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The hunt for the Ainu gold must continue against all odds. Time doesn’t stop for anybody, and it definitely doesn’t stop to mourn the fallen.
Corpses. Screams. Gunfire echoes throughout the cars as the train howled like a wild beast charging towards the final destination. For a moment, the world felt like it was falling apart, built on the blood and tears shed for empty promises of glory and absolution.
Asirpa was thirteen, and the world as she knows it was coming to an end faster than she could keep up.
In the first train car, second to the end, she caught a glimpse of a familiar silhouette. Even with the white cloak, it failed to conceal the darkness emanating from within.
“Ogata!” She called out.
The chuckles were light, almost nonexistent, the way they came and went like a gust of wind. “Asirpa. Have you managed to kill anyone since then?”
Asirpa hadn’t. Yet the grip on her bow was firm, and when she let go of the string this time, it was confident.
The arrow plunged deep into Ogata’s guts. His stance weakened, and his eyes widened. Ogata let loose an agonized scream. And as she watched Ogata turn the barrel of his gun back at himself, Asirpa could vaguely feel the presence of an evil much greater than the one her arrow just landed on.
It took Ogata with it as his body went limp and flipped over, the train’s smoke enveloping his body when he went down.
He was unsuccessful.
He didn’t win, but unlike his fellow men, he didn’t die.
.
Life after the gold hunt was dull. Despite the horrors, it wasn’t hard for Asirpa to go on with her old life, wandering for hours in the woods, hunting animals.
Asirpa’s eyes fixate on a hare; its white fur would’ve made it indistinguishable from the snow if it wasn’t for the two black spots on its ears. Without blinking, her poisonous arrow flies through the branches. It lands on the neck. The poor creature barely had time to react.
There’s blood staining the pristine white of the mountainous landscape when Asirpa walks over to her catch. Something feels like it’s poking the walls of her insides when she looks at the dead hare. She feels neither excitement nor satisfaction. The feeling is tart, and her fingers can’t help but tremble.
It’s getting cold, she thinks. Although Asirpa begins to find herself in her late teens, she doesn’t seem content with letting go of that childish tendency to self-indulge. She loves a good hunt, but she’s also smart enough to notice when the numbness in her fingertips is becoming too real for her own liking.
.
An awful smell finds its way into Asirpa’s nostrils. Osoma . Even with her chagrin, the movements on Asirpa’s features are measured and contained.
Her eyes scout the area before landing on a figure at the far corner of the cise . Her guard is still up in the aftermath of the hunt, and she finds herself involuntarily tense. She doesn’t tiptoe, but her steps are careful nonetheless.
Her shadow drapes over the figure when she comes close; Asirpa sees it holding down a piece of cloth, abrasively biting and pulling at the garment. It seems unbothered by her appearance until she lets out an exasperated sigh.
“You’re too old to be causing trouble, Ogata.” Asirpa expects the words to come out more demanding and irritating. Instead, her voice sounds flat, almost defeated by his attempt to vex her.
She places him on his back and begins to remove his dirtied fundoshi. It’s the least favorite part of Asirpa’s routine, and her routine only , mostly because Ogata wouldn’t let huci or anyone else touch him.
She doesn’t press any of her family for not joining in on taking care of Ogata either. After all, bringing him to the kotan was her idea. But it’d be a lie to say the way he acts doesn’t raise her hackles.
Her pupils follow Ogata’s movements. The rush from the hunt still hasn't simmered down, and her nerves are still on edge. She keeps track of Ogata as he shifts and turns, leaving creases on the blanket.
Occasionally she will catch his gaze, him staring into depthless blue with a glint of green as if to wait for a response. Moments like that make her wonder if she’s supposed to play along with whatever script he’s written. To relent or to indulge in.
In reality, Asirpa doesn’t touch him once. She purposefully positions herself above his eye level. She simply stands and observes, his body disappearing in her shadow. As if crushed by the weight of her gaze, Ogata’s actions eventually become less frantic and less chaotic before coming to a halt entirely.
Asirpa can feel the uneasiness in her dissipates when she sees Ogata like this. There’s something primitive about him that doesn’t shout ferocity but oblivion. The way he acts, how he darts around, betrays the image of a treacherous wildcat. Asirpa catches herself slipping.
The feeling is fleeting, but for a split second, it turns her insides soft and dripping down like honey. It makes her uncomfortable. Seeing him act unruly and infantile and not having a clue as to whether or not he’s putting on a front.
If he is, she can’t tell if she likes her role in it.
It’s not a feeling she wants to dwell on; she wants to pretend it doesn’t exist.
“Why do you do these things, Ogata? Why pretend like you don’t know anything?”
Finally defeated, Asirpa crouches down next to Ogata. She wraps the clean cloth around Ogata’s waist, and he moves in tandem with her hands as she changes his fundoshi. Silence fills the gap between them; not even the faint sounds of fabric brushing against each other or skin against skin could get either party to say a thing.
———
Dinner today is citatap , but as always, Asirpa has to spoon-feed Ogata’s portion to him.
She tells herself it isn’t anything unusual. She would occasionally feed her companions back when the gold hunt was still in motion. Unlike other duties, this one is her favorite, or at the very least, one that she doesn’t dread having to do.
It’s special with Ogata; the act feels intimate. At first he would refuse her favors vehemently, even as she talked his ears off about the importance of trust and teamwork. When it finally happened, she felt a childlike sort of pride, knowing that she dismantled the walls he built, if only for a moment.
“Great job, Ogata!” Asirpa replies cheerily.
Her praise is met with a resounding silence. She doesn’t mind it; she even finds it amusing, in a way that feels infuriating yet nostalgic and familiar.
“You still haven’t told me your favorite food yet, Ogata.” The lack of a reaction doesn’t seem to discourage her light excitement. The fire from the light stand reflects in Ogata’s pupils, unfocused but very much alive despite not speaking even once.
“Ogata~ If you won’t say anything else, can you at least say ‘hinna’?” At this point, it feels less like a conversation and more like Asirpa talking to herself.
Seeing her small attempts at teasing fail, Asirpa doesn’t press the matter any harder. For now, she’s just relieved to see Ogata finished his food. It only takes a few spoonfuls for him to wipe the bowl clean, remnants of the otter still covering his face.
.
Tedious tasks such as cleaning after oneself leave a lot of room for introspection. Even if she’s had otter or hare over a hundred times, it still feels unfinished without Sugimoto’s osoma.
When the last of it was in her possession, she was careful to use his osoma with care and seldom took it out of the container, if ever. She doesn’t want to leave it to spoil, yet immediate satisfaction whenever she had a bite dipped in Sugimoto’s osoma was always followed by dread thinking about the day it would run out.
The day Sugimoto’s osoma was finally used up, woe didn’t come rushing in, and she could still recall how it felt on her taste buds. It started days later, as the sweet richness quickly faded from her tongue before disappearing completely. She could still remember that it was good but can no longer remember why.
She thought she’d get used to it by now, with what happened to aca and Retar. Sugimoto and his osoma just felt like another moment of temporary happiness she’d put away with the rest in the memory cabinets of her mind.
But pretending loss doesn’t exist doesn’t mean it’s not there. Without intending to, his osoma was Sugimoto’s unintentional parting gift to Asirpa. And when there was none of it left, she felt like a crusted wound was forcibly opened inside her.
Aca . Retar. So many lives were lost in the search for the hidden gold. How many could she have brought to the future with her?
A noise breaks Asirpa out of what felt like a never-ending depressive spiral. She turns to look towards the source of the sound. Standing there is Ogata, his stumps sinking into the ground; it’s clear that he’s been standing for a while now, watching her.
He seems puzzled; his head tilts and his pupils slanted slightly. And as she watches him back, his gaze unflinching, his muscles firm with no sign of weariness, Asirpa wonders the same thing with Ogata.
Can you be in my future too?
———
In the early days, things were uneventful, but they weren’t horrible either. His shortened limbs did little to reduce his mobility, and Ogata was still his usual self. Distant and brooding. Silent and full of loneliness.
The man never lost his penchant for observation. Despite the physical limitations, he could be found in various spots of the kotan , watching people. On those days, Ogata often looked distracted, absent even.
It’s confusion . Asirpa thought. Ogata is adapting to his situation the best way he can . It was the faith of a girl that witnessed some of humanity’s worst yet persevered through it.
She never knew. That his gaze, which felt like it was caressing her, covets her with brutal, unwavering lust. His unhurried, unrhythmic steps mask the expertise of a predator ready to devour and claim his prey.
Asirpa is no dainty doe, clueless to the whims of others, but the time she spent with Ogata has lowered her guard until clarity hits her with unfiltered brutality.
———
It’s late into the night, and neither the moon nor the stars are to be seen. The only light in the darkness is a stand situated near Asirpa’s head. The fire from the scallop shell shines on her face. She’s always quick to sleep whenever she goes out hunting.
At first, when it happened, she had yet to recognize what was going on.
Light brushes against various parts of her body, moving from the hair on her lower legs to her arms. It tickles her nerves, but not enough to wake her from her deep slumber. Asirpa largely just ignores them, attributing it to the night air hitting her skin.
The feeling quickly moves up to her torso as she feels the gust hitting around her body. It isn’t suffocating, but the pressure is enough to disrupt her breathing a bit. Asirpa can feel the weight in the air she inhales. Groaning, she turns to her side.
As quickly as it happens, the odd sensations fade just as Asirpa can feel the fresh night air in her lungs again. She recovers from her drowse rather quickly and dozes off to sleep, one deeper than the previous.
.
She awakens once again, with sounds of breathing next to her ear. Her mind is still hazy and cloudy when she hears them. Rough and uneven.
The hot air touches her face, prickling her nerves enough to get them to work properly. Immediately, she feels something hitting her lower half. Her heart pound in her ears.
The realization lasts seconds in real time, but to Asirpa, it feels like an eternity between what is happening and her coming to terms with it.
She looks down, trying to register what’s going on.
It’s Ogata. He’s on top of her. There’s no warning of his approach. His breathing is ragged, and he’s inhaling sharply, his nose buried in her hair. The grunt he makes sounds like blots when they go through her ears before eventually becoming unintelligible ringing.
But the worst part of it all was the feel of his crotch hitting her butt. Harshly. Ukocanupkor . It was too close, too intimate. For a moment, she can’t breathe. She can’t think. Yet even through the fabric of the blanket and her purple kimono, she can still feel his manhood brushing against her sensitive skin.
He moves with rhythm despite the animalistic noises he makes and the force of each of his thrusts. Despite his drawbacks, she feels trapped in his hold, like a mouse trapped by a cat.
Asirpa freezes. She’s terrified. Her aca had trained her in the arts of hunting—to be stoic and unflinching in the face of your prey, but also potential predators. It works with the simple minds of animals, but it’s different with humans. The conflict between Ogata’s controlled movements and the violence he’s inflicting causes her mind to run in circles.
Aca ’s training was more than just mental. It’s imbued in her muscles. And before her mind could process what was happening, her body was already reacting.
Even with his limbs gone, Ogata still carries with him well-trained muscles that weigh heavily on Asirpa’s body. It takes her struggling—her leg stretches out, foot firmly on toned abdomen—to put some distance between herself and Ogata.
“Get off!” She screams. Loudly. It comes off less intimidating than she intended; Asirpa thinks her voice might’ve even cracked a little, like she was scared.
The strength Asirpa put in to push Ogata off of her must’ve been significant because he lands with a loud thud.
Ogata’s face makes direct contact with the ground. It takes him a whole minute to get up, fumbling lightly when he tries.
Although subtle, Asirpa can tell she must’ve bruised one half of his face, the way it swells so much that he can’t open one of his eye. He looks directly at her, blood dripping down his mouth from his nose. He licks the red liquid, his gaze still locked on her.
Asirpa would’ve felt a tinge of guilt for how hard she pushed him if it wasn’t for that last act. She feels her face heat up looking at him licking the blood off while staring her down with a blank look. Asirpa feels her brows twitch; she wants to feel angry, to show him that she’s angry with him. Instead, she parts her lips, staring at the man laid in front of her, weighing her options, unsure what to say.
If Asirpa can see her face in a mirror right now, she thinks she looks more confused and bothered than enraged.
After what felt like an eternity, Ogata was the first to back down. He slowly moves towards his designated spot at the corner of the cise , watching Asirpa as her head moves with his torso. His gaze finally breaks when he closes his eyes to sleep, presumably for real this time.
As the silence of the night sets in once again, apart from the wolf howls and the sounds of leaves rustling against each other, Asirpa slowly lies down. She wonders how loud she screamed if no one came to check in on them during all that time.
And when she drifts off to sleep this time, the last thing on her mind is the fire of the nightstand. How she silently wishes its light would burn throughout the night.
———
Asirpa hasn’t seen Ogata all day.
He’s probably wandering around again. I hope he’s not bothering anyone. The worry remains, but Asirpa feels that somewhere besides it, sparks of something nastier, more nauseating are brewing inside of her. The memory of the night Ogata attempted to ukocanupkor was still fresh in her mind, and unlike everything else, she can neither pretend it didn’t happen nor her feelings don’t exist. But she tries anyway.
Asirpa takes her time stirring the soup, melting with the swirls created by her repeated motion when she hears the sounds of something approaching. Encroaching.
She doesn’t look at it, not acknowledging it. There’s a rising feeling inside of her, like a small fire in the pit of her stomach that’s slowly moving towards her chest and throat. Asirpa can tell it got closer. Behind her. Flesh on flesh.
It was quick and somehow nonexistent at the same time. Thinking back on it, Asirpa doesn’t know if it was real or not, but she knows she let it last longer than she intended.
Ogata stays there. He stays by Asirpa’s side even after she has finished cooking the icaniw ohaw , hugging her legs tightly as if afraid of losing her.
.
The future they’re heading towards. It’s not fixed.
There are feelings uglier than guilt, and the future is hers to choose.