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Rohan becomes more and more restless. He doesn’t know which one is real anymore. No, he knows, he must be able to. For he is a manga artist who is always thirsty for reality in his pursuit of art. The problem is not whether he is able to differentiate between reality and fiction. It is that he often sees glimpses of his past—wait, which one is his past again? The one where he was replaced by a boogeyman version of him for half of a year? The one where his editor, Izumi Kyoka, didn’t get married? Or the one where he is acquainted with some high school students?
Calm down. Maybe some Ginger Ale will help? While thinking that, Rohan walks to the kitchen. He takes a champagne glass from the cupboard and spotted his coffee machine. Right, he brewed a Kona Coffee earlier. Good, because he doesn’t think he is capable of making his usual preferable brew in his current state of mind.
A careless look at his surroundings plus an unfocused mind makes him accidentally hit the glass bottle on the side counter to the floor. The man curses and can only stare at the shattered bottle. Oh yeah, that is the Ginger Ale. Huffing to himself, he picks up the pieces of the bottle while muttering:
“If only that bastard is here...”
He stopped.
Again. He would sometimes unconsciously mention someone he doesn’t even have any idea who. The bastard. The liar. The doofus. The idiot. No, wait, the idiot is his best friend. Well, Rohan certainly admits he is also kind of an idiot for liking him.
...Liking him? In what sense? Like a fan? No, he can feel this is more than that. It is too heavy of a feeling to only describe it as affection from a fan. He regards all his fans the same, but him... Rohan somehow can say for sure he is not a fan. He is not even a reader of his manga.
...Who is he again?
A piece of glass that pierced his finger snaps Rohan out of his mind. Drips of blood and pain help him to get out of the trance. His heart beats really fast and he can feel his breathing slowing down to a moderate pace. Did he just unconsciously hyperventilate?
This cannot do. He comes to America exactly to clear his mind. The man quickly cleans up the pieces and the spoils on the floor. He opens his refrigerator to take another bottle of Ginger Ale and pours it into his glass. In a matter of seconds, the glass becomes empty. Rohan just silently stands on the counter. He can feel his body warms up and his mind slowly becomes clearer. It somehow feels pretty nostalgic.
He tries to recollect everything about his life up until now—at least, the ones he can tell apart from the visions. He came here to have a vacation for around two weeks. He is a famous manga artist. He once lived in Tokyo. He debuted in his teenage years. He sometimes would stay in his grandmother’s inn, but he actually lived in Morioh.
“...”
Rohan blinks his eyes. Many times. Resting his head in his hands, he tries to squeeze his brain to work. He can’t remember clearly the times before that. Did he move from Morioh because of the earthquake in 2011? Or was it because of a certain incident involving a whole family killed?
He can’t tell anymore.
No way he forgets his whole childhood. Again.
After all they went through.
Suffocated by the thought, Rohan makes his way to a certain room. Sounds of clicking and opening drawers can be heard afterward. The man frantically shot his eyes here and there searching for something like a madman. He tries his hardest to straighten his mind and keeps his hands from trembling. The longer he can’t find it, the longer his mind can’t be put at rest.
He gasps for air when he finally founds the thing. Carefully, he takes it out and put it under the sunlight so he can see it more clearly.
A clear, bright, shining diamond.
He doesn’t know what urged him to buy it, but ever since he laid his eyes on the diamonds he saw at the Louvre some time ago, he couldn’t take his eyes off the gemstones. The three historical diamonds—the Regent, the Sancy, and the Hortensia. Besides their entrancing forms and intriguing backstories, he could feel something else pulling him in like gravity. He feels... nostalgically secure—and annoyed not understanding why he feels like that.
The strange thing is, only diamonds that seem to do the trick.
Still in the same wing of the Louvre, Rohan saw other various gemstones and treasures carved from precious minerals like amethyst, agate, lapis lazuli, and jade. However, nothing seems to interest him like the diamonds did earlier. Not even the Côte de Bretagne spinel.
Obviously, he couldn’t buy the ones in the Louvre—he did ask whether he can or not though, which was replied with a straight no and a kick on the butt—but the urge is suffocating. He has never felt that calm in a long time. Even if it is only a mere placebo, he feels that he must possess one.
Not just a regular diamond, no. That won’t do. It must be a certified natural one. As sturdy, strong, gentle, and beautiful as him. After all he did, or at least, what he did for Rohan’s once important person, he deserves more than to be represented with a regular synthetic diamond.
Millions of dollars are nothing. He is Kishibe Rohan, after all, THE famous manga artist.
A blue, 24 karats, round brilliant cut diamond in his right hand somehow reminds him of the eye that always kindly watches over him and even something as big as his whole hometown. He did declare that he is in possession of it to the customs at the airport, but Rohan has absolutely no intention of handing it to anyone. He just wants to show off the beautiful diamond he possesses to them. To tell the whole world that it is his. To ensure himself that the diamond is his.
He is going to fight anyone who tries to take it from him, no matter how many people it is.
Rohan wonders why in the world is he so protective and afraid of losing the diamond. Is it because of how much he has spent on it? Because it always acts recklessly and selflessly on its own? Because lots of people would be sad? Because he would be sad? Even though he is completely aware every living thing will die?
"Heh..."
A light chuckle can be heard from his mouth. What was he thinking? A diamond is not alive. It is not his dog, Bakin. Although Rohan can’t deny he is like a dog, he still is not one. Making breakfast, caring for him when he is tired, teasing him, inviting him for a game, chatting about useless things, letting the pompadour becomes a mess just to give him a kiss—
Oh, lord. Did he just refer to the diamond as a person? Did he just imagine a gemstone as a living breathing man?
Rohan puts his other free hand on his face while sighing, praying to whoever above that he hasn’t gone insane—even though it is tempting to experience that kind of state of mind. He cannot afford not to draw manga ever again. He cannot afford anyone not to read his manga again. He cannot afford not to feel this secure and calm again. He cannot afford not to be able to touch the diamond ever again.
Embracing the item carefully in his hands, Rohan can feel something wrapped around his figure. Something—Someone—big and warm, providing a sense of security to him. He is not someone who believes in superstitions, but after he got nearly possessed by a demon child of a certain hill, having a running match with a man who is possessed by the god of muscle, met a mother whose girl speaks in reverse and is able to camouflage, he would not be surprised if what he feels right now is real even if he can’t see it.
Suddenly, the facets of the diamond seem to be rapidly increasing and filling his whole vision.
No, it is his vision that is suddenly blurred.
The tears he last shed when his hometown is in danger of blowing up suddenly appear in his eyes. He has been crying quite a lot lately, has he become sentimental? The manga artist has been told by some people that he has certainly become kinder and more sensible. While he is thankful for the fact, Rohan curses him for making him this much of a mess of emotion. In this world full of bizarre things, he curses him for making him feel like an anomaly who can only be comforted by a diamond.
He misses his hometown. He misses the pale blue sky and baby pink flowers around the neighborhood. The dollar signs on the shops. The pure white with some hints of green egg toys. He misses... something—someone. Is it still the Morioh he once knew? Or is it the Morioh where the thing he misses is not for him to claim?
...Which one is his Morioh? Where is his Morioh?
Rohan takes a long breath again. What the diamond did to him sure is a wonder. His mind went for some complicated thought again, but this time everything is under his control. Something tells him—the diamond tells him—that it is going to be all right. That he doesn’t have to worry too much. And Rohan agrees. He came to Hawai’i to take his mind off his work—as much as he enjoys it—and his recent strange phenomenon.
“...See you, Higashikata Josuke.”
With a faint smile, Rohan put the diamond back in his secret place.
It is a sunny day today. It won’t hurt to spend the time in the pool.