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Empty.
Akagi walked down the streets, hands stuffed in his pockets as he examined the buildings and roads he passed by. There were no signs of people here. Abandoning a town was one thing but not even animals were seen here. No birds flying overhead, no critters running about, and not even the sounds of cicadas.
It was completely dead.
Akagi wondered what had happened here and where everybody had gone.
Further down the street, Akagi spotted a figure standing in the distance. He stopped in place, not quite sure if he should approach them or turn the other way. It was eerily enough to be in a ghost town and even more so now with another person here.
Ultimately, Akagi decided to take a closer look.
Someone with long hair going down their back. Someone who wore dark clothes that contrasted the hair color that matched a sheet of snow. Someone familiar.
The streets that he walked in began to distort, morphing into a long hallway. At the end of it was a set of doors.
Familiarity.
Akagi had been in this place before.
Picture frames decorated the walls but Akagi could not make sense of them. As he continued down the hall, the pictures began to clear.
A large, foreboding mansion shrouded in darkness.
A machine with tubes attached to it.
A gloved hand holding up a transparent Red Dragon tile.
Right. He hurried down the hallway. How could he have nearly forgotten such an important event in his life?
The doors opened and revealed the large, spacious room inside, adorned with large paintings. And in the middle was the Mahjong table with only one seat occupied.
“Akagi Shigeru.”
The voice carried through the room and just like that, Akagi felt like he was in the year of 1975 on a late August night, sitting across from an old man with a wide, confident smile. Even without his subordinates by his side, his demeanor remained the same.
“Washizu Iwao,” he greeted.
Washizu gestured at him, motioning at the tiles. “It’s your turn to discard.”
He picked up a tile with gloved fingers as he smiled, chuckling softly to himself.
Washizu Iwao was just as he remembered him to be.
🀑
Over time, Akagi became aware that he was dreaming.
Fragmented dreams that always revolved around him and Washizu, just the two of them in this little world that existed each time when he dozed off into sleep.
At first, it was always about Mahjong. He would open his eyes to find himself in the middle of the match, tiles already arranged before him and a cigarette in his hand. It never mattered how far in the game it was, he always knew where they had left him and continued the flow. It was as natural as breathing.
Over time, the dreams began to change. Perhaps his consciousness wanted a break from the endless Mahjong matches.
“Akagi, look here.”
Washizu’s voice drew his attention away from the large cardboard box he was shifting through in the basement. He was holding up a small vase.
“I’ve found a priceless artifact.”
Akagi walked over, carefully stepping around the objects and other boxes scattered over the ground. Eyeing the vase in Washizu’s hands, it was covered in layers of dust and dirt, dulling its surface and some parts of it were chipped. It looked more like trash that someone discarded than anything.
Washizu must have seen the unimpressed look on his face.
“Look closely! This must have been made in the Meiji period, no, maybe even before then.”
He leaned in, taking a closer look. Sure enough, there was a faint outline of a design carved into the vase. His eyes followed the lines easily as a testament to the expert craftsmanship.
Washizu was beaming brightly, holding the vase up as if it were a trophy. “I’ll send it out to get appraised soon. I’m certain that it’s from that time period… How about you? Have you managed to find what you’re looking for yet?”
Akagi turned back to the large box he was shifting through and then to the other boxes stashed all around it.
“A little help would be appreciated.”
“Help?” Washizu frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous! You’re asking for help from someone as old as me. Where are your manners??”
“I’m old now too, Washizu.”
“Now you’re speaking nonsense. Has all the dust in here affected you?” Washizu carefully set the vase aside before heading over to the boxes. “What are you looking for anyway?"
Akagi paused. What was he looking for? A brief silence stretched out between them before he answered him.
“I don’t know,” came a quiet reply. “I can’t remember.”
🀑🀑
It would be a lie to say that Akagi didn’t enjoy these peaceful dreams. If anything, it was what he looked forward to the most at the end of the day. Here, Washizu was always with him.
“Ugh… Why are we here?” Washizu asked as he lifted and shook his leg. “There’s sand in my shoes.”
Akagi only hummed in response, looking off into the distance where the horizon seemed to stretch impossibly long. Steady waves slowly creeping in and out to his left, followed by the soft crunching of soles on sand.
“I thought we were heading to a beach house,” Washizu continued to complain. “Not a stroll on a beach! There’s sand everywhere!”
“Of course, there’s sand everywhere,” he chuckled. “That’s what a beach is.”
Washizu scoffed. “I don’t know why you suddenly walked to come here. We’re not even dressed appropriately.”
His gaze lowered to the other’s body, brows furrowing. He tried to recall his clothes, vaguely remembering them to be red and black… no, was it blue and green? The man’s body was a complete blur.
Akagi doesn’t remember.
Only Washizu’s face remained clear down to the wrinkles creased deep into his face, the angular nose, and dark eyes. His long gray hair gently swayed in the wind behind him. Everything about him was just as he remembered him all those years ago. Everything else seemed to fade into nothingness, much like the footprints behind him slowly being washed away.
🀑🀑🀑
“Something on your mind?”
Akagi shook his head while chewing the sushi he had just put into his mouth. Across from him, Washizu set down his teacup, looking concerned.
“Don’t lie. You’ve been out of it these days. Is something wrong?”
“It’s nothing, really,” he responded
“Are you sick?” Washizu leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he studied him. “You look a bit… different.”
The sushi in Akagi’s chopstick trembled, as if reminding him of the disease that plagued his mind, slowly robbing him of normal functions, putting them far out of reach in his mind. He placed the sushi back on the plate with a sigh, sitting back in his chair.
“Washizu… What if one day, I forget about you?”
The chair suddenly scraped against the floor as the table rattled. Hands slammed down on the table, knocking over Washizu’s teacup and rattling the plates and silverware.
“Forget me ?” Washizu snapped. “What are you talking about?! After our match, how could you possibly forget me!?! After everything you’ve gone through…”
“It’s possible,” he said quietly. “It can happen.”
The old man’s fists curled as he leaned forward. “No…” His voice trembled, giving way for anger and something else. Something raw. “Even if your mind betrays you, even if the world disappears, you will not forget me. I will not allow it to happen.”
Washizu was a determined man who could even bend fate to his will. And Akagi… Akagi wanted to believe him. But the longer he looked, the features on Washizu’s face were already slipping, as if his memory was disappearing in real time.
🀑🀑🀑🀑
Akagi walked down the hallways alone. Another one of these dreams, where he walked down the hall filled with photos framed on the wall, photos of his life that were too fuzzy for him.
With these last couple of dreams, Washizu was absent.
A small part of him feared that Washizu had disappeared. After swearing that Washizu would not allow him to forget him, Akagi’s mind refused to materialize him in his dreams. A small, budding fear had been planted that Washizu was now another fading memory of his.
This time a large canvas sat before him, with lines and colors materializing on it as he watched carefully.
Long gray hair. Straight and smooth. Was it shorter and rested just above his shoulders? No, it must be longer, flowing down his back and shoulders. As any old man, there were wrinkles etched deep into his forehead, around his mouth and under his eyes. His pupils were dark and his nose was beak-like. An angular face with sharp outlining of his jaw. His eyebrows were longer than that. And his clothes, what of his clothes?
Akagi couldn’t remember, staring at the unfinished canvas in front of him. Seeing it had only resolved his decision for his funeral.
Before these memories are completely wiped away. Before Washizu disappears entirely. Before anything… Akagi wanted to die as Akagi.
🀙
Amidst the cries of his name, in between consciousness and unconsciousness, he found himself on the park bench.
“Akagi…”
A hand reached out, gently touching the side of his face.
“You’re old.” A finger traced the creases that time had given him. “It’s like you’d said, you’ve grown old.”
It was Washizu whom he hadn't seen in a while.
“Washizu.”
“Hmm?”
“I’m leaving, Washizu.”
The words came gently and Washizu stayed silent for a moment before speaking.
“We just saw each other again and the first thing you tell me is that you're leaving?” Akagi half expected him to blow up, for him to grab his shoulders and start shouting at him. Instead, fingers stroked his face more longingly as if he knew Akagi was nearing the end of the line. “... So you’ve come to terms with yourself.”
There was nothing Washizu could do at this point. It was a shame that their reunion had to be cut short like this. Regret hung deep in his heart for not having more time to be with Washizu. Regret for not looking for him and letting him know sooner. It was these two regrets that manifested Washizu before him one last time.
“I’ve accepted this,” he said. “I’m going to live and die as Akagi Shigeru.”
“… I understand,” Washizu choked on his words. “Akagi…”
His voice joined in with others’, all crying and calling out his name.
For a brief moment, Washizu’s face and clothes emerged clearly in his vision, tears streaming down his face as he held him tightly. Akagi smiled as he closed his eyes, consciousness slowly fading away alongside everything else.
Washizu Iwao was just as he remembered him to be.