#LocaliseDGS

A writing blog made in an emotional fit of currently being in Dai Gyakuten Saiban hell. SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRE GAMES OF DAI GYAKUTEN SAIBAN 1 and 2. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

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phantom

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Ryuunosuke Wearing Iris's Handmade Suit (DLC) p. 26-27 When I was told, "I'd like you to make some special clothes that we can make the characters change into for downloadable content", I thought if I was going to do it, I want to make them based off the world of Dai Gyakuten Saiban itself... but I was at a bit of a loss. When you can change clothes in-game, sometimes it becomes too much of a joke in its tendency to stress the initial visual impact and falls flat after the fact. In order to avoid that, I wanted to create something that wasn't just a joke, but would feel concretely connected to the main story and expand the world. With that in mind, I aimed for something that would generate many new interpretations not just on the first playthrough, but on subsequent replays as well, and by including Iris's lucky charms, the Chuunosuke riding on Ryuunosuke's shoulder became one such component. Actually, Chuunosuke moves his head in sync with Ryuunosuke's movements, but it's such a minute detail that you might not be able to tell. As for the suit's structure and composition, some details were added keeping in mind that you would be facing against Prosecutor Asougi in court too. On the subject of jokes... I know what I said earlier, but actually, there was very little time to design this game's DLC outfits as well as make the model, so one of the first ideas I had was "Red Underwear Ryuunosuke (Akafunnosuke)". He'd be in nothing but a red fundoshi (traditional Japanese loincloth underwear), and in court it'd be constantly fluttering upwards (through the screen, it would look like it was fluttering from under the desk)! ...was the cool idea I had. Since Ryuunosuke would be mostly naked, it was the ideal plan because it would take very little effort to design and the people in charge of 3D modeling would be happy at having fewer decorations to work on. Everyone laughed about it... Or maybe laughed at it is a better way to put it. In any case, since the idea garnered good reactions from everyone else, for a while we almost actually went through with this design. But one day, I suddenly thought of the impression it would leave during the closing argument scenes and became uneasy, so I came up with an alternate idea instead and we ended up tackling the design that became this final one. But I kind of did want to see it...

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A Snapshot of a Passing Shower p. 33

During a sudden rain shower, Haori, without caring if she herself gets wet, offers Ryuutarou (Susato) her umbrella. But Ryuutarou (Susato), also out of consideration for Haori, has already put on her own gear. I drew this because I wanted to draw a picture of what their relationship is like.

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

—Forever partners, you and I.

Notes: Compilation of all my RyuuAso stuff, mostly short things from Twitter that aren’t long enough on their own. More to be added as I write, so... drabble collection I guess?

DGS2 spoilers in separate chapters and labeled - if you would like to avoid spoilers, please check the chapter title.

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minus one plus one (DGS fanfiction)

"If you'll have me, Miss Iris."

Sherlock, Iris, and a lonely night.

Notes:  Pre-DGS but mentions of a certain character that constitute DGS2 spoilers.

My first thing that isn't RyuuAso, waow. This came out of nowhere, but I like how it turned out. Sherlock and Iris make my heart feel things too...

A plaintive wail cuts through the fog of sleep in his head, and Sherlock blearily lifts his face from his less than refined position facedown on the couch. The fireplace has burned to only dim embers, casting long shadows across the patterned walls, but it is enough for him to stumble the short distance towards the cradle that stands a few feet away.

Within the cradle, wrapped in a nest of soft blankets, a baby with wispy tufts of pink hair hiccups.

“What’s the matter?” Sherlock’s voice, raspy from sleep, surprises even himself, but he clears his throat and forces the edges of his lips to turn up. “Is the lady in need of a bottle? A change of clothing?” The questioning is more for his own benefit than anything, an aid in putting his thoughts in order. If he recalls correctly, Iris’s last feeding had been a few hours ago.

“Mikotoba,” he calls without thinking as he bends over the cradle to lift Iris carefully into his arms. “Can you get the bottle-…”

When Sherlock turns at the silence, the only response is the gentle crackling of the fireplace. He sucks in a deep, deep breath.

Ah. That’s right.

His trusted partner, forced to return to his country only a few short weeks ago, leaving with anguished apologies and surely another gaping hole in the form of a lost friend.

What was it he had said to Mikotoba, when they had said their farewells at the port?

No need to worry, Mikotoba! Iris and I will be just fine!

Iris interrupts his reverie with another sob, grabbing at his shirt. “Ahh, my apologies, Iris. Now, how about that bottle?”

He’s checked that the temperature is just right, yet Iris pushes it away after only a few swallows and begins to cry again, tossing restlessly in his arms. No matter how he offers her the bottle again, checks her undergarments, rocks her, tiny tears continue to pour from her eyes.

A faint ringing echoes in his ears.

“…Mikotoba,” he cannot help but murmur as he pats Iris’s back. “I find that I am vastly underqualified for the task you’ve given me.”

It was certainly not that he had lied when Mikotoba left. But a chill of doubt crawls down his spine the longer Iris cries, inconsolable. “Miss Iris,” Sherlock begins tiredly, and at a loss, he brushes a finger across her puffy cheek. “You’ll have to forgive your woefully incompetent caretaker.”

Perhaps it is only his imagination that Iris’s sobs seem to slow as he continues speaking. “If Mikotoba were here, I’m sure he’d know what to do right away. But you see, I am not nearly as competent in the ways of children, so I have no choice but to learn from you along the way.” Only an occasional sniffle escapes Iris now, as she blinks innocently up at him with brimming eyes. Spurred by her rapt attention, words spill from Sherlock’s lips, fast and frantic. “So please put up with me just a little longer, my little lady. After all, we only have each other.”

The moment he voices the fact, Sherlock falls silent with its crushing reality for the first time.

Mikotoba isn’t with him anymore.

If he were wearing his deerstalker, he would have been tempted to pull it down over his eyes. “…That’s right, we only have each other. It’s a little lonely, but we’ll manage, you and I.”

Iris coos, and a smile comes naturally to his face this time. “My apologies again, Miss Iris, you’re absolutely right. I have you, and you have me. How could we be lonely with each other?”

“Pa… Pa…”

Sherlock freezes.

"Pah!" Iris giggles, one tiny fist wrapped tightly around his finger and the other waving in the air. “Pa-pah!”

His head knows. That in the babbling development of their speech, children find the softer sounds easier to vocalize, and any resemblance to familial titles is always coincidence regardless of what well-meaning guardians may think.

His head knows very well.

But once, just this once—

He’ll listen to the insuppressible swell of joy in his heart instead.

"If you'll have me, Miss Iris."

[susatodrop]

Drifting (DGS fanfiction)

On a day of nothing in particular, Naruhodou and Asougi visit an onsen.

Note: Implied DGS2 spoilers, but not much.

Written when I was in a writing mood and a friend gave me a one-word prompt: onsen. It got longer than I thought, though.

“Wha-!?”

At Naruhodou’s shout of dismay, Asougi paused and turned his head over his shoulder. His friend, still half-dressed, was staring at something in his hand that was difficult to discern through the steam wafting through the air from the onsen’s water. “What’s wrong, Naruhodou?”

“…My pocket watch turned a weird color,” Naruhodou replied mournfully, holding the aforementioned item out for Asougi to see. As Asougi recalled, certainly the watch had been a radiant silver the last time he laid eyes on it, but now, it appeared to be covered in an unidentifiable, dingy, dark coating.

“Wasn’t that watch a present from one of your relatives? You should take better care of the things given to you.”

“I don’t even know how it happened.” With a sigh, Naruhodou placed the watch among the rest of his belongings and continued undressing, mumbling to himself. “At least it still seems to be working fine though. I’ll just avoid letting anyone see it… I wonder if it’s because it was actually a cheap one?”

Asougi crossed his arms, his eyebrows drawing together in slight disapproval. “Cheap or not, it was still a gift. Treat it with respect, Naruhodou.”

“What are you, my mother?”

“Ahahaha! Don’t flatter me, I could never be a match for her.”

“It wasn’t really supposed to be flattering though.”

He turned away then, striding towards the edge of the bath. “I’m going in first. Hurry up.”

“Fine, fine…”

It was not the first time he and Naruhodou had made the trek to this onsen together. In the beginning, it had been an indulgence reserved for celebratory causes, such as the end of a testing period or a satisfying grade. Then, the trips had extended even to days of nothing in particular, only that their moods had led them here.

Today was one such day.

He had just settled in the water, leaning his head back and closing his eyes when he heard Naruhodou’s footsteps from nearby, padding lightly over the stone pathway. Asougi opened his eyes again to see Naruhodou crouching over him, upside down in his view. “…Aren’t you coming in?”

“Yeah, I am.” Without further invitation, Naruhodou slid into the water, audibly sucking in a breath as the water reached his chest. “It’s hot.”

“You say that every time. What did you expect?”

“It doesn’t change the fact that it’s hot!”

“Get used to it already.” As Naruhodou grumbled, Asougi suddenly thought again of the unfortunate pocket watch. “Does that relative of yours give you things often?”

“I wouldn’t say often,” Naruhodou said thoughtfully. “The watch was a gift for getting into Yuumei University, so probably just when it’s a special occasion.”

“You must be close.”

“I don’t know if I’d call us close… The watch doesn’t mean as much to me as something like Karuma means to you, I’m sure.”

“…Karuma isn’t what I’d call a gift, exactly.” The words came out in an unnatural stilt for some reason, and Asougi paused to swallow the strange, sudden lump in his throat. “My father wasn’t one for giving physical gifts, now that I think about it. He preferred ‘giving’ things in the form of lessons and such.”

The silence that followed his words was curiously long, and feeling eyes on him, Asougi turned his head in Naruhodou’s direction. “What?”

“No, nothing.” Naruhodou stared, something strangely scrutinizing in his gaze—but in the next moment, he blinked and the look was gone, leaving Asougi wondering if it had only been his imagination. “It’s just that it’s the first time I’ve heard anything about your family. You never really talk about them.”

He was silent for a moment, contemplating Naruhodou’s words, and to his mild surprise, it was true. Whether it had been a conscious decision or not—he could not say. “…I suppose not. There’s nothing interesting to tell you, though.”

A huff of laughter escaped his friend. “Then what does that make my parents? They’re the most normal, ordinary people you could meet.”

“Nonsense, they’re wonderful people.”

“That’s only when you’re around. They’re shocked that you’re friends with me.”

Asougi raised an eyebrow. “What’s there to be shocked about?”

Not just a huff, but real laughter spilled now from Naruhodou’s mouth. “That’s exactly it, partner.” At Asougi’s puzzled expression, Naruhodou waved his hand dismissively, still chortling, yet did not seem inclined to detail further. “Well, if that’s what you think, then it’s fine. They’d be happy to hear that.”

Perplexed, Asougi shook his head, closing his eyes once more. Had he said something strange? Perhaps the exceedingly comfortable heat of the water was making his mental functions melt down. “I only said the truth.”

“Like I said, that’s exactly it-… Oh, Asougi.”

“Hm?”

Unexpectedly, something tugged around his head. “You’re still wearing your headband,” Naruhodou answered, bemused, holding up one long end of the red strip of cloth. “How’d you not notice?”

A flash of dull surprise, but somehow, it did not feel like a very important matter. “You should’ve told me sooner.”

“No, no, don’t go blaming this on me, it’s clearly your own fault.” As if in to prove his point, Naruhodou pulled slightly harder, forcing Asougi’s head towards him. Asougi cracked one eye open to glare sideways at Naruhodou, but did not resist. “Well, I guess I’m just so used to seeing you with the headband that I took it for granted. Aren’t you going to take it off?”

“I should.” He did not move, however, suddenly finding a single leaf that had fallen into the water very interesting. The steam had lulled him into a strange sort of daze, where miniscule details such as the soft splashing of Naruhodou’s presence and the individual ripples of water droplets seemed magnified in awareness amidst a distant floating sensation. Even lifting an arm seemed like far too much work.

Before he realized it, the name slipped from his lips. “Naruhodou.”

“Yeah?”

Asougi gestured vaguely. “Please.” He thought for a moment, and added, “Partner.”

A long, good-humored sigh. “You’re unusually laidback today, Asougi,” Naruhodou said cheerfully, a telltale splash indicating that he had drawn closer. “It’s been a busy week.”

“It has.” It was not quite a complaint. Asougi’s eyes remained shut even as he felt Naruhodou’s gentle hands pressing on the back of his head, deftly untying the knot with little more disturbance than a butterfly landing on a leaf. At length, the headband fell loose, the cloth sliding across his face as Naruhodou pulled it away.

But in absentminded fixation, it seemed, Naruhodou’s fingers continued combing serenely through his hair.

After several seconds, Asougi finally raised his voice. “What are you doing?”

“Your hair’s softer than I thought,” Naruhodou replied immediately, without a trace of embarrassment.

Perhaps the two of them had been in the onsen too long. Surely it was just his imagination that the water temperature had risen. “Is the heat getting to your head, Naruhodou?”

Reluctantly, Naruhodou withdrew his hand, sullenness bleeding through in every motion. They sat in amicable silence for a long moment, only the sound of running water and distant birdsong dotting the background with splashes of sound.

At last, Asougi spoke again, punctuating his words with an exasperated sigh.

“…I didn’t say to stop.”

He did not look to see, but Naruhodou’s grin was audible.

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Priorities (DGS2 fanfiction)

The most vivid memory of a boy and his father.

Notes: DGS2 spoilers, but not quite explicit ones.

In his memory, there was only a single time he had seen Karuma’s blade drawn before his father departed for London.

“Listen well, Kazuma. The blade is to be treated with respect. It is not a toy, nor is it only a tool. When Karuma is by your side, it is at all times your equal.”

The gentle, firm teachings had been burned into his soul from an early age, just as they surely had been for his father. There had been nothing as awe-inspiring as watching his father’s graceful motions when they trained. His attempts to match his father’s movements with a wooden replica had been simultaneously fervent and disappointing, and he had dreamed of the day when he would be worthy of wielding Karuma with his own hands as wel.

His father had never unsheathed the blade before him, calling it an unnecessary sight. But when news of his father’s study abroad reached their family, the thought that there would not be another chance to see it for a long, long time, formed a reckless plan in his mind.

He made his move a few days before his father was to leave. Ensuring that his father was indeed occupied with preparations, on one of the rare occasions Karuma was not hanging by his hip but propped against a wall instead, the blade was in his hands before he knew it and his feet pattered soundlessly towards the training room.

Alone in the brightly lit space, a certain thrill pounding in time with his heartbeat, slowly, slowly, he began to slide the blade out, eyes widening as silver glimmered at him as if in greeting.

“Kazuma? Are you in there?”

He jumped, startled, at his father’s call from unexpectedly close by. The sword shuddered precariously in his loosened grip. He hurriedly attempted to shove the blade back into its sheath—but in its half-drawn state, something caught and the blade sliced cleanly across his palm with a sharp sting. To his horror, blood immediately became to flow down the handle, scarlet drops dotting the wooden floor.

“Kazuma!”

Alerted, undoubtedly, by his short yelp of pain, his father burst into the room and stared down at him, almost comically wide-eyed.

Gingerly grasping the sword in his good hand and painfully aware of how foolish he looked, he made an awkward attempt to lower his head, shame beginning to burn in his cheeks. “I-I’m sorry, father, I know I shouldn’t have—I’ll clean everything up right away—”

But his father took Karuma from his hand, and to his astonishment, threw the prized blade aside with a clatter, as if it were nothing more than trash, to press hard against the source of the red dripping down his arm instead, yelling over his shoulder for water and a cloth.

It was the first time—and was to be the last, that he had ever seen his father so frantic.

His father’s hands had been very warm, then.

On that day, to his eight-year-old self, Karuma’s weight had been heavy in his hands.

But today, a different sort of heaviness seems to weigh it down as he stares at it amongst the rest of his father’s belongings. The sword is unchanged from when he last saw it six years ago, save for the ease with which he can lift it now.

He grips the sheath in one hand, and carefully draws the blade out several centimeters with the other. The metal gleams and winks at him, as meticulously clean as he remembers. Had Karuma stayed by his father’s side, even into the last days of the mysterious illness that had supposedly overtaken him? He thinks he knows the answer.

When he makes to slide the sword back into its place, a clumsy movement causes his thumb to slip against the blade edge and he jerks his hand back with a hiss.

He turns his palm over to examine it. A small pool of red forms on his thumb, but nothing more.

For better or worse, this wound, at least, will not require his father’s care.

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take me, make me (DGS fanfiction)

"You are the only one allowed to do this to me."

Asougi, Naruhodou, and a moment of capriciousness. No spoilers.

Notes:  Reupload of a quick birthday drabble to a friend from a while ago inspired by her doodle. I had to come up with a title... Originially it was just a very descriptive "ryuuasooooooooos" haha.

“Asooougiii…” Asougi Kazuma doesn’t get out much more than a sigh as he lifts his arms up, just in time for his friend to collapse over his legs, burying his face into Asougi’s uniform in an exceedingly childish manner. The chair Asougi is seated in rocks slightly with the force. “Naruhodou, get off. You’re heavy.” Despite himself, he sets the law book in his hands aside onto the desk, half-heartedly attempting to knee Naruhodou in the stomach. “Ow.” Naruhodou’s muffled voice is equally half-hearted as he slides back to the floor in a seated position on his knees. His arms remain crossed over Asougi’s lap, pillowed beneath Naruhodou’s chin. “Is that any way to treat your best friend?” “Don’t say that just when it’s convenient for you. Get up.” “Nooo. I’m tired.” “Are you five?” Naruhodou looks up plaintively. He has always looked young for his age, but his puffed-out cheeks only emphasize the impression, Asougi thinks. “I studied for over three hours. The English words in my books started to look like they were wiggling.” Automatically, Asougi’s hands reach over to the top of Naruhodou’s head, fingers sifting consolingly through the spiky brown strands. “Well, good for you. But I’m still studying. If you leave me alone for another hour, or at least get off of me, we can get dinner when I’m done.” Naruhodou shakes his head in his arms with a sound not unlike a whimper. “This feels nice, though. Just a little longer.” For the life of him, Asougi cannot see what is ‘nice’ about this position with what feels like a large dog pawing at his knees—and surely it can’t be that comfortable for Naruhodou, either. He will never be done with the day’s work at this rate. He tightens his grip for an instant in Naruhodou’s hair, eliciting a mild yelp of protest from his lethargic friend. “No more objections, Naruhodou, I made you an offer. Take it, leave it, or shut up while I’m working.” “I’ll shut up when you can say a tongue twister all the way through.” “Are you trying to pick a fight?” “But you did it so well last night!” He splutters at first, his face going hot at the memory as Naruhodou snickers. But exaggerated anger quickly takes the place of the humiliation and with a smirk, his hands travel slowly down the sides of Naruhodou’s face, smooth skin slipping against his fingers. Finally, he squishes Naruhodou’s cheeks hard between his palms for the slight, a fond, biting retort on his tongue. “I don’t need tongue twisters. Shutting you up is as simple as breathing for me.” But despite his face being forcibly scrunched horizontally together, Naruhodou only makes what is a very clear grin from ear-to-ear, bright glimmers of mischief in his eyes and laughter on his lips as he reaches up, hands catching on the ends of Asougi’s headband and pulling forward. “Do it, then." Stars seem to fly in the nonexistent space between them.

[susatodrop]

if wishing made it so (DGS2 fanfiction)

SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRE DGS SERIES, meaning both DGS1 and DGS2 in their entirety. Please do not read this if you do not want to be spoiled.

if wishing made it so (AO3 Link)

Fold it up, call it love, and bring it to a quiet place.

Characters: Naruhodou Ryuunosuke, Mikotoba Susato, Asougi Kazuma, Iris Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Barok van Zieks

Notes: Some writing I did as a breather in the midst of working on my actual DGS2 celebratory/appreciation fic. DGS2 has completely ruined my life (in a good way)

.…Writing to take a break from writing… what madness is this…

A note about honorifics - since they all speak English in London, my way of treating the honorifics used by the characters in-game is to make just the Japanese characters keep them (specifically Susato since she’s the most relevant example) even to the British characters if there’s not a good equivalent. …Well, I fully admit I just dealt with it as I pleased to make my life easier.

An inexpressible amount of gratitude to airisuwatoson and turnaboutancestor for their DGS playthroughs, without which I wouldn’t have been able to write this. Each and every update always had me on edge. Thank you!!!

One last warning that this fic contains spoilers for all of DGS2.

A story of a thousand wants.

“And then, you fold this triangle down to make the head.”

“Like this?”

“Yes! Very good, Iris-sama!”

At the double cheer resounding from behind, Ryuunosuke tears his eyes gratefully away from his textbook and glances over his shoulder, curiosity prickling at the back of his neck. “What are you two doing?”

Susato turns to face him, beaming. “I was just teaching Iris-sama how to fold a paper crane. Look how well it turned out, Naruhodou-sama!”

“It was only because Susie was so good at teaching me!” Iris Watson chirps, lifting her arms to proudly show Ryuunosuke the small, folded crane that rests on her hands. “It’s so cute!” The girl whirls around once, bright pink curls spinning with the motion, and the crane very nearly seems as if it could take flight right then.

Ryuunosuke crouches in front of her to get a better look, admiring the piece. “It’s really good considering it was your first time, Iris-chan.” Indeed, there is barely a careless crease or wrinkle in the paper, only straight, clean lines that are evident of a studious precision. “I still remember when I first tried folding one when I was younger. You couldn’t even tell it was a crane at all.”

A good-natured giggle spills from Susato’s lips, her hand going to her mouth. “That’s very like you somehow, Naruhodou-sama.”

“O-Oh, is it…?”

“But origami is something that can be done by anyone,” she continues, looking back fondly to Iris’s crane. “All it requires is a little patience.”

“Well, true enough.” His disastrous first attempt had left a bitter taste in his throat, and Ryuunosuke recalls the indignant determination that had refused to let him rest until he had folded a successful crane. “I actually got pretty good at it as I kept folding more, although I haven’t done any since we came to London.”

“There’s still paper here if you want to make one too,” Iris calls, waving the sheets in his direction.

After a moment of contemplation, the words escape of their own accord. “…I think I will.” He reaches over to take one of the proffered papers. “…Wait. These papers are my notes from previous cases!”

“Oh, are they?” Yet the untroubled tone with which Iris responds tells him that she is perfectly aware. “They were just scattered all over the floor, so I figured they were just going to be thrown away later anyway.”

“I might’ve wanted to look over them for reference in the future…”

At the excuse, weak to even Ryuunosuke’s own ears, Susato places her hands on her hips and looks at him sternly. “Is that how you should treat valuable documents, Naruhodou-sama? By leaving them without care or organization on the floor?”

“N-No…”

“Besides, if you are in need of references from our past cases, I have also recorded information in my notes.” With that, Susato fishes out a small, bound book, a certain pride brimming in her motions. “You may look through them at your leisure.”

“…As expected of you, Susato-san.” It is certainly not the first time, and he knows it will be far from the last, that awe at her diligence washes through his entire body and leaves a strange warmth in its wake.

“It is simply my natural duty as your legal assistant, Naruhodou-sama,” Susato smiles. “With that, I trust you have no objections to the usage of your scrap paper?”

My case notes were downgraded to “scraps”... He allows himself only a small sigh, relenting at last. “I guess it is better than just seeing them all over the ground.” Without further ado, Iris hands him a sheet and cheerfully sets about folding another one.

At that moment, the door to the attic suddenly bursts open and a tall, lanky man waltzes in, a wounded expression on his face. “What’s this? No greeting when I arrive home, and instead I find you all cooped up in this dingy, dusty attic? Without me?”

“Please don’t talk about the room you rented us like that,” Ryuunosouke retorts, barely glancing up from his task. “Welcome back, Holmes-san.”

“Sherly!” Iris squeals and bounces to the self-proclaimed great detective, wrapping her short arms around his waist. “Welcome home! How did the case go?”

A jubilant laugh rings in the air. “Need you even ask, Iris?” Sherlock flicks his distinctive deerstalker with his index finger in triumph, a wide grin meeting Iris’s sparkling eyes. “Another case closed by the great detective Sherlock Holmes! We can rest easy about rent for the month.”

Is that really the sort of conversation you have with a child? Ryuunosuke does not say, but Iris, unperturbed, claps her hands together with equal delight.

“And now,” Sherlock continues, turning to survey the rest of them. “It’s my turn to ask again, just what you all are doing cooped up in this dingy, dusty, decrepit attic—Ah!” He holds a hand up to forestall the exasperated shape that Ryuunosuke’s mouth has formed, smiling slyly. “Allow me to make a deduction!”

“I was doing some origami,” Susato interrupts brightly without heed for the detective’s grandiose conduct, gesturing to the short lineup of small shapes on the table before her. “And Iris-sama was curious, so she allowed me to teach her the most classic design, a crane. And it turned out beautifully, Holmes-sama!”

In a rare occurrence, Sherlock’s depressive episode at the interruption of his deduction does not linger and he straightens immediately. Taking Iris’s crane up in his hand, he tilts his head, examining it from all angles. “As I recall, origami is the traditional Japanese art of folding paper into intricate designs, am I right?”

“Yes, that’s correct.” With a nod of satisfaction, Ryuunosuke places his own completed crane next to Susato’s skillfully folded pieces. There is only a mild twinge of disappointment in himself as he eyes his crane’s slightly uneven lines compared to Susato’s delicate work. “So you’ve heard of it, Holmes-san?”

“As expected of Holmes-sama!”

“What kind of great detective would I be if I didn’t know this much?” One hand returns the crane to Iris, the other lands in a pat on her head, making her giggle. “It might be news to you, but I know how to make a few things myself!”

Ryuunosuke’s eyes widen. “Really? Did someone teach you?”

“I suppose you could say that.” But to his surprise, Sherlock does not elaborate, and Ryuunosuke catches only a snatch of something faraway and fond in his eyes before the detective blinks and turns his gaze back on the scattered papers. “But I must say, the two of you work fast.”

Susato and Ryuunosuke blink in unison, looking down. There is a small pile of cranes sitting between them both, clearly flourishing in their absentmindedness. Ryuunosuke feels his ears grow hot, and he throws half a sheepish glance at Susato, who returns a soft laugh.

Iris leans over the pile, starry-eyed. She scoops a handful up and lets them fall from her hands, smiling as the cranes scatter back to the wooden floor like large snowflakes. “Hey, Susie? You said that the crane is the most classic design, but why’s that?”

“Oh!” Susato brings a finger to her chin, tapping in contemplation. “If I had to say… There is a type of crane native to Japan that is said to be a symbol of good fortune and longevity. These paper cranes are representations of it.”

Something stirs in the back of Ryuunosuke’s mind at Susato’s words—stories and laughter from a childhood that seem like from a lifetime ago. He sweeps a look over the cranes in a quick estimate. Certainly, not a number that any would call ‘few’, but at the same time, not nearly enough. “There’s a famous legend about paper cranes, too,” he finds himself saying, words from his memories filling his throat. “They say if you fold a thousand of them, you’ll be granted a wish.”

“A wish?” Iris echoes, her deep green eyes widening.

“Ah, that’s right!” Susato nods in agreement. “There are many variations to that legend as well. Some say that you must finish the thousand cranes within a certain period of time. Others say that it only works if one person folds them all by themselves. But the fact that there must be a thousand cranes is the one, absolute constant.”

A wistful sigh escapes Iris. “That’s such a nice story. Wishes, huh?”

“It is a nice story.” Ryuunosuke smiles, a little wryly. “When I was younger, everyone wanted to do it, and they’d try. But one thousand cranes is actually a lot more than you’d expect, as it turned out. Most children would get tired of it quickly.”

“Why don’t we give it a try?”

All eyes snap to Sherlock, who is still standing serenely, now with his pipe in his mouth. He smiles down at them with something beyond his usual frivolity. “You seem to be off to a good start, anyway,” he continues, eying the numerous cranes sprinkled across the floor. “With the four of us, one thousand doesn’t seem so far away, does it?”

“I want to do it!” Iris chimes in, nodding energetically. “It sounds like fun!”

Susato clasps her hands together, merriment dancing in her eyes. “It does sound like fun. I’m sure if we keep steadily at it, we’ll reach one thousand cranes in no time.”

One thousand paper cranes. He rolls the phrase around in his head, trying to visualize the end number. Not an impossible goal, by any means, but a question presses insistently forward. “I don’t mind,” Ryuunosuke starts, “…But who gets to make the wish?”

“Oh.”

The small sound of realization Iris makes is enough to make him feel ashamed of himself. “Not that it’s a bad idea or anything, not at all,” he hastily adds. “I mean, I’m just saying that according to the legend…”

“An excellent question, Mister Naruhodou!” Sherlock cuts in, unfazed as ever. He spins on the spot with a wink, a solution clearly on his tongue. “Why don’t we let the lucky person who folds the last crane make the wish? In any case, there’s still a while, is there not?”

Enthusiastic nods from Susato and Iris, a grin of satisfaction from the detective—not that it was ever an option, but how can he say no? “Well, let’s do our best, then.”

“Yay!” Iris skips to the table for more paper, beginning the folding process in quick, dainty motions, while Susato turns curiously to Sherlock.

“What would you wish for, Holmes-sama?”

Sherlock snaps his fingers. “A case from a rich client!” he announces dramatically, squaring his arms in the strange pose he makes when in high spirits.

Ryuunosuke tilts his head quizzically. “If you want money, why don’t you just wish for money?”

“Goodness, Mister Naruhodou.” Sherlock wags a finger in his direction, shaking his head as if the answer is obvious. “Do you think I take cases just for the money?”

“…”

“Stop looking at me like that. No! If the case is a worthy challenge to the intellect of the great detective Sherlock Holmes, then all the better! I didn’t make my fame by only taking cases based on how much I was paid, you know.”

Despite the lightness in Sherlock’s voice, the twinkling look in his eyes, the undercurrent of deliberate resolve is all genuine and Ryuunosuke cannot help but smile. “No, I didn’t think so.”

“And what about you, Iris-sama?” Noticing the younger girl’s progress, Susato presents her with more paper just as Iris folds down the head of a new crane. “Do you know what sort of wish you would make?”

Iris happily accepts the sheet, her expression bright with the possibilities tumbling through her mind. “There’s a lot of things I’d like to wish for! I’ll have to think it over.” But abruptly, her fingers slow in the middle of a fold, her gaze seeming to travel elsewhere.

“Iris-chan?”

“It should be for something important, shouldn’t it? The wish.” Her voice comes out subdued, solemn, as she continues to stare at the half-formed crane in her hands. “Something important like… being able to meet my papa soon.” The note of uncertainty makes something in Ryuunosouke’s chest twist.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he thinks he sees Sherlock tense.

“...I think,” he begins carefully, “you can wish for anything you want.” He thinks for a moment, and then nods, decisively. “That’s what wishes are. Whether or not you think it’s important, or whether or not you think it’ll be granted, all that matters is that it’s something you want, right?”

Only for a moment, he wonders who he’s really trying to convince.

“That’s right, Iris-sama,” Susato speaks now, resolutely. “Please don’t fret about it too much. If you find that you need another wish…” She gestures triumphantly to the still sizeable stack of papers they have gathered and deposited onto the table. “All we have to do is fold another thousand cranes!”

“…You’re right!” Just like that, Iris’s smile is back on her face, the shadow of doubt from moments ago nowhere in sight, and she and Susato giggle briefly at each other. Ryuunosuke marvels at the scene and hears a sigh of what might be relief from behind him. “What about you, Susie? What would you wish for?”

“Me?” For all her enthusiasm about folding cranes, the slightest thought of the end goal does not have appear to have crossed her mind. Susato tips her head into her chin, contemplative. “I… I don’t know. There’s nothing that I feel warrants something as grand as a wish—ah!”

He jumps slightly at her exclamation. “Did you think of something, Susato-san?”

“Yes, I think so.” Susato turns to look at him, and for some reason, her eyes seem very bright. “I would like to wish... for Naruhodou-sama to become the wonderful attorney he hopes to be.”

“Huh!?” The less than flattering sound leaps out as Ryuunosuke’s own eyes widen. “No, no, no, that’s- that’s not— I mean, shouldn’t you wish for something for yourself? I-I can’t possibly accept—”

“Do you truly think that it’s only for yourself?” There is fire in her gaze and steel in the words she returns as she stares at him, unwavering. “It’s something that I too desire, from the very bottom of my heart.” Her eyes travel downward, landing on the object at his hip, and soften. “Wish or not, I believe that it will happen. This is simply… asking for a little assistance.”

He has nothing to respond with but a meek nod, something hot building up in the corners of his eyes and an lump in his throat.

“Mister Naruhodou, do you need a handkerchief?”

“N-No!” Ryuunosuke scrubs briefly across his face with his sleeve, leveling a scowl the best he can at Sherlock before glancing back to Susato. “Susato-san... thank you. I’ll do my best to live up to your expectations.”

She only smiles at him again, an infinitely gentle expression. “What would your wish be, Naruhodou-sama?”

“A wish, huh…” He has pondered the question from the moment their shared goal was decided—but he is sincerely at a loss. “I… really don’t know. I guess I’ll think about it when we get close to the end.” A wish meant a desire, a hope.

A want.

…I wonder… if it would work…

He glances out the window, from where he can see sunlight spilling in and a few, fluffy clouds drifting lazily through a blue, blue sky. Sherlock may have called the attic ‘decrepit’, but bathed in a golden glow, there is not a sight more welcoming.

A warm breeze blows into the room, sending a few papers whirling.

...Probably not.

But he reaches for another sheet.

“…How are you doing? Are you surprised to see a letter this soon? Just after we left, I remembered a few things I forgot to tell you, so when the ship stopped at a port to resupply, I took the opportunity to send this.

You’re probably still getting used to London, aren’t you? I wanted to mention that there are some things left in my old room at Holmes-san’s place that you might find helpful, like books and stuff. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t take everything back to Japan with me, so if you’re up to it, you can go over to Baker Street sometime to take anything you’d like. In fact, it’d make me really happy if you got some use out of them…”

The sound of the horse carriage clattering noisily away is quickly replaced by that of his own heartbeat, pounding loudly in his chest. It seems silly that such apprehension should eat at him, compared to everything else that has happened, and for the life of him, he cannot find a logical rationale for it.

He takes a deep breath, lifts his hand, and knocks solidly on the door of apartment 221B.

Immediately, pattering footsteps race closer from the other side, and with a click the door swings open. Deep green eyes blink up inquisitively up at him, before they widen in recognition and delight. “It’s you! Come in, we’ve been expecting you!”

Asougi Kazuma inclines his head briefly, unable to stop the corners of his lips from turning up at the child’s enthusiastic greeting. “Good day, Miss Watson.” If the still-puzzling facsimile of her in court hadn’t been lively enough, she is a thousand times more spirited in person.

“Just Iris is fine,” she says cheerily, ushering him in. “Have a seat anywhere you’d like! My special herb tea is almost ready!”

“Ah-” he starts, “You don’t have to-…” But Iris has already vanished elsewhere into the depths of the apartment, presumably to the kitchen. Bemused, Asougi looks side to side, his gaze sweeping over the cluttered sitting room. Despite her encouragement, an assortment of strange contraptions litter every possible place to sit, and he does not particularly feel like carelessly engaging with them.

“Why, if it isn’t Mister Asougi!”

The airy voice from behind him sends a jolt down his spine and Asougi whirls, a hand automatically reaching for the saber at his side. In the next moment, his eyes land on the voice’s owner and he relaxes with a huff. “Detective Holmes.”

“There’s no need to be so wary.” Sherlock Holmes, sans his usual distinctive hat and overcoat, shrugs whimsically, appearing utterly unconcerned with Asougi’s instinctual reflex. “You’re our honored guest for today.”

He bows slightly. “Thank you for your invitation.” It’s not that he means to be curt, but cautious uncertainty still holds him in an iron grip—how should he react to the man who pulled the strings behind his interrupted first journey to London?

But Sherlock only beams, undaunted. “Think nothing of it. You’re Mister Naruhodou and Miss Susato’s dear friend, after all—how could we disappoint them in treating you otherwise? In fact,” He fishes a folded paper from his front pocket, waving it before Asougi. The scrawling handwriting from what he can see on the envelope is achingly familiar. “Mister Naruhodou explicitly requested us to look after you and lend you a hand where possible.”

“Naruhodou… he worries too much.” A wry smile escapes him nevertheless. “But I’m afraid I won’t be staying long. I’m only here to pick up some items Naruhodou left behind before I return to the prosecutors’ office.”

“Mister Naruhodou mentioned those as well.” Sherlock snaps his fingers in the direction of the stairs. “Take whatever you’d like! I told him anything left is fair game for my experiments.”

He bows a second time, turning away. “Excuse me, then.”

“Ah, just one moment, Mister Asougi!” Sherlock calls, striking a strange pose. “The bottom of the lowest shelf in the farther corner of the room. I suggest you take an especially close look.”

Asougi pauses with his foot on the first step, puzzled.

Sherlock winks at him, mischief and goodwill in equal measure. “I think you’ll find something very interesting there.”

The attic glows with midmorning light, exuding an atmosphere of welcome despite the clear lack of inhabitants. Asougi stops at the top of the staircase, letting his eyes wander from corner to corner and taking in every sight of the cozy, if slightly lonely space.

This is the room where his best friend stayed and learned and lived, in their year of separation.

The room is sparse now, but by no means empty—a number of packed boxes and heavy-looking hardcover books still line the shelves against the wall. When he runs a finger along the desk, only a few specks remain on his glove; someone has been up here to dust recently.

A soft splash from nearby catches his ear, and Asougi turns to see a small glass tank filled with water—and prawns, of all things. He peers dubiously into the tank, wondering what in the world possessed his friend to keep such tiny sea creatures. As far as prawns go, they seem quite healthy—not that he can tell. Perhaps Sherlock, or more likely Iris, cares for them now in Naruhodou’s absence.

There is a door at the end of a shallow recess that branches off from the attic, still bearing Mikotoba’s name. He smiles briefly at it before moving past to the shelves at last.

Naruhodou Law Consultation Office may be labeled at the entrance, but it is Mikotoba’s influence that is clear in the level of organization present. Boxes are neatly labeled and books sorted by subject in a way that is not quite believable of Naruhodou, as far as Asougi remembers. He sifts through them one by one, pulling out the files he deems useful and putting the rest carefully back with a mental word of pity for their eventual fate at the detective’s hands.

Although knowing Sherlock, the threat might have been made in nothing more than simple jest.

Speaking of the detective—Sherlock’s words from earlier float into his mind.

The lowest shelf in the corner, was it?

In that spot, there is another large box tucked away, unlabeled. When Asougi lifts it, the box feels surprisingly light for its size. He sets it on the table, raising the lid to set aside, curiosity prickling at the back of his neck.

The box is filled to the brim with strangely shaped paper.

…Cranes?

Asougi picks one up from the multitude, eying the crane as it sits inoffensively on his palm. Paper cranes. The classic shape of origami, a common pastime in Japan. He has not expected to see one an ocean away. And moreover, this many of them. There is only one explanation.

A thousand cranes…

There is not a child in Japan who has not heard the legend, and Asougi recalls it dimly in his own memory as well. A pretty, fanciful story of wishes and hope, but ultimately, nothing more.

Yet somehow, here in Naruhodou’s room, he is not surprised to see them at all.

A single square piece of unfolded paper he had missed at first glance flaps conspicuously from a corner of the box, and Asougi pulls it free.

His eyes widen as he turns it over and catches sight of his own name in familiar scrawls, messier than usual as if written in a haste.

“Asougi,

I folded these cranes with everyone here, although we didn’t get around to finishing the very last one.

But, I don’t think I need them anymore.

So if you’d like, if you want—…”

Vaguely, Asougi becomes aware of a quiet, choked up sound that is filling the attic. At the same time, breathing is strangely difficult.

Then he realizes—the laughter is coming from himself.

He presses a hand to his mouth, his friend’s note shuddering in the other. There is a bizarre obstruction in his throat that threatens to leave him gasping.

But in illogical contradiction, his heart feels lighter than ever.

Ahh, I have never been a match for you, Naruhodou.

When he makes his way back downstairs, Naruhodou’s note in his pocket and boxes balanced in his arms, Sherlock and Iris are there to greet him and grin knowingly at the look on his face. The fragrant smell of tea wafts warmly through the air.

“It’s still hard to believe we folded all these!” Iris says as she lifts the lid up to marvel once again at the collection of cranes.

“A nostalgic sight indeed,” Sherlock nods in agreement, puffing from his pipe. “Well? What do you intend to wish for, Mister Asougi?”

Asougi starts at the question. True, Naruhodou had indicated that the cranes be left to him, but if it had been a group effort as his friend mentioned, can he really accept them? “…Are you sure I can take them? After all, I didn’t help fold a single one.”

“We don’t need them!” Iris’s response is bright and immediate. She closes the box with a flourish, leveling a kind gaze at him. “Not anymore. Besides, if they said you should take the cranes, you should.”

“That’s right. It’s not as if I hoped you would gallantly proclaim that you needed no such thing and then I could wish for a rich client—”

“Now, now, Sherly, drink your tea.”

Asougi chuckles at their banter. “…Thank you.” But as he glances back to the box, thinking, an idea comes to mind. “Detective Holmes, Miss Iris, will you help me with something?”

They turn inquisitive expressions on him. “Hm?”

“Do you have string?”

The journey back to the prosecutors’ office is uneventful, and he spends most of it gazing aimlessly out the window of the carriage.

The box of cranes sits by his side, slightly emptier.

“String?” Iris echoes, her head tipping to the side in question.

“In Japan, it’s traditional to hang the thousand cranes in groups on string,” he explains. “It makes for easier organization, as well.”

It takes Iris little more incentive to hunt for the material, and the three of them begin the arduous task of threading the cranes together in sets.

“What about your work?” Iris asks, snipping another length of string.

He waves dismissively. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

At length, they finish the job, and Asougi silently marvels that there really were nine hundred and ninety-nine cranes stuffed in the box.

He turns and holds several strings of cranes out to them both. “You have my gratitude for taking care of Naruhodou and Assistant Mikotoba during their time in London. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

Iris takes the cranes, bundling them carefully in her arms, and smiles widely. “Come visit us any time!”

Sherlock places a hand on his hip, a playful, knowing look in his eyes. “Bring that gloomy reaper with you too, Mister Asougi.”

Barok van Zieks looks impassively up from his desk as Asougi enters the office, nudging the door open with his foot—his arms are otherwise occupied. “It’s unusual for you to be late without reason,” Barok remarks.

“My errand took longer than I thought,” Asougi replies shortly. “I’m prepared to make my work up in full.”

“Hm. No matter. There is little to do today, in any case.”

“Is that so?”

Brief, concise, void of unnecessary tangents. Their conversations have always been this way so far. The vast abyss of tangled, convoluted feelings that lie between them still runs deep, after all.

It is precisely for that reason that Asougi reaches into the box, scooping out a handful of the contents.

Without a word, he walks up to Barok’s desk, and scatters the cranes onto the tabletop.

For several entire seconds, silence falls over the room.

Barok’s gaze flickers from the pile of cranes on his desk back to Asougi. To Asougi’s pleasure, there is no mistaking the genuine bewilderment in the other prosecutor’s eyes—he has well and truly caught the man off-guard for once.

At last, Barok opens his mouth. “…Prosecutor Asougi. What exactly are these?”

He cannot help the grin that spreads across his face as he turns tail and strides purposefully out of the room with the rest of the box, laughter on his lips and satisfied amusement in his chest at the former reaper’s flummoxed expression. “Wishes, Prosecutor van Zieks.”

There are still many, many left to give.

A few more strings go to Inspector Gina Lestrade when he comes across her delivering a report. Her loyal companion sniffs playfully at Asougi’s boots while he places the cranes in her outstretched hands—a silent word of appreciation and apology all at once even as she accepts them skeptically.

She waves goodbye as she dashes into the prosecutors’ office, the cranes trailing in flight behind her and Toby at her heels.

The next name on the list Sherlock wrote for him is a woman by the name of Viridian Green, a woman he has never met—

But Naruhodou has.

And Asougi thinks, there will never be enough gratitude in the world to Naruhodou for all the lives he has touched.

The box has never been heavy, but there is a strange weight in the remainder of the contents despite the fact it should feel the exact opposite now.

When he arrives at the gates, the sunset burning at his back, his feet freeze in place. But if he should stop here, it will have all been for nothing.

He weaves lightly through the rows upon rows of marked stones—these are not what he is searching for. There would have been no inscription, no indication—not for a murderer. It is only by the allowance of the prosecutors’ office’s records that he knows where to go.

At last, he comes to a stop, his eyes fixed on the blank headstone before him. For a long while, he can only stare at it wordlessly, everything he has ever wanted to say suddenly, inexplicably lost in his throat.

So instead, Asougi takes a step forward, and lets the last of the cranes in his arms fall to the dirt on his father’s grave.

In the dimming light, the cranes seem to faintly glow.

It is much, much later, after he has pulled himself away, that he realizes Naruhodou’s note is still in his pocket. He brings it out, smoothing the creases, looking down at his friend’s messily inked words, and recalls how to smile.

He begins, by folding the paper in half.

A/N: Dedicated to Miryul for the many long hours we spent screaming over Asougi- I mean DGS2, haha. PLEASE LOOK AT HER ART IT'S SUPER BEAUTIFUL! (and be care of spoilers)

I also want to thank everyone for all the love towards my DGS fic from two years ago. I'm so glad Asougi's alive.

[miryul]

i’d like to thank my friend spring for the idea and the beautiful script!!!!

our way of coping with the suffering dgs1+2 put us through……..

[miryul]

revelation

[susatodrop]

dark dgs fandom, show me the forbidden RyuuSusAsougi ot3

I like to call them “the future we were supposed to have”. 

:’)

[xerouo-deactivated20250308]

“Liar.”

I read this amazing fic (warning: spoilers ahoy!) a while back when I first started on the DGS playthrough and I really needed to draw something for it so…here it is. quq Also there should be more AsouRyuu fics around, don’t you think? 

[susatodrop]

SCREAMS UNCONTROLLABLY

I’m the author of the fic and a friend linked me this and just THANK YOU THANK YOU SO MUCH!! This is so beautiful and I can’t believe someone actually drew something from my fic ;w; This art is seriously so perfect though, the way you can’t see their eyes and subtle expressions and THANK YOU AGAIN i need a moment to recover from seeing this...

[susatodrop]

testament (DGS fanfiction)

SPOILERS FOR DAI GYAKUTEN SAIBAN. PLEASE DO NOT READ ANYTHING PAST THIS POINT OR THE READ MORE BELOW IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE SPOILED. I’ve tagged all the spoiler tags I know of as well, so if you still get spoiled past this point, I don’t know what to tell you.

I’m back in Ace Attorney hell with DGS’s release, and I am such a wreck.

AO3 Link.

[[readmore]]

Characters: Ryuunosuke Naruhodou, Susato Mikotoba, Kazuma Asougi

Summary: He can’t figure out how to say goodbye.

Notes: Originally this was going to be a story about what they did with Asougi’s body and a funeral (assuming a sea burial), but it made me too sad to write, so instead here’s an awkward story about maybe some of Ryuunosuke’s thoughts during the rest of the trip to London.

testament.

Out of pity, the ship crew prepares one of the spare rooms for him, despite his insistence that they shouldn’t go through the trouble. Ryuunosuke only relents after Susato flips him yet again (slightly more gently, somehow, he thinks) and scolds that staying in a room that was not meant for him is improper.

He does not mention the way her breath hitches at her own words, and she does not say a thing about the way his grip tightens on the sword.

Come nightfall, Ryuunosuke is grateful. He can’t—won’t sleep anyway, even though brittle exhaustion from the day’s events-incident-accident-tragedy gnaws at every centimeter of his limbs, so he paces. Restlessly, back and forth, back and forth, parallel to the closet so that he sees as little of it as possible, hands clasped behind his back, staring straight down at his boots, a dull ache in his head and a hollow emptiness in his chest, but all of it still so much better than the alternative.

Because the thought of being in Asougi’s room, without Asougi, is too much.

“Naruhodou-sama? If I may… You don’t look very well.” Those are Susato’s first words when she knocks upon Ryuunosuke’s door in the morning, her mild voice contrasting with a pointed stare.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Ryuunosuke admits sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. He had heard the sound of Susato’s approaching footsteps and scrambled to make the fact less prominent by splashing water on his face, but the shadows under his eyes must still be painfully obvious.

“That won’t do, Naruhodou-sama,” Susato says disapprovingly. “You have to keep your strength up. We still have a ways to go before we reach our destination, after all.” But as she steps aside to allow Ryuunosuke to pass by, her tone softens. “If you will allow me to make a suggestion, perhaps you should consider a nap later in the day. I would ensure that you wake up in time.”

There is a lurch of simultaneous embarrassment, relief, and above all, inexpressible gratitude, at her offer, and Ryuunosuke manages a weak smile. “I’ll think about it. Shall we get going?”

They walk in amicable silence for a few minutes before Ryuunosuke finally ventures to make his own suggestion. “And, erm, Susato-san. If… you ever need a handkerchief… You can use mine any time.”

Susato flushes slightly, her cheeks almost matching her eyes. “Thank you,” she replies, with only the tiniest waver in her voice.

The funny thing is, neither of them follow up on each other’s proposal. So in mutual, unspoken agreement, Susato does not bring up the ever darkening circles under his eyes except in gentle reminder to rest, and Ryuunosuke ignores the occasional redness around hers.

He never does see her crying, and can only wonder where and when. Out of his sight on purpose, he’s sure, and Ryuunosuke doesn’t quite know what to do about it. Or if he should be doing anything at all.

The days on the ship pass in alternating bursts of agonizing slowness and breathtaking speed as he furiously studies Asougi’s law books with Susato. Ryuunosuke reads until the lines in the texts blur together, writes practice case briefs until he runs out of paper, reviews legal terms until he can tell the difference between murder and manslaughter, all the while thinking—this is Asougi’s job.

Despite his efforts, he can’t help but think of everything in terms of his best friend. These are Asougi’s books, Susato is Asougi’s assistant, this studying is Asougi’s work—this journey is, was, should be, Asougi’s journey.

And he still can’t sleep. Doesn’t want to sleep. But he thinks he might be getting closer to something like a state of forced unconsciousness, with every passing hour, and dreads that moment.

Once, in a fit of sleep-deprived delirium, Ryuunosuke thinks vaguely, you should’ve eaten the chicken, Asougi. Then I wouldn’t be trying to pretend to be you.

It’s a dream. He knows it must be a dream, because he is sitting at their usual spot for studying, the spot under the tree that is not quite the top of the hill. It’s a dream, because he can feel strands of grass flattened under his palms, the faint smell of the cherry blossoms planted at the university wafting through the air—

—and Asougi leaning against his back.

It’s a dream, because this scene is too normal for reality.

The wildly fluttering ends of Asougi’s headband are flying into Ryuunosuke’s face as usual, and he bats the fabric away irritably. “How many times have I told you to do something about that?” Ryuunosuke complains without any real heat, closing his eyes to savor this moment.

“That’s hardly my fault, is it? Take your complaints up with this breeze.”

“There’s always a breeze when you’re around.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

A laugh escapes his throat. “I had no idea what you were talking about either, you know.”

Silence.

“Asougi.” It won’t work. Ryuunosuke knows it won’t work. But he wants to try. “Do you really have to go on your study abroad?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course I’m going. The papers and arrangements are all written up already. Ah, don’t tell me you’ll be lonely.”

“That’s a given, isn’t it?” Ryuunosuke grumbles, accidentally tearing out a handful of grass. “I know your dream’s to change the ways of law in Japan and all that, but you don’t have to go all the way to the British Empire, do you?”

Another long silence. There is a rustle as his friend shifts slightly. “It’s not just about that,” Asougi says at last, and Ryuunosuke feels his heart sink at the words. “I have something I need to do.”

Bitterness wells up from somewhere, at the unfairness of it all, and Ryuunosuke can’t stop it from leaking into his voice. “Something more important than your dream? Something more important than you being alive?” It’s unfair, so very unfair, to throw these accusations at Asougi, but he is far past caring. “…Something more important than you being happy?”

He thinks Asougi might actually be stunned, which is a rare sight, even though he can’t see Asougi’s face. And there is audible surprise when Asougi replies at last, with an equally rare edge to his voice. “I was happy. Don’t make assumptions, Naruhodou.”

“What was I supposed to think?” Ryuunosuke hisses. “You said all those things, and then… And then… And…” An unwelcome photograph flashes through his mind and he closes his eyes. And he can’t help but mutter quietly, a childish wish. “I thought… you would always be by my side.”

He can feel Asougi half-turn his head, and doesn’t need to look up to know that he is giving that wry smile he hates so much. And Asougi says, with a long, long sigh,

“I thought I would be too.”

Ryuunosuke thinks of that last night, of Asougi’s too-dark eyes and—I have a favor to ask you—and the retort rises more easily than it should. “Liar.”

He opens his eyes, and is honestly surprised to find them dry.

The ship is scheduled to dock tomorrow.

A part of Ryuunosuke doesn’t want that to happen. Like it or not, this ship is the last (and a weight drops into his stomach at the thought) place he and Asougi have been together. To walk away from it and step onto foreign soil without Asougi—

Without his partner, in his place—

Ryuunosuke can’t quite find the words. But Susato takes one look at him, nods, and pulls him to the deck. It is strangely empty.

“Do what you must, Naruhodou-sama,” Susato says primly. “I’ve ensured that no one will disturb you.”

“Do… what, exactly?” he asks numbly. “I-I’m sorry, Susato-san, I don’t quite understand—”

“Have you, even once, cried since Kazuma-sama’s death?”

If Ryuunosuke were asked to describe Susato, he might say something strangely poetic like ‘quiet and steel’.

But there is nothing quiet about the almost accusatory steel laced in her voice now, and it stabs him to the core.

“When we arrive in London, you will have no more time to grieve,” Susato continues. Her gaze moves to the sword hanging at his waist, and it might be his imagination, but her eyes suddenly seem very bright. “You have been studying very, very diligently, Naruhodou-sama. Perhaps being so busy has helped you cope until now. But now… Naruhodou-sama, we are leaving this ship soon, to carry on Kazuma-sama’s will like we promised. Like you promised.” She squeezes his hand and lets go at last, a fact that Ryuunosuke had not noticed until his fingers feel strangely cold, and bows. “There is no one here. Please do not hold anything back.”

For the next several minutes after Susato takes her leave, Ryuunosuke walks back and forth across the length of the deck in a slight daze. True to her word, not a single other person makes an appearance, but it’s only unnerving than anything.

He hasn’t cried yet. For whatever reason, tears have been beyond him so far. But no matter what Susato says, it’s just not so simple.

Out of a lack of anything else to do, Ryuunosuke unbuckles Asougi’s sword from his belt and holds it horizontally in his hands, staring down at it. He has not seen the blade drawn since the time Asougi explained its significance. Ryuunosuke attempts a few practice swings with the sword—sheathed, of course—like he has seen Asougi perform before. But his feet don’t move quite smoothly, he has none of Asougi’s quiet grace, and the sword waves awkwardly through the air. Ryuunosuke gives up quickly enough, panting, and his grip on the sword handle tightens. His feet bring him to the edge of the deck and Ryuunosuke stares out at the foggy horizon. It’s difficult to believe that they are only a day’s journey away from land when all he can see is an endless stretch of sea and sky. Somewhere out there is their destination. A destination that isn’t supposed to be his.

Ryuunosuke leans over the railing, the sword clutched to his chest, and yells.

What begins as Asougi’s name turns into a wordless sound of pent-up, swirling emotions; a storm of raging frustration, fear, grief—and more piercing than all the others combined, a stark cry of loneliness.

Asougi is nowhere, and never will be anywhere he can find again.

He screams, and screams, and keeps screaming, barely drawing breath until there is searing pain in his throat and thinks he tastes blood, and then screams one more time for good measure. There is no response except for the faint echo of his own voice, the indignant caws of startled seabirds, and the indifferent lapping of waves against the boat’s hull. And Ryuunosuke sinks to his knees to slump against the rails, the sword shuddering in his hands.

Something warm and wet is running down his face.

Asougi.

I’ll do it. I’ll finish what you started, what you were doing, and what you wanted to do. I’ll be a lawyer, just like you said, even if it kills me. I’m going to change the ways of law in Japan.

But Asougi, I wish you were here. I want you to be here. I want you to tell me how to wake up from this nightmare. None of it makes sense to me yet.

You’ll forgive your best friend for doing something like this, won’t you? Just for tonight, do you mind if I cry, Asougi?