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This is entirely unlike you.
Humans are important to the Nouto’s survival, yes, so the continued sustain of humanity is in your interest (that is part of why you make the effort to hunt the Hitotsuki in the first place, and the Juuto, too), but… you’ve never thought about it in a way that wasn’t anything but pragmatic. You’re not sure what this feeling is, but you can tell it’s different. And you don’t like it.
It’s confusing, swirling, throwing your mind into disarray. It’s entirely unfamiliar for someone like yourself, who has always thought himself to be complete. Completion implies perfection, and perfection gives way to an existence of ease – this is not easy at all.
Something must be wrong with you, then, right?
No matter what, the fact is that you can’t stop thinking about that man. About where he disappeared to. It’s almost… as if you were worried, or something.
You do know exactly where the people go that your sword slays. You know what happens to them. But even despite that, you found yourself looking into that pocket dimension, your eyes flitting over the countless shining cubes in a manner that seemed almost anxious until you found the one engulfing his soul. Whole and complete, safe and sound in death.
You run your eyes over the figure– perhaps a little longer than you should. At that thought, you withdraw your gaze from that place.
When your eyes open to the familiar colors of Ideon again, something in your heart still is at unrest. The colors around you seem too bright, there's static filling your ears, your pulse feels irregular. You look around – Sononi and Sonoza are absent, likely wandering around in the human world, indulging their curiosities. Love and laughter, learning about their meanings and intricacies.
(You exhale, feeling a sensation that's – that's puzzlingly close to relief.)
You, too, have something you were seeking in the human world – the purpose of art. Or should you say had? Because if you think about it now, you don’t really feel like researching into it anymore. It feels pointless.
What was it that intrigued you in the first place? Humans create art to mask their imperfections. Art, therefore, is an act of lying. Nouto have no faults, no need for lies, and therefore no art. And yet, it seems that there are beautiful lies in this world–
Yes, you spoke of them yourself. And to him, no less. Under the light of another lie, as per yourself.
…There, Momoi Tarou had told you that he cannot lie. With something shining in his eyes, something small and almost vulnerable. He’d sought you out, shared his troubles with you and listened to your words whole-heartedly. He– Tarou had even said that they were good words, his voice brimming with earnest acclaim.
You do wonder: if you had told him a lie and phrased it prettily enough, would he still repeat the same sentiment? Would Momoi Tarou, with all of his pure heart unable to see the worth of voicing a single lie, had called such a thing beautiful if he didn't know?
Would he have called you beautiful if he had never found out about your truth?
(Maybe that's all you wanted, in the end.)
If you could go back and just– if you could somehow avert that turn of events, no matter by which means, you would. You’d even lie to Tarou, you are thinking. But lying, that is–
Nouto have no faults, no need for lies, and therefore no desire or anything resembling a wish.
But is that still true of yourself?
You hadn't lied to him. You did want to know his weakness, that was your intention. But you'd still taken advantage of his honesty, used it to land a sneak hit on him. Deception is the child of lying, and therefore–
In meeting Momoi Tarou, conversing with him and taking his life at the end, you have become willing to be a liar. Like the humans below your feet.
The realization does not shock you as much as it should, probably. But more than anything, its impact is numbed by a much bigger, heavier feeling in your chest. That bunched up mass of intangible things, twisted threads coiling around your heart and lungs. It‘s hard to breathe, hard to think. You‘ve never experienced this sort of… dread before, so you don‘t know what to do with it. What to do with yourself.
(Distantly, a musing – is this what art is for?)
You sigh. Whether beautiful or not, it doesn't matter. Tarou's no longer there to tell you with those shining eyes and commanding voice of his. You killed him with your own hands.
(It was your duty. You should feel satisfied at having completed it, but instead you feel disgusted with yourself.)
Tarou didn't shed any blood when he died, but the red still tainted all of your mind. You can't get rid of it, even now. It permeates all your thoughts, motions, every single breath and the slightest of sensations. When you close your eyes, you see his face; when you listen in on the wind, you hear the ghost of his voice; when you wrinkle your nose, you smell his lingering scent; when you examine the tingling in your fingers, you feel the remnants of his touch; when you slide your tongue around in your mouth, you taste blood again.
This thing that you feel – whatever it is – has stained you. It has made you imperfect. You, Sonoi, integrity and perfection in person! A proud, upstanding Nouto, who knows no faults, no lies and most of all, no–
You blink. And shudder.
You don’t want to finish that thought. Even if avoiding it is without purpose. At this point, you can deny it all you want but it'll only drive the nail further in. When not even striking down Tarou stopped the beating in your chest, you knew it was hopeless. No matter how much you try to get around, the feeling remains. A truth that cannot be obscured by even the most elaborate of lies.
In meeting Momoi Tarou, the emblem of perfection, you have become a mere human. And in that exact moment, under the true light of the sun, you started wanting.
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