new uniform he wears is simple and reminiscent of the one Satoru wore in his youth albeit with a minor adjustment to the collar. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought it was a hand-me-down. It makes her nostalgic, thinking of the bright blue skies of her schooldays. She hopes Megumi could experience the same and she wishes him a summer that lasts longer than theirs.

He seems to have grown a few inches taller over the last few months and she has to adjust her gaze upwards to look at him now. Sayuri is no woman of small stature, standing at five feet and seven inches without heels, and it feels like only yesterday when she was packing his school lunches in the cramped apartment of Saitama while Tsumiki lies ill in bed. She feels a stab of guilt for not visiting more often than she should but the last year had not been kind to them all.

"How's Tsumiki?" she quietly asks.

His response is short and brief, "No change."

Sayuri swiftly changes the subject and plasters a smile onto her face. "And how was your initiation with Principal Yaga?" she questions and her eyes gleam with the likeness of a proud parent. "Did he set any of his cursed corpses on you too?"

"It was okay," he answers stiffly and wriggles free from her grasp. She reaches out to him but he swats her away once more. "Stop it, you're embarrassing me!" he hisses in irritation.

It doesn't faze her one bit and she laughs as she waves a hand. "Kinji, Kirara, Kurumi, say hello to your cute new junior."

"Will you stop—" He halts mid-sentence and shrinks away when the third-years swiftly crowd around him.

Kirara and Kurumi start examining him closely, picking at his unruly hair, while Kinji throws an arm around his shoulder. "Do you feel the fire of sorcery in your veins, Megumi-kun?" the older boy questions with an enclosed fist in the air. "Are you ready to set your soul ablaze in the name of a jujutsu sorcerer?"

Megumi looks scandalized. "Huh?"

"Don't worry, Megumi-chan," Kurumi touches a hand to her chest in reassurance. "We, your noble seniors, will lead you on the straight and righteous path of becoming a jujutsu sorcerer."

"You'll never feel alone when you have us to support you," Hoshi adds and Megumi looks at them as if he's just walked into a circus. The wacky trio pull him down the corridor and Megumi looks over his shoulder at Sayuri with an accusatory glare. She crosses her arms with a wide grin on her face as she watches them disappear around a corner.

"You're almost as bad as that idiot now." She turns at the sound of Shoko's voice as the woman saunters up to her. She plucks the lollipop from her mouth with a questioning glance. "Teaching has gone to your head."

"I'm everyone's favourite teacher," Sayuri defends herself. Though her methods were known to be unorthodox, she believes it the most effective. After all, she's the last in line to prepare the youths of the next generation for the cruel world that they inhabit. The last stand at the Battle of Thermopylae against the legions of grief that will undoubtedly overwhelm them one day. She has to instil the strength of will and resolve in them to continue picking themselves up whenever they fall, to fight tooth and nail against the injustices of this world instead of succumbing to them. If not, then the creed she inherited would have been for nought. The scars on her back would just be mere decorations and the tears she spilt swallowed within the deep trenches.

"Well, you must be relieved that Megumi is finally here," Shoko observes. "Time sure flies, huh?"

They start down the hallway towards the back of the school and Sayuri pulls out her pack of cigarettes. Shoko had quit a couple of years back but she still accompanies Sayuri during her lunch breaks when they bump into each other. "Stop, it makes me feel old," Sayuri remarks. "I can't believe it's been more than ten years."

"You're old," Shoko states with an amused smirk. They stop behind the medical building and Sayuri leans against the wall as she lights a cigarette. "You're both getting old. I'm surprised your in-laws haven't started harassing you for a grandchild yet."

"Why do you think we moved out?" Sayuri laughs. "And when will you tie the knot? It's your turn, Shoko, you caught my bouquet at my wedding."

"Sorry but I threw it out," she retorted. "Get Karina to stop running away on her wedding days and I'll consider it. What is it, like her fourth one now?"

Sayuri shrugs. "I lost count of all her scandals." She feels her phone vibrate in her pocket and pulls it out. Her eyes briefly scan the text message she received and she lets out a sigh. "Great, another mission."

She stubs her cigarette out underfoot and considers grabbing a light lunch from the cafeteria beforehand. Shoko bids her goodbye. "Tell that idiot to drop by once in a while," she says. "Oh, and happy birthday!"

Sayuri blinks in surprise, having completely forgotten about the fact. She utters a thanks and farewell before they part ways. Usually, Satoru would have said something the night before or this morning. He knows things like birthdays and anniversaries always slip her mind.

It was only four months ago she had celebrated Satoru's birthday in the early throes of winter. A brief moment of respite to forget what would inevitably come to pass when Christmas arrives. The sprawling winter festivals of Sapporo was filled with multi-coloured lights and trees swathed in sparkling ornaments, with snow and ice sculptures on display serving to awe and inspire visitors. The winter chill that seeped into the wools of her socks as she buried her hands deep into Satoru's coat pockets for the hot packs he took from her. Shivering in front of the Family Mart as she smokes a cigarette while he sinks his teeth into fried chicken.

She remembers the snow crystals that clung in secret to his lashes, concealing themselves in the silver strands of his hair. His pale skin that felt cold and smooth like alabaster, and his lips adorned with the softest of angel kisses. As if he was sculpted by the hands of Michelangelo himself, the Pietà of her sixth sorrow, carven from the highest-grade Carrara luna marble. He could have stood in the middle of the plaza and everyone would flock to admire his beauty. He belonged in the halls of Saint Peter's Basilica at the height of the Italian Renaissance and she would have knelt at his altarpiece in fervent worship, kissing his feet as if he had walked through the very streets of Golgotha himself. The cathedral of her heart sings a litany in his name and in his oceanic eyes, she sees the inexorable sorrow reflected within.

How did she never see it before?

She looks at him as if he is the sun in the entire sky and she forgets how it is the loneliest star in the galaxy. He walks the earth as a god amongst men but when he touches her, she can feel the beat of his heart that is as fallible as hers. His shuddering breaths when she wraps herself around him, the violet bruise on his skin when she suckles hard against his neck. The red welts she leaves when she rakes her nails across his back, the blood that seeps from his lips when she kisses him with teeth and vice. She eats the blessed sacrament of his flesh from his consecrated body and it is holy. She is a slave to his faith. He sacrifices himself for her sins and offers her salvation. The love she holds for him is reverent and she devotes her body, heart and soul to his otherworldly divinity.

But there are moments when she is reminded of his tragic mortality. When he sits alone and his hair drinks the moonlight, when his eyes are lost within the very seas and galaxies and moons that he holds at his fingertips. He looks so alone at times that it breaks her heart knowing that he stands on a pedestal that she crafted for him with her own hands. She would hold him in her arms and carry him back to the ground with her for just a brief moment. As if she does not want to come to terms with his humanity when that would equate to his impermanence. Knowing that one day she might hold him in her arms with all the breath stolen from his lungs, that she might never hear his voice or taste the sanctity of his lips once more. The thought of it is unbearable but there's nothing she can do.

It disturbs her profoundly and Sayuri halts in the middle of the corridor to pull her phone out. Tapping her first speed dial, she brings the receiver close to her ear. She hears his voice and her body shivers. "Satoru..."

"What is it?" he asks and she can hear his grin through the line. "Did you miss me?" His cheeky laugh that follows makes her smile instinctually.

She starts back down the corridor. "I'm going on a mission this afternoon," she tells him.

"Make sure you come back home on time," he says. "There's something I want to show you."

Ah, he's planned something, she thinks in realisation. That's why he hasn't said a word about today to her yet. "Of course I will, I promise," she says while feigning ignorance. "See you later."

She hangs up and sees Ichiji waiting for her in front of the main building. He has a file in hand which he briefly runs through with her. Over the last year, several people have gone to a certain hill to hang themselves. Each one devastated by the grief of a loved one; a lover, a child, a friend or a parent. The Grade One cursed spirit that now haunts the area is said to have appeared suddenly and without any certain cause. She thinks it strange but brushes it off. It'll be exorcised by herself shortly anyway. Sayuri notes the location: Koga, Ibaraki. She remembers visiting with Satoru years ago and opens a gate to usher her away.

The peach blossoms are still in full bloom, deep vivid blooms of pinks and reds surround her in a floral mist. The festivals are over but there are still stalls and viewing tables in the park. However, it's strangely empty at this hour of the day. She doesn't see anyone else around her though she doesn't need to ask for directions when the hill can be easily spotted from the main path. It's the only cypress tree standing on the barren slope with its jutting and gnarled branches. She wonders how many centuries of heartache the tree has witnessed in its lifetime as her feet stop beneath its tall boughs and she frowns. There are no cursed spirits here.

She starts at the sound of footsteps and whirls around, only to be met by familiar amber eyes. Her heart stills in her chest, the breath leaves her lungs and her knees almost buckle before her. Sayuri leans against the dark bark of the tree and rubs her eyes. A ghost, no, she feels his cursed energy in the air reaching out to her. She stumbles back disoriented with disbelief.

"It's been a while, hasn't it, Sayuri?" he speaks and she wants to pierce her eardrums. "I was hoping to see you again."

Her name sounds like a curse from his lips. Suguru walks toward her and every fibre of her being wants to flee. She buried him with her own hands, she tossed the soil over his grave and planted flowers around it. "This isn't real..." she whispers. "You're not real."

He stands in front of her and his body is whole. The arm he lost to Yuta has regenerated but there's a clean incision running across his temple held with stitches. "Aren't you going to greet an old friend?" he asks. "I'm so sad."

She inhales sharply and throws her hand out in a seal. "You're not Suguru... who the hell are you to wear his face?!"

"Am I not?" he questions. "Don't you remember the nights we spent in the kitchen, eating oranges and looking at the moon? It makes me so nostalgic."

Her soul revolts at his words as his tongue defiles the memory of her closest friend. Disgust pools in the corners of her lips and her belly seethes with a tempest of cursed energy. "Shut the fuck up," she snarls as her hands tremble in fury.

He sighs and says, "Oh, well, I tried." His hand reaches into the folds of the robes he wears and he pulls out a mirror. Its decorated hideously with dismembered hands that have withered from age and unseeing eyes that mirrored infernal voids. She backs away with a perturbed frown. "Have you ever heard of the Shaman-Queen Himiko? She ruled these lands when it was once called Yamatai during the Yayoi era. Many scholars believe she and Yamatohime-no-mikoto who founded the Grand Shrine of Ise are one and the same, both blessed by the sun goddess Amaterasu. The truth was that they are the same."

Sayuri's frown deepens with contempt. "What?"

"You see, this mirror has a peculiar way of looking into a person's soul," he tells her. "Sometimes, two souls can even inhabit one body. Do you want to see?"

Before she could react, he holds the mirror aloft and she sees her own reflection within the glass. Then, slowly, like a snake rising from the grass, the reflection tilts its head to the side and a smile slowly spreads across her face. Sayuri raises a hand to her mouth but the reflection in the mirror continues to smile at her. She takes a sharp breath and blinks, then finds herself within a void. The grass beneath her feet turns to rippling glass that flows like water. Her reflection stands in front of her but is dressed in an intricate white kimono. Her long dark hair falls over her back to the floor and identical red eyes stare back at her. She raises a hand to her mouth and chuckles wickedly in a voice that Sayuri does not recognise as her own.

The ground swallows her and she plunges into an abyss. She cries out and claws at the void that encases her, yelling into an endless emptiness as she treads obsidian waters. No... this can't be happening, she thinks. She promised Satoru she would go home on time, she promised him that she would come back. Her screams go unheard within the bleak nothingness that traps her soul. She sees the stars through the glassy surface of that infinite void as she sinks below, how faraway and distant they look yet they have always felt so near to her. Within his eyes, the universe comes to life and she breathes its dust from his hallowed lips. Eternity exists within an hour and he holds infinity in the palm of his hand. She sees heaven in a wildflower and the world in a grain of sand. Her soul was always meant for his, her inescapable destiny, and it aches even now to return to him. She can't leave him like this, not again, she can't let him be alone.

How could she have let this happen again?

The man watches the woman on the ground stir. The blades of grass stroke her body as she rouses, sable hair falling across her back. She turns to him, her eyes aglow with newfound clarity and vividness. Crimson irises flicker under the waning sunlight and she laughs. "Kenjaku, isn't it?"

He smiles. "Welcome back, O Blessed Mother of Curses."