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sprinkler system just beyond the bushes. As he turned to follow the
source of the sound, his eyes focused upon a second building just a 
stone's throw away from where he was standing. He walked towards the
unremarkable structure and, on his way to the flight of stairs leading 
to its entrance, he caught sight of several doctors and nurses scurrying
and bustling about its cramped hallways, minding their own business.

The Matsumoto Hospital was a small-sized building, about two stories
high and only a little larger than an average house. It sat contentedly
wedged between a school and a residential area, in one of the quieter
and more peaceful parts of Tokyo. As Kurama ventured further, he quickly
realized that he was currently walking on just one of the many small
parks that dotted the area; miniscule islands of greenery amongst the
jungle of concrete. From this new vantage point, he got a better view of
the building he had spotted earlier as it stood proudly in the distance,
rising above the trees and shrubbery with a splendor that could not be
denied even from such a remote proximity.

He conclusively deduced that he was in some sort of the botanical garden
located in the lobby of a local city hospital; but the problem was, he
had absolutely no idea what he was doing there or why Kuronue's pendant
brought him there in the first place. Was this really the place he
wanted to go to the most? He tried to remember the brief vision he had
before he vanished from the alternate world of Oz, but by now it had
already become a distant and fading memory.

'Wait a minute...' His thin eyebrows furrowed as he looked down--beneath
his feet, he found an out-of-place marble road that led directly inside
the off-white health ward. The russet pathway stuck out like a sore
thumb amidst the ashen concrete and vinyl tiles of the hospital's floor,
yet it was by and large unnoticed by the preoccupied physicians.

'This is it; the road to autumn. And just beyond it lay the third pillar
of light and the Representative of Autumn. That's where I need to go: my 
questions can wait,' Kurama thought firmly as he shook off the sick
feeling in the pit of his stomach and moved forward.

But before he could even take his first step on the road to autumn,
Kurama was caught flatfooted by two hard, manly slaps from behind, one
on each shoulder. He nearly jumped up in surprise after he turned around
and discovered who was behind him.

Yusuke and Kuwabara--this time sporting their custom-made Sarayashiki
Junior High School uniforms--stupidly grinned at the half-youko as they
greeted in unison, "Yo, Kurama!"

"Where'd you guys come from?" Kurama gasped as he strove to steady
himself after his initial shock, his eyes nearly boggling at his fellow
Spirit Detectives. "I thought you'd already woken up by now! What are
you two still doing here in the Dream World?"

"Hey, relax, Kurama!" Yusuke cooed as he soothingly moved his hands up
and down in front of the kitsune. "If you're going to go through all
this trouble to say your good-byes to your loved ones, then why can't
we?"

Kurama tilted his head questioningly at the raven-haired young man then
smiled. "Yusuke! That's about the sweetest thing I've ever heard you
say! You must be coming down with something," he reckoned, chuckling
gaily. "Seriously though, thank you; I appreciate the sentiment."

"No problem," Yusuke sheepishly stated as he scratched his chin
ponderously. "To be honest, the only reason we're still here in this
crazy dream is to catch up with you before you did that thing you were
supposed to do with Chuuku's chick, Asuka... if you can catch my
drift," he managed to disclose in one breath.

Kurama sweated bullets of sheer awkwardness after hearing the half-
demon's unintentional double entendre, but otherwise quickly recovered 
from the horrid misuse of the language. "Don't make it sound so sordid,
Yusuke."

"KURAMA!" Reacting like a matador would to a bull, the redheaded demon
fox involuntarily sidestepped a rather distraught Kuwabara as the
taller, brawnier adolescent shouted his name and lunged for him in a
disturbingly affectionate manner. The inexplicably weeping young man
missed him by a mile and tumbled into a boneless heap, knocking down
several garden gnomes in the process.

"Kuwabara-kun! You surprised me!" Kurama exclaimed as he went over the
disoriented, curly-haired youth and proceeded to help him up. "Why are
you...?"

With impressive ease, Kuwabara grabbed hold of Kurama's hand, flipped
forward, landed on his feet, and clutched him in a nigh-unbreakable,
bone-crushing bear hug.

"What you did back there with those two classmates of yours... and what
you're doing right now for the sake of a girl you've never even met...
proves that, beyond the shadow of a doubt, you're a man among men!" the
gangly yet robust teenager sobbed as masculine tears streamed down his
face. Meanwhile, the kitsune panted and huffed for dear life, apparently
forgetting that he was already, for the most part, dead.

"I'm going to miss you, you beautiful man, you!" Kuwabara openly wept
while the rictus smile plastered on the redhead's face widened in
furtive anguish. "I'll never forget you, Kurama! You're the manliest
man I've ever known... next to me, of course."

"Aw, cut that out, you big blubbering ox!" Yusuke casually coaxed as he
extricated two of his closest friends off of each other. "I do hope you
realize the irony of the situation, mister weeping willow."

"There are times when real men must cry," Kuwabara sniffled, nodding
sagely as Yusuke gave him an incredulous stare. "Don't give me that
look; I've seen you cry lots of times. Don't even try to deny it."

Kurama, after regaining his breath and composure, couldn't help but
shake his head at his companions' crazy antics in bemused amusement. Or
amused bemusement, whichever the case may be.

His mood suddenly shifting, Kuwabara added grimly, "Besides, don't
forget that what Kurama's planning is essentially suicide. He's about to
die so that he can give Matsui Asuka another chance to live; Chuuku
himself told me about that."

The effect of the declaration was almost instantaneous; Kurama stared
imploringly at Yusuke, but the half-demon could not even look him in the
eye. Kuwabara, however, kept gazing at the both of them with an ardent,
almost defiant look. "Now if you can't cry about that, then I'll cry for
you, Urameshi. I'm man enough to take it."

Slightly vexed, Kurama trailed off, "Kuwabara-kun, look..."

"There's no need to explain yourself, Kurama. I know where you're coming
from," declared Kuwabara as he waved off the kitsune's concerns. "This
situation isn't any different from when I sacrificed myself to Toguro so
that Urameshi could unleash his true power. We all need to sacrifice
some things, even ourselves, for the good of the people we love, and I'm
not in the position to judge you and your decision." 

After a moment's pause, Yusuke spoke. "The same thing goes for me,
Kurama. I didn't judge you when you thought you were becoming gay, and I
won't judge you for taking your life into your own hands. Your decisions
may seem controversial, but it's still your own business and none of
mine."

Uncharacteristically, the mazoku descendant's lower lip trembled and
teemed with unbridled grief. "But please, don't tell us not to be sad
about it. That's something we just couldn't help. We've been through far
too much not to care. Goddammit, Kurama, take care of yourself." He then
leaned forward and tightly embraced the surprised redhead. 

Kurama's mouth twitched miserably as he gently let go of his flustered
comrade; he wasn't even sure if the halfhearted expression on his face
could still be called a smile. "I've had a good run, and I'm glad that
the both of you care so much, but I have to move on. And I can't blame
either of you for feeling sad, given that even my youko self doesn't
agree with my decision."

Yusuke snorted in morbid amusement. "I can imagine. Well, tell that
uppity youko self of yours to stick your decision up his ass, 'coz there
ain't nothing he can do about it." The half-demon afterwards gave the
half-youko a laid-back salute. "Hopefully, you'll be as lucky as I was
and live through this suicide of yours. Good luck on that, and say hi to
Asuka-chan for me."

Kurama chortled at Yusuke's dark sense of humor. "I guess that little
piece of wisdom is another one of your patented, Urameshi-style, no-
beating-around-the-bush rants."

"Damn straight," Yusuke replied, then added, "Even though Kuwabara here
had to beat the living hell out of me just so that I can 'accept' your
little 'death scene', I'm pretty sure there are still a lot of people
who'll do anything to keep you from fulfilling your promise to Matsui
Asuka. You still got to watch yourself, man."

"I know," Kurama confirmed. "And I'm ready for anything they've got."

"Attaboy," Yusuke rooted with a wan smile, then darted his eyes away
from the scarlet-haired ghost. "Once you put your mind into something,
there ain't no stopping you. But then again, the same could be said
about any of the four of us, right?"

Kurama blinked. "'Any of the four of us?' What do you...?" But by then,
Yusuke and Kuwabara already had their backs turned as they made their
way out of the misty garden, traveling in the opposite direction of the
road to autumn. And then they were simply gone. Sighing, Kurama again
opted to let his questions rest for the time being.

'After all, I do have far more urgent things to take care of,' he
reckoned as he began to reassess his bearings. 'It's about time for me
to move forward.' Without further ceremony, he went on to traverse the
marble road's smooth and glossy path.

Kurama's eyes narrowed as he followed the incongruous road into the
looming hospital, as if he had just realized something. 'I've been here
before,' he thought as he sauntered into the wide, glass-door entrance.
Unaware of what was happening, his unaired queries had again sneaked
past the back of his mind and were now bursting through his overloaded
synapses. 'No wonder it looked so familiar. But when was I here? Why was
I here? Why am I here now?'
 
The kitsune soon found himself standing at one end of a very long
hallway with a highly-polished vinyl floor marred only by the autumnal
marble road. The mundane, pea-soup ceiling was inlaid with fluorescent
lights lined up in a drearily symmetrical fashion. The walls on each
side were boarded with off-white panels, the same color as that of the
exterior of the hospice, and had countless identical doors whose only 
distinguishing marks were the room numbers above them; they led into
various laboratories, clinics, and departments.

The artificial lighting made everything seem gloomy and bare, the simple
colors making it look like a prison or mortuary. The thought left Kurama
feeling rather disturbed. The hospital seemed to exude the atmosphere of
a place where someone would meet their doom rather than their salvation.

The half-youko shook his head and morbidly swallowed at the idea. What
he was looking for was on the second floor, judging from where the
marble road led. He glanced to either side of him and saw a list of
rooms embedded in the wall to his right. He quickly went over and
examined the directory, scanning through all of the room numbers and
descriptions for the building. After he found what he was looking for,
he turned and resumed his ostensible death march.

He tried to ignore the wafting, overpowering smell of disinfectant in
the air as he continued following the road to autumn, completely lost in 
thought. Every few seconds a doctor or nurse would emerge from one of
the many doors from either side of him with a soft 'whoosh' while short
queues of physicians lining up for the elevators could be found at the
other end of the sanitized labyrinth. 

There was a fountain halfway down the hall, just before the elevators.
The decorative construct seemed to epitomize the hospital's philosophy
of ideal proportion and hygienic purity, with its bland yet balanced
jets of water going off consecutively in a soundless, monotonous rhythm.
The perfectly circular pool didn't even so much as waste a trickle of
water as each and every drop was accounted for by the perpetually
tiresome machinations of the overgrown adornment.

Meanwhile, Kurama continued to weave through the mass of faceless
humanity congregating in front of him, excusing himself profusely to not
only doctors and nurses, but patients, guards, and custodians as well.
Yet for some strange reason, not one of these people acknowledged his
presence; they all acted as if he wasn't even there. 

Nevertheless, he patiently endured the swarming throng while wending his
way between hospital staff, some of whom were carrying clipboards,
others wheeling in their respective patients, still others idly reading 
newspapers as they walked by. Like listless drones inside a bee hive.... 

Everything in the hospital felt so sterilized, homogenized, uniform, and 
unvarying that it made even the usually imperturbable Kurama feel a bit
queasy. In spite of living in the Human World for nearly twenty years...
in Japan, in particular... he could never get used to these forced
values of communal monotony and harmonized homogeny. Groupthink, after
all, was a scary thing to witness, and even scarier to be a part of.

His vague sense of nostalgia and the autumn road as his only guides, 
Kurama persisted on treading through the crowd. He turned to his left,
just past the fountain, the elevators, and the rising tide of people;
there he found the stairs leading to the upper floor, and was relieved
to see that they were for the most part empty. He climbed the marble-
speckled staircase without a second thought. 'I'm almost there.'

Sooner rather than later, at the second floor to the right, the road to
autumn ended where Kurama was supposed to be; where he wanted to be the
most. A single, coherent thought formed inside the redheaded spirit's
mind as he looked at the room number above the door. It was his moment
of clarity, his purest epiphany. 'Room two-ten... I remember now.'

Just beyond that door lay Shiori Minamino... and he couldn't even bring
himself to open it.

In real life, room two-ten was actually the emergency room where
Kurama's... or rather, Shuichi Minamino's mother, Shiori, stayed during
the time when her health was in serious jeopardy. His mother's critical 
condition and impending demise were what prompted the former Makai thief
to steal the Mirror of Forlorn Hope from the Spirit World. And now,
apparently, his mother was also dreaming the very same stressful and
traumatic memory.

But in this dream, the tables had turned. This time it was he who was
going to die, and he didn't quite know how to break the news to his
mother. More to the point, he wasn't really quite sure if he was
prepared to say his good-bye to Shiori at that instant. He had already
tried to leave her in the past, when he was just ten years old, but that
didn't pan out quite the way he had planned it.

Time passed ever so slowly, and Kurama cast himself on the wayward
currents of reminiscence. That seemed natural enough; from what he
understood, it was quite a common occurrence in this sort of situation.

When Kurama was nine years old, while trying to get a bottle from a high
shelf, the stool he was standing on slipped, and several dishes were
knocked off, breaking on the floor. Acting on motherly instinct, Shiori
deftly caught and shielded the young boy's descending body with her own
arms, which caused them to scar against the sharp, porcelain shards.

Kurama, overcome with a then unknown yet overwhelming emotion, slowly
but surely learned to care for his human mother, and decided to stay
with her as a sign of his gratitude. She had been sick for quite some
time, and he had been planning to use the Ankoku Kyou Mirror to save her
life... and the rest was history.

There were so many events that had helped mold Kurama into the person he
was today. His days as a Makai thief with his partner, Kuronue, and his
henchman, Yomi. His escape from the Reikai Hunter through nothing but
blind luck and serendipitous chance. Meeting Hiei for the first time,
and his unfortunate sealing of his best friend Maya's memories. Battling
against the Spirit World, and then fighting with Kazuma Kuwabara and
Yusuke Urameshi. Becoming a Spirit Detective under the watchful eyes of
Botan, Koenma, and Enma Daio.

But none of these events shaped the half-youko standing in front of room
two-ten's door more than growing up under Shiori Minamino's care; his
steady journey to the light that she helped bring to him was the very
thing that defined who he was now.

But who was he really? Who was Kurama? For that matter, who was Shuichi 
Minamino? Wasn't Shuichi Minamino supposed to be Asuka Matsui? Wasn't
his whole quest in this Dream World centered around giving that young
girl the life that should have been hers in the first place? Up until
that point, he still couldn't come up with satisfactory answers to these
burning questions.

Unbidden, the stray, autumnal memory he had of a pitiful and pathetic
Shiori imploring him to come back to her reared its ugly head inside his 
troubled mind. 

"Shuichi... Shuichi?" his mother had said; pleaded.

"Shuichi! I'm so sorry that I upset you. I don't know exactly what I've
said to offend you, but I hope you'll forgive your silly mother, despite
her foolishness."

Was he willing to live a lie again? Was he willing to live under the
shaky foundations of pretense and deceit? Could he offhandedly embrace
lying as a necessary part of human nature, the same way his classmate
Chiho had?

"Shuichi... Please...." At the time, he had found his answer in his
mother's pleading eyes.

"Kaasan! I'm so sorry, kaa--"

He embraced his mother as she cried on his shoulder and profusely
apologized to him: he had found his truth in her. He was Shuichi
Minamino--or rather, he was his mother's Shuichi Minamino. As long as
she saw him as that person, then that person would be his truth.

But at that moment in time, was it still his truth? Was it still hers?
'No. Things aren't the same anymore. This is a different scenario.' The 
situation had definitely changed; he was about to die--or rather, he was
about to cease to exist. This might be the final time he'd ever see
Shiori again. He had to act fast, and act immediately.

Now more than ever, he fully understood and appreciated the reason
behind his unwillingness to open the door: because once he did, the
consequences of his actions would be permanent and irreversible. The
same could be said about his hesitation to finally give Asuka Matsui her
rebirth. 'But what must be done has to be done. It's not only my will,
but Asuka-san's will as well. I _must_ do this.'

He put his hand on the doorknob, his eyes darting and his unwarranted
breath held for much longer than humanly possible, as if he'd forgotten
how to breathe. 'I must tell kaa--Shiori-san the truth about me. The
truth about Shuichi Minamino and Youko Kurama. It's the least I can do,
and it's something that she deserves to know.'

He actually had a disturbing fantasy about this eventual confrontation:
something that had bothered him ever since his inception as 'Minamino
Shuichi'...

This was how his nightmare usually began.


***


As Kurama headed back inside his room, his mother stopped him. "Shuichi,
might I have a word with you?" she said softly yet coolly.

"Of course," he replied casually, silently taking note of the fact that
his mother just called him 'Shuichi' with a rather stern, almost aloof
tone. He had never heard her speak this way to him. "What's the matter,
kaasan?"

She led him into the living room. To his surprise, the rest of his
stepfamily was also there: his stepfather, Kokota Hatanaka, and his
namesake stepbrother and Kokota's son, Shuichi. What were they doing
there? He hadn't heard them come back in. And what was the younger
Shuichi doing back at this hour?

"Shuichi," said Shiori slowly, "your stepbrother has given us some
rather... disturbing news. I was hoping that you could clarify matters."

"Shu-kun?" Kurama started to feel worried; his younger brother looked
nervous and upset. Had something happened at his school? "What's the
matter?" he inquired.

His mother spoke up. "Shuichi, Shu-kun says..." She stopped, looking
flustered, then said in a rush, "Shu-kun says that you're a... a... a
demon! A youkai! Is it true?"

"I--" Kurama froze. "What?"

"I was just going in to leave my bag! I heard you talking to that sleek-
haired guy and that blue-haired girl!" Shuichi blurted out guiltily.
"I--I thought it was cool! But--" He looked up at Shiori, and seemed to
flinch.

"Is it true?" his mother prompted him.

"I--this is..."

Kurama stuttered to a halt. He always knew that this volatile situation
was bound to happen sooner or later, but he never did figure out a way
to diffuse it. He had mulled over this scenario countless times,
considered every possible outcome, yet at the moment of truth he felt
hopelessly unprepared.

'What do I say?' he thought, half-panicked. 'What am I supposed to do?'
He found no answer. He had lived through two separate lifetimes, and
nothing in either of them prepared him for this.

For one brief moment, Kurama wished that he was the youko again; he
wished that Yoshitaka Tetsuma, the Reikai Hunter, hadn't forced him to
go into the still-born body of Asuka Matsui's reincarnated self. Then he
wouldn't have to care so much about what any of these humans thought
about him.

But he did care, and for the very first time, he hated himself for it.

"I know you wouldn't lie to your own family, Shuichi," said his mother
gently.

"This is stupid!" interjected Kokota suddenly, turning away from his
stepson as he challenged his wife's accusations. His face was screwed
up in exasperation and disbelief. "It's just Shu-kun playing another one
of his stupid jokes! How could you ever think that Shuichi--?"

"It's true," whispered Kurama.

The blood drained from Kokota's face. "...What?" He looked betrayed.

"It's true. I'm a youkai... a youkai named Youko Kurama." He took a
deep breath. "I really am a demon."

Kokota incredulously stared at the redhead. "You're lying," he said; he
sounded like he was trying to convince himself. "Shuichi, this isn't the
time for jokes. Stop trying to protect Shu-kun..."

"No. It's not a joke. I--" He stopped, biting his lip. There was no
other way around it. Something more concrete was required.

He did it; there, right before their very eyes, he concentrated and
transformed into his true demonic form. Luminosity and evanescence and
pure power filled the room; the conflagration and the magnificence shook
the house, sending magazines and papers fluttering through the air and
momentarily making everyone's hair stand on end. And then he was Youko
Kurama, and his family was staring at him as if they'd seen a ghost.

"I'm sorry, Hatanaka-san," he apologized to his stepfather simply,
reservedly.

His mother gasped a long sound that was almost a cry. Shuichi sat down
on the couch quickly while exhaling deeply, looking both relieved and
vindicated. Kokota gazed at Kurama for the longest time, and then looked
away.

After recovering from her moment of weakness, Shiori Minamino struggled
to compose herself. "For how long?" she asked.

He let the transformation lapse to become Shuichi Minamino again. "For
nearly twenty years, I suppose," he said wearily. "Since I was born. But
I had only learned to harness my demonic powers when I was about
thirteen or so." 

Hands clasped, the fingers forming a steeple, she nodded slowly. "So,"
she said, very calmly, "I was reluctant to believe such a wild story.
And yet, it explained so much of your... odd behavior as of late." She
pursed her lips; in the same quiet tone, she asked, "And when were you
going to tell me about this?"

Kurama could not look her in the eye. "I wasn't," he admitted. "Not for
a while... maybe never." His jaded eyes implored the three of them to
listen; he was rambling now. "I was afraid of what you'll think! But
please, don't hate me! I'm not an evil demon. Not all demons are evil.
In fact, the Spirit World assigned me the task of fighting evil
demons--"

"Demons," Shiori grimaced; "demons like yourself." Her harsh voice held
dismissal. "Your justifications for being a demon are irrelevant. Demons
are not the problem here; dishonesty is." Her eyes were impersonal,
stern. "For nineteen years, I've believed that I could trust my son. Now
I find that I cannot. _That_ is the problem here." She bowed her head;
nigh-inaudible, she lamented, "I am very, _very_ disappointed in you,
Shuichi."

"You don't understand!" Kurama protested. "Kaasan, this is something
I've done for you! I hid the truth from you to protect you... I never
meant to hurt to you."

"Indeed?" she said, not asked. "That, too, is not the issue."

"Then what is the issue?" he queried, feeling hurt. "I only wanted you
to be proud of me..."

"Proud that my son is a liar? No--" She held up a hand as he started to
speak. "A lie made from oversight or good intentions is still a lie.
Whatever your motives, that remains."

Desperation began to stir in Kurama. "And why should I have told you?"
he demanded. "I don't have to tell you everything I do! It doesn't
concern you! It's my business and my business alone!"

It was an infantile argument; he knew that even as he said it. But
Shiori only replied patiently, "If my son is a demon who fights other
demons in his spare time, I would say that _that_ concerns me very
much."

He looked away, defeated--and then hesitated. His mother hadn't really
condemned his being a demon, and she even said that the fact was totally
beside the point, so could that mean she didn't entirely disapprove?

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"I have not yet decided," she answered.

His heart sank. She only put off a decision when she didn't trust
herself to be fair, and that usually meant... He looked her in the
eyes, and saw, finally, the depth of her anger.

"Yes ma'am," he said meekly, and turned away.

Nothing seemed to fit. He still did not know what to do. Frustrated,
depressed, he started toward his room.

"One moment," Shiori called after him. He stopped, and she asked, "I
trust that there are no other secrets you've been keeping from me?"

The formality in her voice was like a slap. He shook his head slowly
and said, "No."

Then he remembered. It was about time he came clean, he decided.

"Yes."

And he told them about his former life: about his past self as Youko
Kurama, about nearly getting killed by the Reikai Hunter, and about
seeking refuge inside Shiori's unborn child. He told them everything,
and they all listened in rapt attention to his lengthy tale.

A black silence fell when he finished, like the silence of a graveyard.
They stared at him as if he'd been talking gibberish. Or as if he'd
grown a second head. As if he were some kind of monster, or a total
stranger...

A stranger?

'No--!'

"You... are not my son?" whispered Shiori. She buried her head in her
hands and started to cry.

"No--okaasan, no, it's not like that--!" Suddenly terrified, Kurama was
gabbling, talking as fast as he could, saying whatever came into his
head, trying to find something, anything, that would take this hurt
away. "It's not--I'm still the same--you're the one, the only mother I
ever... Please, don't cry, I'm still the same as I always--!"

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Kokota Hatanaka spun him around, his
face dark with rage. "Is this true?" he demanded. "Tell me! Is this
true? You're no son of Shiori, but some kind of... imposter?"

Kurama tried to force calmness into his voice, to still his wildly-
racing thoughts. His hands were trembling. "Please," he said. "Please...
You don't understand! It's not like that at all! I _am_ my mother's son!
My... my mother gave birth to _me_--"

"_What_ did you say?" he hissed.

The fury in Kokota's voice was so great that Kurama flinched. He
abruptly turned his back on him and faced his thunderstruck mother,
begging, "Don't you see? You raised me, all these years--you l-loved
me--you truly are my mother! You...!"

He searched for the words to explain it. "Don't you see?" he repeated.
"I'm not just Kurama or the Youko, I'm Minamino Shuichi too! I'm what
_you_ brought me up to be. Part of me may be what the Reikai Hunter
had left of Youko Kurama's soul, but--"

Despite his inherent dexterity, Kurama never even saw the blow coming.
It spun him around and knocked him sprawling on the floor. He stared up
at his stepfather in disbelief, lifting one hand to his cheek. It was
just beginning to hurt.

Shuichi stood up in indignation, crying, "What was _that_ for?" but he
was cut off by the sheer fire in his father's subsequent tirade; the
elder Hatanaka was so angry that he didn't even notice his son's
outburst.

"Damn you!" Kokota shouted. "Damn you and your damned cohorts in the
Spirit World! How dare they play games with our lives like this? How
_dare_ they? Enma Daio... he _used_ us! _You_ used us! You... you
invaded this family, stole yourself a home... you lived off of Shiori's 
good will, pretending to be her dead child all these years..."

"No!" Kurama beseeched. "Otousan! Okaasan!"

"Go cry to your father and mother in the Demon World, if you even have
any!" he snarled. "Even from the very start, you were no son of mine,
but to betray my wife like this... You have no place here! Get out!
Leave this house and never return!"

"No--" he whispered, unable to move.

"Will you not? Will you make me throw you out? See here!" Kokota reached
out to strike Kurama for a second time, but Shiori stopped him.

A glimmer of optimism emerged inside Kurama's forlorn heart. "Kaasan,"
he said, his throat constricting.

"Go," Shiori said quietly in between sniffles. "Just go."

"But kaasan...!" he choked.

"You are not my son!" Shiori suddenly screamed at Kurama, instantly
silencing him; her words sliced through his heart far more effectively
than a strike or an insult from his stepfather ever would. To his
dumbfounded shock, she grabbed hold of the younger Shuichi and held onto
him protectively.

"This is my son! This is the one and only Shuichi, not you! You're... a
stranger to me!" Shuichi froze like a statue as he mournfully stared at
his demonic stepbrother.

Shiori burst into tears as she leaned on the younger Hatenaka. "You
monster! You've stolen him from me! Bring back my child to me! Bring me
back my Shuichi, you goddamn murderer!" The rest of her words became
muffled sobs on her stepson's shoulder.

Shiori turned her back on him, holding Shuichi close, stifling her
heartrending wails with her hand. Kokota's eyes spoke volumes; he looked
as if he'd strangle Kurama right on the spot. 

Kurama stared around the room, desperate, trying to understand how this
had happened so quickly, trying to make sense of it all... trying to see
some way to make it better. His mother continued to weep bitterly, not
looking at him at all. Kokota was still staring hatefully at him, his
face red and seething. Shuichi was frozen stiff on the spot beside
Shiori, his face white, looking as if he were about to faint. Kurama's
family... had just disowned him.

He did not seem to have any strength left in him at all. He only
stared--stared at what was happening before him, what was being done.
The scene seemed miles away; a lifetime away. 

Ruined. Everything was ruined.

He turned and left.


***


His doubt his only certainty, Kurama steeled himself and opened the door
leading to the bed where his dearest mother lay. 'I swear upon Kuronue's
grave that I will bring back the child I've stolen from you, Minamino
Shiori-san.'

Kurama felt a tremor of fear and coldness beneath his heart; but their
unity in recklessness, an assurance of novelty at least, impelled him
toward the room. He wanted to be finished with it, to emerge whole and
triumphant from the test; it would be something, a knowledge of one's
courage. He clambered over the bed. His chest tightened: his mouth was
dry and he heard his own heart beating.

His musings lost concreteness, diffused into formless melancholy. The
buzzing murmur of conversation issued from the outside ushered him to
get on with what he was supposed to say. 

"Kaasan," Kurama murmured to the slumbering form of Shiori Minamino as
he tenderly smoothened her disheveled hair. "Kaasan, wake up. It's me,
Shuichi." Through the open window, the air-steeped outdoors passed into
the room, quietly enveloping Kurama, stealing into his very thoughts.

The middle-aged woman barely reacted to the scarlet-haired boy's mild
beckons, so he started to shake her a bit more insistently. Still,
Shiori remained unresponsive. His blood ran cold; even though he was
just dreaming, seeing his mother like this stirred daunting memories
and terrible fears inside of him. "Kaasan, OKAASAN! Wake up! WAKE UP!"

Shiori's eyes snapped open upon hearing her prodigal son's flustered
cries. "I'm awake! I'm awake... Oh, Shuichi. Sweetheart, what are you
doing here? Kaasan was just resting," she more mumbled than said as she
blearily rubbed her eyes with her bare knuckles. "Don't scare mommy
like that, okay?"

Kurama gulped in both relief and dread: relief because his mother was
all right, and dread because he still had to bid her a final farewell
right then and there. But he didn't really have a choice; it was
literally now or never.

His mother was one of the reasons why his eventual return to the Demon
World took so long. Living with her for all these two decades--a mere
day in the life of a centuries-old youko--had made him especially fond
of her and the Ningenkai she represented. He had learned to love the
pitfalls and the possibilities, the perils and the promise contained
within the Human World as a whole, simply because that was where the
woman he loved the most lived: His 'kaasan'.

'No. Wait. This human life I've taken pleasure in belongs to Matsui
Asuka-san, not me. The warmth of her mother's love and a family of her
own; these are the things I've heedlessly stolen from her and enjoyed
for myself. I am undeserving of Shiori-san's love; it belongs to the
true Shuichi and the true Shuichi alone. It's about time I returned
what's rightfully hers.'

"Shuichi? Is there something wrong?" Shiori prodded her pensive child,
a look of concern marring her delicate features. "I heard you whispering 
something about me." Kurama winced, remembering how exposed his thoughts
were in the Dream World.

The bedridden woman gave the young man a reassuring squeeze of the hand.
"If it's about me lying on this hospital bed, w-ell... I really have no
idea what I'm doing here, truth be told," she confessed, giggling her
tinkle-bell laugh at her own quandary. "But relax, Shuichi. I'm fine. At
least I _think_ I'm fine. As far as I'm concerned, I'm as fit as a
fiddle! There's nothing wrong with me, honey; so don't worry so much."

Kurama flinched for a second time after hearing the term of endearment.
"N-No, I'm not worried about that. I'm pretty sure you're fine too,
mother." Another lie: he wasn't sure of anything at all. He felt antsy;
he really should get things over with and just straightforwardly say
good-bye to Shiori with no overly-elaborate explanations as to why. 

Naturally, he soon realized that if he did just that, he'd be going
against the very purpose of his death scene. If he really were going to
resolve his problems with Shiori right here and now, then he would do so
in a manner befitting of everything he had gone through, everything he
had experienced, and everything he stood for. He would tie all loose
ends and leave no question unanswered... because he was Kurama, the gray
shade halfway between Shuichi and the Youko.

Nevertheless, Kurama still felt a powerful ache inside him; a half-
allaying, half-dreadful sadness that seemed to tear his resolve apart.

"I feel so strange, Shuichi. I must be really tried, because I'm
imagining all sorts of crazy things!" Fortunately or unfortunately, it
was Shiori who first broke the ice, beating him to the punch. "I thought
I heard you think out loud, whispering things in my mind, but that's
just ridiculous; the silly ramblings of an idle mind. Besides, you
wouldn't know anyone by the name of Matsui Asuka, now would you?"

Kurama grit his teeth in consternation, then stated out loud, "This
second-guessing of mine is pointless. I cannot hide my thoughts
anymore." He forced himself a resigned smile as he held his mother by
the shoulders. "Please listen, Shiori-san..."

And he proceeded to tell her everything, his fears of seeing the look
of rejection and disgust on her face be damned. He told her about the
shattered souls of two past lovers, Yoshitaka Tetsuma and Asuka Matsui;
about the Reikai Hunter, and what he did to his youko soul; about his
damaged soul's fusion with Asuka's reincarnated self, the still-born
Shuichi Minamino.

And, most of all, he told her the truth about himself--his youko self,
his alter ego who attacked Shiori all those months ago just to anger
his human self up. He told her the good, the bad, and the ugly sides of
himself. No more secrets. No more lies. No more half-truths.

"I don't believe it," Shiori said doubtfully, in the same manner that
Kokota Hatenaka expressed his own incredulity in Kurama's nightmare.
"You were that... that...?" She couldn't even finish her sentence, for
fear that she might offend Shuichi.

'But I'm not Shuichi; I'm just a monster,' he pondered bitterly. 'Yes, I
am the monster that assaulted you, mother.' Like in his other dream,
Kurama decided to show Shiori a far more tangible proof to his claims.

With a single, lucid thought, he metamorphosed into his past self's
youkai form. He inundated himself with energy: a cool light, a stream of
cold fire that poured through him, a flood of sensation that spun about
him. He felt his whole body shifting and changing; then, more subtly,
his clothes. And when it was done...

Sharp, golden eyes stared back at Shiori's brown ones, framed by
pointed, silvery bangs that glinted in the fluorescent light.

The middle-aged woman stifled a gasp, half-frightened and half-confused
by the recent turn of events. She was now looking straight into the eyes
of her attacker from many month's past; it was her own son, or at least
the young man whom she thought was her son.

His eyes downtrodden, Kurama commented, "I'm not yet through. There's
still much to talk about, Shiori-san."

Severely overcome by his mother's daunting reaction yet still ever-
resilient, Kurama poured his heart and soul out to her as he revealed
the rest of his life's story. Maya and Hiei. Yusuke and Kuwabara. Botan,
Koenma, and the Spirit World. The Ankoku Kyou. The Shisejyu. The Ankoku 
Bujutsukai. The Black Chapter. The Three Kingdoms of the Demon World.
Shiori listened to his extensive tale in rapt, undivided attention,
hanging on to his every word.

A subdued silence fell once Kurama finished; the world seemed to hold
its breath as he waited for his beloved mother's reply. For the longest
time, Shiori stared blankly, expressionlessly, at the wretched silver-
haired creature before her.

'She hates me. Just like in my nightmare, she hates me, and she doesn't
want to have anything to do with me.' Kurama looked down on the marble
floor as his shoulders slumped in defeat. 'It's just as well. It's for
the best, isn't it? I mean, she'll soon be getting the real Minamino
Shuichi back; the daughter she never had.' He averted his adoptive
mother's unreadable, almost quizzical gaze and went for the door.

"Wait!" Shiori reached out for the silver-haired demon fox with a
delicate, outstretched hand, the scars on her arm readily apparent. The
kitsune recoiled from the touch, backing away from the woman slightly,
his throat parched and dry.

"Please... don't touch me," he heard himself rasp, though what he really
meant to say was, "Please... don't hate me." His fists were clenched,
his sharp claws digging into the palms of his hands. 

But Shiori didn't seem to hear as she took hold of, to Kurama's shock
and surprise, one of his silvery-sleek tails and gleefully chortled to
her heart's content, like a schoolgirl would to a particularly adorable
object or person.

"It's so smooth! Like silk!" she marveled in awe. "No, no... Silk isn't
even enough to describe its smoothness. They're even softer than a
pillow! I could fall sleep on these things, no kidding."

Shuichi's mother began counting Kurama's tails, mumbling the numbers to
herself. "Seven, huh? That's a very lucky number. So does that mean
you're, what? Seven hundred years old? At least that's what the book on
Kitsune Legends told me about tails and a kitsune's age."

She smirked, shook her head, and wagged a finger at her so-called son.
"To think, you've been calling me 'kaasan' all this time; you naughty
boy, you're even older than I am!" she mildly admonished, then giggled
some more.

"This is no laughing matter!" Kurama blurted out, embarrassed yet
somehow relieved at his adoptive mother's antics. "By Inari, don't you
realize that I'm a dangerous demon? A youkai who--"

"'By Inari'? Oh yes, that's the Kami which kitsune worship, right?
Amazing, you really are a mythological creature! Or maybe not so much
'mythological', since you actually exist," Shiori speculated in delight,
more to herself than to the Silver Fox, as she reached forward and
patted his hand. "I can't believe a fox spirit has been living with me
right under my nose, and I didn't even realize it! This is so exciting!"

"This is _definitely_ not exciting," Kurama insisted in exasperation as
he wiped his tapered, handsome features with a slender, clawed hand.
"You don't understand the gravity of the situation, do you? For Inari's
sake, I'm the youkai who attacked and nearly killed you just two months
ago! I'm... I'm the one who stole your baby and pretended to be her for
the sake of my own agenda. I'm... just a thief and a murderer..."

He cut himself off and turned away from Shiori, uncertain and afraid of
her reaction to his emotional outburst. 'But it's all true anyway...'

It was a childish line of reasoning; he knew that even as he said it.
But Shiori only replied patiently, "No, it's not true," as she tenderly
put her head on the youko's white-vested, alabaster-smooth chest and
listened to the steady beats of his fluttering heart. "The demon who
hurt me and... the 'demon' I'm with right now are not the same person.
Not at all. You're whoever you want to become, and you're whoever I make
you out to be. For better or for worse, you will always be my son."

She reached out and took Kurama by the shoulders, shaking him gently.
"Did you really think that I'd hate you for being yourself? Oh, you
idiot--" She drew him in, hugging him, holding him. "You silly idiot,"
she murmured again.

'Oh, kaasan,' Kurama mused, despite the pointlessness of hiding his
thoughts. After such a long time living with Shiori, he had never, in
his wildest dreams, imagined that confessing the truth to her to be this
easy. Nonetheless, he still had one more thing to accomplish, and it was
a much more difficult task to perform than the last. "I'm so happy that
you feel that way."

"I'm so happy that we're now being honest with each other. I feel as
though the air between us has been cleared," Shiori cheered as she 
affectionately gave her son a quick peck on the cheek. "Thank you,
sweetheart; I really appreciate the gesture."

"And I for one am glad that I've met you, knowing that you've filled in
so many gaps in my life," Kurama divulged truthfully, injecting Shiori
with her verbal Novocain and bracing himself for what was to come.

"It was my pleasure... Kurama," the elder Minamino said the strange name 
tentatively, lolling its syllables in her tongue as if she were savoring
its taste in her mouth. "That's your name, right? I hope I'm pronouncing
it correctly."

"Yes. That's my name." Kurama smiled amiably at his mother's somewhat
charming naivete. However, he felt rather sorry for her, for she had
absolutely no idea what was coming. "Anyway, in thanks for what you've
done for me, I will now make things right between you and your estranged
child. I'll do everything in my power to return to you the daughter you
never had; I'll give it my all, Shiori-san."

Shiori stiffened, sitting stock-still on her bed. "T-That's nice, but
what exactly do you mean by giving it your all?" she suspiciously
inquired as an intuitive feeling of dread crawled up her spine--she
didn't like where the conversation was going. "And isn't this 'Asuka'
girl already dead? You said so yourself."

Feeling hopelessly old and tired, Kurama's youko guise faltered right on
the spot, his sad, amber eyes turning into sad, green eyes. "No. You 
misunderstood my story. A shadow of Matsui Asuka's soul continues to
exist in the same way Tetsuma's does, and it lives in your only child's
body the same way my youko soul does. I cannot explain how, but her
shattered sense of self has slowly permeated into mine. Her kindness,
her selflessness, her compassion, everything about her personality, I've
slowly emulated, creating this whole other persona known as Minamino
Shuichi."

"_What are you trying to say?_" Shiori emphatically asserted, her shrill
voice rising in pitch. Deep down, she already had an inkling of what her
surrogate son was talking about, but for some strange reason, she felt
morbidly compelled to hear the dire news straight from his own lips. 

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that, well, it's about time I said my
good-byes to you, Shiori-san. And my farewell gift to you is to bring
back your long-lost daughter, Asuka: her life in exchange for mine."
Kurama's voice was strained with false optimism; for an announcement he
deemed as good news, he told it in such a defeated tone. "I guess that's
fair enough; an eye for an eye, a life for a life."

Silence passed the pair at a leisurely pace. Shiori bit her lip as she
sensed her son slowly slip away from her grasp the same way he did so
many months ago, when he realized that his alter ego had attacked her.
She could not let that happen again; she wouldn't, not for a second.

"W-Why do you need to sacrifice your life just to get me back this
Matsui Asuka girl? Why go through all that trouble? I don't understand
it: 'A life for a life?' That doesn't even make any sense!" Suddenly
petrified, Shiori babbled nigh-incoherently, speaking as fast as she
could, saying whatever came into her mind, trying to find something,
anything, that would make this hurt go away.

"I don't want you to give your life away because of some 'daughter' I've
never even met! It's not fair--you're the one, the only son I've ever...
Please, don't do this! I can't lose you again, I just...!"

She tried to force calmness into her voice, to still her wildly-racing
thoughts. Her hands were trembling hard. "Please," she said. "Please...
stop this. _You're_ my son! You're my only, begotten son! I gave birth
to _you_--"

"Sayonara, Minamino Shiori-san," Kurama cut her off abruptly--and hated
himself for doing so. "Thank you for all your kindness, especially since
I never deserved any of it. I will try to repay all the good that you've
done to me by bringing back the child that I've stolen from you."

At long last, Kurama's dreaded good-bye was finally done and over with.
Nonetheless, whether or not he was aware of the fact, it was very much a
given that his stand-in parent of nineteen years would not let go of him
that easily. And so, after much hesitation and inner deliberation,
Shiori finally spoke in response to his farewell, declaring, "I love
you."

Kurama was completely taken aback by what his mother just said, utterly
flabbergasted by her statement. The words in and of themselves weren't
unusual for her to say, and it was something he had heard her tell him
from time to time, something which he should be used to hearing by now,
yet... at that moment, by the way he reacted to the heartfelt words, it
seemed like this was the very first time he'd ever heard them. 

Her voice slightly cracking, Shiori asserted, "I love you more each day;
more than yesterday, less than tomorrow. I love you more than life
itself, and more than you and I could ever comprehend. It's not because
of anything you've done or can do for me. It's not because you were at
the right place at the right time. I don't particularly care why I love
you, because that doesn't matter; that's not the point. I love you
without rhyme or reason, whether you're a human, a kitsune, a demon or
an angel. You're my son, and I love you so very much, and that's all
there is to it."

"You're playing dirty, Shiori-san," Kurama bemoaned as he wrung his cold
and clammy hands miserably. "What you're doing isn't fair at all."

"Love isn't fair. It just is." His walls were down, Shiori realized; just
for a moment, Kurama was wide open. But something told her that she had
to be careful. One careless remark was all it took to slam those walls
back up. Maybe for good. She didn't want that.

Fidgeting for about a quarter of a second before altogether letting out
a chirruping combination of a laugh and a cry, Shiori reminisced, "Don't
you remember the time when I saved you from falling down on a pile of
broken plates? I still have the scars to prove that." She lifted up her
arms to demonstrate her point. "Or how about the numerous times you'd
climb up the cherry tree in our front lawn? I'd always come and fetch
you down from there as if you were some sort of cat stuck on a tree!"
She sniggered at that particular memory. "Or the time when we talked
about the stars in the sky, and how most of them are just remnants of
their former selves?" Her closed eyes shone with unshed tears. "You then
mentioned something about wanting to die like a star, if I remember
correct--"

"Stop this, Shiori-san. Enough is enough." There was a world of torment
in Kurama's restrained tone. "Why bring up these memories _now_ of all
times? They only serve to make you look desperate and pathetic, and I
don't want to see you like that. I understand what you're trying to do,
and quite frankly I don't need the guilt trip. You're only making this
hard on yourself; please stop talking about the past, because..." he
took a deep, belabored breath, "because it won't change a thing."

"What _you're_ trying to do, on the other hand, will change everything
in our lives as we now it! Why can't you just let things be? There's
nothing wrong with what we have right now. If something's not broken,
then don't try to fix it!" Shiori all but screamed at Kurama. Maybe he
_was_ saying good-bye, and perhaps nothing she said or did would make
him change his mind, but she didn't want to think about that right now.
What mattered to her was that she believed him to be her only son, and
she wouldn't let go of him so readily; her pride was extinguished, her
inner soul exposed for him to see. 

Her hands clasped his, her touch gentle and unassuming; it insinuated
itself into his grip and nestled there comfortably as hot, wet tears
streamed across her cheeks. "Point is, I did all those things for _you_, 
Shuichi... or Kurama, if that's what you're really called. I didn't
experience those memories with this so-called daughter of mine, I
experienced them with you; they're our memories, and it was _you_ all
along that I loved the most."

"I knew you'd say that, and I appreciate the sentiment." Kurama shifted 
uncomfortably on his feet; hearing his mother unintentionally paraphrase
what he had confessed to Yoshitaka Tetsuma about Asuka Matsui somewhat
unnerved him. "You're fighting for me and fighting so that you can show
me what love truly is. I know. I get that. Still, like I've said, it
won't change a thing. My existence, like Taka-kun's, is an anomaly. Our
life, for lack of a better term, is a charade. All I'm doing is setting
things right. Don't you understand? Can't you let me do this one favor
for you?"

"Why should I?" Shiori retorted, almost hissed. Her patience was finally
spent, her brown eyes burning red with the searing pain and righteous 
indignation of a woman scorned. "Ever since you got here, you've been
forcing on me this idea of you acting as the ultimate 'martyr' and
'hero' by sacrificing yourself for the sake of some stranger you claim
to be my child. What makes you think I'll stand for any of it? How dare
you try to take away something so important to me and replace it with
something I don't even want! Even if our life as mother and son was all
a lie, I'd rather have the lie than the truth."

Kurama flinched, and Shiori was baffled by his reaction. Didn't he
_want_ to have her as his mother? Why was he so affected by this 'Asuka'
person? Why was he so adamant about killing himself over this girl? 

"Everything I've done, I did for your own good. What I'm doing right now
is also for your own good, whether or not you consider it as such,"
Kurama murmured delicately as his eyes shied away from his surrogate
mother, barely hiding the look of betrayal contained within them. To
Shiori, his words stung her like a buzzing reproach.

She searched for the words to explain to him her side of the story; she
tried to restrain herself, to pacify her panic-driven hysteria. Alas,
her good intentions were for naught--her explanations came out more like
accusations and demands. 

"Can't you just let things be?" she reiterated. "Why must you do this?
Why are you in such a hurry to die? Why do you think that what's best
for me is to lose you? Isn't it enough that we love each other and
nothing bad will ever happen to us if we continue this supposed
'charade' of ours? For Kami-sama's sake, please make me understand!"

Speaking mostly in regards to the brimming concoction of conflicting
emotions dancing behind his parent's candid eyes, Kurama acknowledged
Shiori's apprehensions. "Love doesn't always make the world go round;
its problems, and the people who solve their problems, that keep it
turning. Asuka Matsui is _my_ problem; my unfinished business. She's
the only reason why I'm still here, and she will also be the reason
for my demise. The Natural Order deems it so."

"You haven't answered my question! Damn the Natural Order!" Kurama had
never seen his foster mother so angry; her rage made him back away
warily from her, unsure of how to react. Shiori, on her part, was beside
herself with fury. She swallowed the stinging in her throat, choked up
by pure, raw emotion. "Asuka this, Asuka that... Asuka, Asuka, Asuka! I 
certainly didn't ask you to save Matsui Asuka's life! Why? Why do you
need to do this? Why do you think it's necessary for you to save her?"

There was a pregnant pause. As Kurama just stood there, immobilized by
his own uncertainty, Shiori finally figured out the reason why he hadn't
answered any of her most pertinent questions: he didn't because he
couldn't. He had no satisfactory reply to present to her, and it gnawed
at him to his very bones. This farewell of his, foolish as it was, was
as upsetting to him as it was to her. No matter who this strange,
intelligent child was, she knew from long experience that he couldn't
bear to see her in any kind of distress.

Shiori could almost feel Kurama's desire to reach out and comfort her,
and as the prospect of losing him tore at her in wrenching and muffled
sobs, she found herself wanting to turn and pull her child into her arms
and cry on his shoulder. But...

No. He drew back and put up his walls again, opting instead to calmly
continue his discourse. "I think that every one of us, whether human,
demon, or otherwise, has a saturation point, a level that can't go any
deeper into our souls. In other words, we are pushed to the brink, and
we either divest ourselves of whatever is eating away at our souls or
be doomed to self-destruct. I've finally reached that point, and I
believe it's about time that I tied the loose end that is my life
before it is cut forever."

Kurama suddenly felt bad for rejecting Shiori's advances after reaching
out for her; for stopping himself and for not wanting to accept her 
comfort. But it was far too late for him to have any sort of regret or 
reservation. Like with Chiho Sasae, it was now time for him to act
cruel to be kind. "Unfortunately, in order for me to do so, we have to
let go of each other. It's time for me to leave. Enough is enough."

"But how can you be so sure of this? Do you honestly believe that
killing yourself over this girl will make me happy? You must be out of
your mind to even think that!" She wanted to say more, to further
elaborate what was going on in her mind, but she quickly realized that
she would only be repeating the things she had already said before.

"I'm sorry," Kurama apologized sincerely, adding, "It's just that... you
simply have no choice in the matter."

Then there were ten seconds of silence that both of them felt forever.

Shiori was the first one to shatter the lingering stillness. "What sort
of spell has that witch cast upon you to make you so... so... obsessed
with her?" the middle-aged mother exploded as she felt her perfect
little world collapse around her, like a crystal shattered from within
by a note of pure, agonizing sound; an inner scream of anguish. "I don't
want her! I don't want this Matsui Asuka person as a daughter! It's you
whom I want! It's always been you, Kurama! You're my son! You're my
Shuichi! Please, don't leave me!"

"DON'T SAY THAT!" Kurama snapped. He couldn't help himself; it was now
his turn to lash his tongue out in lividness. "Don't ever say that again
about Asuka! She's gone through far too much for you to reject her that
way. She deserves better. She deserves this second lease in life, to
know who her mother is. She deserves to be loved, not hated. And she
alone deserves to be the one true Minamino Shuichi."

"But you're my Shuichi..." her voice faltered in between her whimpers.

Kurama locked eyes with Shiori for one last moment before he turned. His
throat tightened as the image of her longing eyes and trembling lips
burned itself inside his retinas. "No, I'm not. Not anymore. I'm sorry."

A flame burned from Shiori's chest, and she cried out in pain as if she
were being torn asunder. "I'll miss you, Minamino Shiori-san," Kurama
nuanced amidst the sounds of heart-wrenching agony; it was as close as
he could ever get to saying what he really wanted to say.


***


To be Continued...


Next: An old nemesis returns.
 
Tips to Aspiring Writers (Ha! As if I'm not an aspiring writer
myself...): There are times when you really do have to say, "Fuck
continuity and plot holes, just goddamn write!" Worry about
contrived, pretentious prose and unnatural progression _after_
you've written (yourself into the ground... j/k) enough material
for you to work with. The muse does not care for these plot device
thingies, and neither should you. I admit, this leaves much to be
desired on the editing phase of the fic writing process, but never
mind that; at the very least you have _something_ to edit.

I am quite aware that this sort of 'brainstorming' type of writing
style isn't for everybody. All I can say is that what applies to
me may not necessarily apply to people who are not me; as such, in
regards to my unsolicited advice, your mileage may vary.

Send all C&C, flames, death threats, etc. to me at either
gabriel_gabdiel at yahoo.com or chester.castaneda at gmail.com;
whichever suits your fancy

Note that I put in the title _Shonen_ not _Shonen-Ai_. Shonen-Ai 
(male-male relationship) and yaoi are just not my cup of tea. This 
is dedicated to Chimamire Kitsune for giving me the inspiration to 
write this fic... Wherever you are, this is for you.

Disclaimer: Yuyu Hakusho is the rightful property of Yoshihiro
Togashi, Shueisha, Fuji TV and St. Pierrot. This fic therefore
also belongs to Yoshihiro Togashi, Shueisha, Fuji TV and St.
Pierrot.
 
Still chipping away at my damnable writer's block with a spork,
Abdiel

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