...09/10/2009 Friday; Night...
The moonlight streamed through Hiro's bedroom window, silver and silent, laying itself over the books scattered across the desk and the clutter covering the floor.
The room had the smell of someone too busy to tidy up—old paper, dust, and the faint metallic aroma coming from the weapons hanging near the door.
The kukri, in its sheath, rested beside Shinjiro's axe. Both blades clean. Cared for. Waiting.
The door opened with a shove of his shoulder. Hiro entered carrying a cardboard box, his face contorted in a grunt of effort as he balanced the load with one hand. The box was big enough to hide half his torso.
He crossed the room, and with a brusque swing of his arm he pushed the pile of books off the desk. The volumes tumbled to the floor with a series of dull thuds, pages open, covers flipped.
The box came down on the desk with a hollow sound. Hiro opened the flaps carefully, and the contents revealed themselves little by little: sandpaper of different grits, contact adhesive, rolled leather strips, a measuring tape, and a fine-toothed hacksaw.
He ran his eyes over the tools, his gaze attentive. "All right... looks like everything's here."
Then he looked at the axe.
The tightness came before he could stop it. A knot in his chest, rising up his throat.
The weapon hanging on the wall seemed bigger now—bigger than when Shinjiro wielded it. Bigger than anything Hiro felt he had the right to touch.
It was the weapon of a brother who had fallen.
He swallowed hard. The steps to the wall were slow. Each one weighed. When he stopped before the axe, his eyes traveled over the blade—the edge that still cut the air, the battle marks that told stories only he knew. He reached out and touched the handle.
His fingers slid over the worn leather. He measured the length with his eyes, then with his hand, mentally marking where the cut should be made.
His head tilted slightly to the side. How much would be enough?
Because he had other plans. Plans that went beyond simply shortening the handle.
Hiro breathed deeply. The air filled his chest and left slowly. He took the axe with one hand and with the other pulled the kukri from its sheath.
He raised them before his eyes.
"Great..." His voice came out steady. He turned toward the desk. "...time to get to work."
Hiro walked to the desk and laid the two weapons on the wooden surface.
The weight of the axe made the table tremble slightly. The kukri, placed beside it, seemed insignificant compared to the other weapon.
Hiro rested his hands on the edge of the desk and stood observing the axe for a few seconds.
Then he pulled the box closer.
With a focused look, he took out the measuring tape and extended the metal strip.
He held one end against the junction between the handle and the axe head, then unrolled the rest until he reached the pommel.
His eyes followed the markings, traveling slowly along the length of the handle.
That was when he noticed something that had gone unnoticed.
The material covering the grip had a peculiar texture. It seemed to be some kind of non-slip silicone, with small markings distributed along its surface.
Hiro ran his thumb over them, feeling the difference under his fingertip.
"Hmm... It's about a meter seventy... That's almost my height."
He tilted his head, observing once again the absurd length of the weapon.
"How did I manage to use this with one hand that time?"
Hiro let the air out through his nose and put the measuring tape away.
"Well, I think this is good enough."
He picked up the kukri with one hand and carefully positioned it against the handle's covering.
With a controlled motion, he pressed the blade and tore a small strip of the non-slip material.
The cut revealed the surface underneath.
Hiro pulled the kukri away and placed it on the desk. Then he took the hacksaw from the box.
Before starting, he measured once more the point where he intended to cut.
His eyes alternated between the marking and the pommel of the axe. A crooked cut could make installing the new piece difficult, and he wasn't willing to ruin the weapon over such a simple mistake.
He adjusted the position of the saw.
Only then did he begin.
Shhk... shhk... shhk...
The sound of the saw sliding against the metal spread through the dorm, breaking the silence of the room.
Hiro kept the rhythm.
With each movement, the saw's teeth bit a little deeper into the handle.
Small metallic particles broke loose and fell onto the desk, while the harsh noise reverberated in his ears.
Shhk... shhk... shhk...
His arms worked without rest. The motion demanded strength and patience, and a thin layer of sweat began to appear on his forehead.
He gritted his teeth and kept sawing.
The blade advanced slowly, deepening the groove until the remaining piece of the handle began to give way.
Hiro adjusted his grip and took a few more passes, concentrating his strength into the motion.
Until— "Ugh!"
With one last grunt of effort, the saw cut through the metal.
The severed piece came loose, rolled across the desk, and fell to the floor with a dry clatter.
Hiro stopped the motion and spent a few seconds breathing deeply, his hand still resting on the axe.
Then he put the hacksaw back in the box and picked up the measuring tape again.
He repeated the initial procedure, positioning the end against the head of the weapon and extending the strip to the freshly cut pommel.
His eyes traveled over the markings.
Until... a proud little smile appeared on his lips.
"One meter twenty..." Hiro put the measuring tape away and nodded. "Much better."
At that moment, footsteps from the hallway caught Hiro's attention.
He turned his head toward the door and saw Fuuka enter his room.
She carried his coat in her arms, holding the fabric carefully as she approached the desk.
"I heard the sound of the saw. Are you done?"
Hiro raised his eyes and opened a small smile, shaking his head.
"No, I just cut the handle. I still have to sand the end to fit a new pommel. And put some things on the handle."
"Ahh... I see."
Fuuka nodded, smiling faintly. Then she looked at the axe on the desk.
"I'll wait for you to finish soon. We have to see if the hook will hold the weight of the axe."
Hiro responded with a nod before turning his attention back to the weapon.
Meanwhile, Fuuka walked to his bed and sat down, settling the coat on her lap.
From the desk, she watched Hiro take a piece of sandpaper from the box. He braced the axe firmly and began working on the freshly cut end of the handle.
The sandpaper slid repeatedly against the metal, removing the irregularities left by the saw. Hiro turned the piece from time to time, checking the result before continuing.
Fuuka, however, gradually stopped paying attention to his work.
Her fingers tightened on the fabric of the coat.
The recent events returned to her mind, one after another.
The conversation they had all had still echoed in her thoughts, bringing with it a worry she had been trying to ignore.
The Strega were still out there.
And, after what had happened to Shinjiro, it was hard to believe they would simply give up.
When the time came to face the last Shadow Arcana, it was quite possible they would show up again to try to stop them.
Fuuka lowered her gaze.
Her shoulders contracted discreetly, and she took a deep breath before gathering the courage to speak.
"Hiro..."
"Hmm? What is it?"
Hiro didn't raise his head. He blew on the surface he had just sanded, brushing away the metallic dust, and examined the result.
Fuuka hesitated.
"Do you... think the Strega will still come after me?"
Hiro's movement stopped.
For an instant, it was as if all the warmth had abandoned his body.
His fingers tightened on the handle, while Fuuka's question opened the way to a memory he would rather keep buried.
Shinjiro fallen on the ground.
The blood spreading around his body, staining the concrete as his presence vanished before his eyes.
And, behind that image, a laugh.
A macabre laugh, laden with mockery.
Takaya.
That wretched face, with the sneering smile of someone who believed himself above any consequence, surfaced in the back of his mind.
Hiro gritted his teeth.
The hand holding the axe remained rigid for a few seconds, until he closed his eyes and breathed in slowly through his nose.
When he opened them again, the memory was still there, but he managed to push it far enough away to refocus on the present.
Not quite knowing what to answer, Hiro shrugged and reached his hand toward the box.
His fingers searched among the materials until they found a long strip of leather and a bottle of contact adhesive resin.
He placed the bottle on the desk and raised the axe, examining the handle while trying to organize his own thoughts.
"I... I don't know." His voice came out lower than he intended. "They don't know you're the navigator. And from what Ken said, the Strega think the navigator is him."
Fuuka remained in silence, watching him from the bed.
Hiro adjusted the position of the axe in his hands, but before continuing, his eyes drifted to the window in front of the desk.
The glass reflected his face.
For a few seconds, he stared at his own reflection, his expression closed and his fingers motionless on the grip.
"But..." His jaw contracted. "...they're going to do everything they can to stop us."
Hiro took a deep breath before picking up the bottle of adhesive resin. He unscrewed the cap and, carefully, applied a small amount to the end of the handle, exactly where the silicone coating began.
Then he picked up the strip of leather.
He fastened one end near the base and began weaving it around the handle, wrapping it little by little. His fingers pulled the material tight with each turn, keeping it firm against the surface to prevent it from coming loose.
Turn after turn, the leather covered the handle.
But no matter how much Hiro kept his eyes on the work, his thoughts remained elsewhere.
On that face.
Takaya's sneering smile was still etched in his memory.
The way that bastard had acted... as if taking Shinjiro's life meant absolutely nothing.
Hiro's fingers tightened on the leather strip.
What would Takaya be capable of doing to stop them from ending the Dark Hour?
How far would he go?
Hiro didn't know. And it was precisely that uncertainty consumed him.
"We can't just sit still..."
His voice broke the silence. Though he kept working, there was a different firmness in his tone.
"If what they want is war... then they're going to get one."
Fuuka raised her head immediately.
"Huh...? Wait, what are you going to...?"
Hiro glanced sideways at her. And Fuuka stopped talking.
That look...
Hiro's eyes were fixed on her for only an instant, but it was enough to make her feel a chill run down her spine.
There was something deeply disturbing in that expression. A raw hostility, a thirst for blood she had rarely seen in him.
It wasn't just anger.
Fuuka knew how important Shinjiro was to him. She knew how much Hiro cared about his S.E.E.S. companions and how far he would go to protect them.
But that...
That look made it seem like he was willing to...
Hiro turned his attention back to the axe and continued adjusting the leather, tightening each turn with precise movements.
"They have to pay for what they did." The strip creaked between his fingers. "Not to mention that, if the Dark Hour continues... a lot of innocent people will keep dying from Apathy Syndrome."
Fuuka pressed the coat against her lap.
"But... won't that... make us like..."
BAM!
Hiro's fist struck the desk so hard that the tools jumped on the wood.
Fuuka flinched on the bed. Her heart racing in her chest.
For a few seconds, she couldn't do anything but stare at Hiro.
His arm remained braced on the desk. His fingers were clenched, and the muscles in his forearm trembled under the pressure. His breathing came out heavy.
Then he turned to her.
His eyes burned with rage.
"There's no such thing as being like them!" Hiro's voice exploded through the room. "If we just sit back with our arms crossed, they're going to kill us all!"
The scream reverberated off the dorm walls.
And then... Silence.
A suffocating silence took over the room.
Hiro kept staring at Fuuka, his chest rising and falling rapidly. She, in turn, remained motionless, her eyes wide and her fingers gripping the fabric over her lap.
Neither of them said a word.
It was as if both were still trying to understand what had just happened.
Hiro felt his throat tighten.
The image of Takaya surfaced before his eyes again, accompanied by that unbearable smile.
For an instant, the man's face seemed to superimpose itself over everything in front of him, feeding the fury that burned inside him.
His fingers trembled.
But, little by little, the image began to fade.
The smile dissolved.
The contours of the face lost their sharpness, until the memory finally gave way to reality.
Fuuka.
She was still looking at him. Frightened.
Her eyes wide, her lips half-open, as if she had something to say but couldn't find the courage to do it.
Hiro felt his stomach sink.
The tension in his shoulders slowly diminished. He drew in air, trying to regain control of his breathing, and looked away to the desk.
The fist that had struck the wood opened slowly.
"Ehh..."
His voice came out low, almost unrecognizable after the scream.
Hiro lowered his head, unable to face Fuuka again.
"Sorry..." He rubbed his hand against the back of his neck, feeling the embarrassment weigh on his shoulders. "I didn't mean to scare you."
TO BE CONTINUED...