“Peaches” by Kotetsu Feedback, onegai?: Kotetsu@bishoujosenshi.com Please visit: http://www.angelfire.com/in3/starlight Disclaimer: Sailor Moon and company are created by Takeuchi Naoko, owned by TOEI animation and a plethora of other production and distribution companies, and I actually have no legal right to use any of these characters whatsoever. But please don't sue me; I have no money to give you anyway. Suggested background music: “Magic Dance” from the Labyrinth soundtrack. Notes: Momoko means “Peaches” or “Peach” Oni means “demon” Shoujo manga is targeted toward girls Shonen manga is targeted toward boys Hiroyuki is the name of the lead male character in the anime and manga series, “To Heart.” “Sapporo Ichi-ban” is a well-known advertising slogan for a Japanese brand of instant ramen noodles. It translates as “Sapporo, Number One!” In this story, “Momohara Ichi-ban” is a fictional advertising slogan for a national chain of noodle restaurants. “Largo al factotum della citta . . .” are the first lines in Figaro’s aria of the same name, from the Rossini opera “The Barber of Seville.” *this denotes emphasis* --this denotes quotations in a flashback scene, which is the majority of this story.-- _____________________________________________ Her eyelids fluttered open, and she stretched her arms behind her, slowly, luxuriously, absorbing the sensations that flooded her awakening consciousness. Weak sunlight filtered into the bedroom through gauzy curtains; birds twittered and traffic roared; the air in the room felt cool against her face but the body beside her felt warm against her flesh. She turned her body slightly, facing her still slumbering lover. She stretched her neck and brought her lips to the crown of his head, kissing his tousled hair with a soft sigh. He stirred in his sleep, but then settled back into his dreams without as much as fluttering an eyelash. “Doofus,” she murmured into his ears. “You wouldn’t wake up unless a brass band was playing right next to your head.” She paused, considering his sleeping profile. His hair, normally wild and unruly, spilled over his forehead and partially concealed his eyes. His nose was small and squat, but his mouth was wide and large and usually lent itself to the most cockneyed sideways grins. “I envy you,” the woman told her sleeping lover. This time her voice was a bit louder. Outside the window, birds still twittered and traffic still roared. Inside the bedroom, her lover still slept. With a sigh of resignation, the woman turned away from her companion and rolled out of the bed. She stood naked for a moment, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and stretching. Then she crossed the threshold into the small bath adjacent to the bedroom, grabbing a robe hanging by the door as she did so and tossing it around her shoulders. She flipped the light-switch in the bathroom, momentarily winced at the brightness, then paused a moment to consider her reflection in the mirror above the sink. Thick, wavy violet locks cascaded down her shoulders, framing her petite face and doll-like features. Her body, which had always been her pride and joy, flowed sensually into the folds of her robe. Long, slender legs peeked out from underneath the robe and ended in perfectly-formed, elegant feet and toes. Momohara Momoko glanced down at her hands, already thickened and callused from years of hacking frozen meats and deep-fat-frying vegetables. It was her body that had won the beauty contest so many years ago that had funded the start of her noodle business; it was her hands that had built the one tiny noodle cart into a multi-million dollar franchise. Within a few years, it was sure to be a multi-billion dollar franchise. Momoko wondered what her lover really lusted after. Was it her body, or was it her hands? Momoko squeezed her eyes shut. There had been many lovers over the years, but never one like last night. There had never been one that she had loved in return. It had started back in grade school. Even years before she was scheduled to hit puberty, Momohara Momoko was well aware of her physical beauty and never ashamed to flaunt it. Her short skirts and cutting-edge outfits had even shadowed the irresistible cuteness of her best friend, Tsukino Chibi-Usa. But then again, that had been years before the word “slut” would work itself into the vocabulary of many of her female classmates. By the time that she entered junior high, Momoko would eventually discard the last visible evidence of her childhood, the frilly cap that held her hair in a bun. From that point onward, Momoko always wore her long violet hair in loose, flowing waves that framed her face and cascaded over her shoulders and back. She smiled nostalgically as she lost herself in memories of the past. They had made quite a pair, her and Chibi-Usa. The innocent, naïve little pixie and the alluring, siren-like peach. She also remembered how jealous she had been when, just briefly, a girl named Ririka had usurped her popularity. And then there had been Kyusuke. Sarashina Kyusuke had been her other best friend, her best guy friend. He had been a wisecracking, arrogant son-of-a-bitch, that much she remembered very well. He teased Chibi-Usa relentlessly, and targeted Momoko with equal enthusiasm. But Kyusuke had never been a real bully, and his teasing was never malicious in nature. He had often hung out with Momoko and Chibi-Usa, even to the point where he was earning the mistrust and disrespect of his more mature male friends. That is, his male friends that were mature enough to realize that girls harbored cooties and assorted other blood-sucking parasites. Kyusuke . . . Kyusuke never stopped befriending girls, much to the chagrin of his male peers. Had Momoko been older and wiser by the time she had entered junior high, she would have recognized a lady’s man in the making. But all that Momoko could see was a boy who, underneath all the teasing and boasting and preening, was unusually sensitive and friendly. For a guy. And brilliantly funny, too. Most of the girls in her class predicted that Kyusuke would grow up to be a famous comedian, and a rich and desirable husband. Momoko, Chibi-Usa, and Kyusuke had formed a deep bond of friendship between them. Although Chibi-Usa eventually moved away, Momoko and Kyusuke stayed close friends all the way through high school. Toward the end of their twelfth year in school, the two become something more than friends. Or perhaps, they had been more than friends all along, but it took them twelve years to acknowledge that fact. Momoko had been a strikingly beautiful teenager, but she was too bossy and assertive to be truly popular. The boys, once they figured out that she would be no easy lay, merely ignored her beauty in favor of a more willing, submissive piece of meat. Kyusuke had been an outstanding athlete and a funny, friendly guy. Unfortunately, he would never be mistaken for handsome, and there were enough handsome funny friendly athletes to push Kyusuke out of the most popular social circles. Another factor was the unfortunate stigma that Kyusuke’s lifelong friendship with girls had generated, a stigma which formed in junior high and was never quite erased from the minds of his peers. For years, many of Kyusuke’s fellow athletes had just assumed that he was gay. Looking back, Momoko struggle to suppress a giggle behind her hand. Junior high boys were so stupid! Just because a guy was unusually smart, and nice to girls . . . Never mind that by the time they reached high school, most boys were aiming for exactly those ideals. Stubborn minds refuse to let go of convenient stereotypes. Well, she and Kyusuke had showed them just how heterosexual they could be. And at *those* memories, Momoko once again found herself suppressing a giddy laugh. --This is too cliché. You’re not supposed to fall in love with your best friend--, she had told him after one of their dates together. --Cliché? My dear, I am the King of the Cliché.-- Kyusuke tipped her a wink. --Here’s looking at you, shweetheart.-- --You’re far better as James Dean,-- she sighed. During that last year of high school, Momoko had found herself constantly turning to Kyusuke for love and comfort. Things had begun to worry her. Things like money, and like her parents’ health. Their small Chinese restaurant was failing, due to the fact that a cheap national chain had opened up a franchise across the street from their business. The stress was wearing down her parents, and her mother’s blood pressure was dangerously elevated. The other problem was that Momoko’s parents had always assumed that she was going to inherent the restaurant from them and continue the family tradition, and had never expected her to do anything otherwise. But Momoko dreamed of going to college and studying cooking and business, so that she could build her own restaurant from scratch and make a name for *herself,* using her own two hands. Her parents had wept and mourned, saying that she was abandoning her family. However, Momoko was adamant in her decision. --Do you see that restaurant across the street, Mama? What do they have that we don’t? We have better food. But they have more marketing, more capital, and more clout. If somebody could have a restaurant like that, only with good food like ours, then . . . Then they’d be rich, Mama! And that’s my dream, to do just that!-- But without money and parental support, the dream was fading fast. --You worry too much, Peach Lips,-- Kyusuke had told her as he kissed her hand late one evening. --You did far too well on the exams to be denied a college education.-- --I don’t know if I can do this, if my mother will hate me for it.-- --Your mother is just bossy. That’s where you get it from. She’ll get over it, eventually.-- Momoko had playfully slugged him. --Oh, so now you’re a psychology expert?-- --Just call me Kyusuke the Head Shrink. I’ll start shrinking your head by sucking all the moisture out of your lips.-- It was quite possibly the most UNromantic come-on that Momoko would ever hear in her entire life. Nevertheless, Kyusuke kissed her willing lips, and the kissing soon turned into something more. Momoko and Kyusuke went pretty far that night. But not too far, dear readers. Not too far. They were still nervous high school students, and each had developed enough emotional dependency upon the other to not want to risk spoiling their relationship in any way, shape, or form. Kyusuke’s dreams were just as elaborate as Momoko's were. He wanted to be a professional track star, a shonen manga artist, a television comedian, and a famous movie actor. Whether he finally chose a single dream to pursue by the end of his senior year or not, Momoko would never find out. Exactly one month before graduation, Momoko learned just what it felt like to break another person’s heart. * * * * * * The night that her mother suffered a mild heart attack and had to be rushed to the hospital, Momoko found herself brooding alone in the deserted waiting room outside the cardiac ward. She used the last hundred yen in her purse to call Kyusuke on the pay phone, and beg him to come to her aid. She felt stupid, weak, and pathetic hanging up the phone. But at the same time, a strange sense of exhilaration had crept up upon her . . . Kyusuke was coming, she *knew* that he was coming, and everything would be all better once she was enfolded in his arms. Momoko had blushed. According to every love-advice magazine that she had ever read, this was a definite sign that she was experiencing True Love. “Miss?” A tap on her shoulder. Momoko whirled. The handsome young male nurse smiled at her, flashing pearly white teeth. “You can see you mother now, Miss . . . Momohara? Is that right?” Momoko instantly recognized the oily layer of patronization sliding over the nurse’s words. Her eyes narrowed. “So soon?” “It wasn’t as bad as we thought. Your mother wishes too see you, and sent me to fetch you. She’ll recover faster if her loved ones are at her side.” Momoko pursed her lips. “Fine. Whatever.” The male nurse reached out to take her hand. Seeing no harm in accepting his offer - sure, he was treating her like a child, but he was handsome enough to make her heart flutter, and she was exhausted and drained and needed a bit of support - Momoko grasped the offered hand. WHAM. The room spun around her as the nurse shot his other hand out and grasped her shoulder, digging sharp claws into her flesh. “ONI! ONI!!!” Momoko screamed at the top of her lungs. But nobody could hear; the waiting room spun away and the empty parking garage formed around her. “Shut up!” The handsome monster shook her fiercely, further tearing her flesh with his claws. The monster still appeared as though he were a human being, but the unnaturally long claws embedded in Momoko’s shoulder begged to differ. “TAKE ME BACK!” Momoko slapped her adversary across the face. Big mistake. The monster returned with a slap powerful enough to make black starbursts explode across Momoko’s vision. She slumped, feebly, into the creature’s arms. Content that his prey was properly subdued, the monster tilted the young woman’s head back and lowered his lips to hers, making as if to kiss her. The monster, not for one moment shedding his human form, began to suck Momohara Momoko’s energy into his mouth. No more than ten seconds had passed when the bright headlights of an oncoming car pierced the darkness of the parking garage, and the roar of an engine echoed across the concrete walls. Absorbed in his prey, the monster paid these minor distractions no mind. The headlights bathed the pair of them, the monster and the young woman, looking for all the world as if they were deeply involved in the most passionate of kisses. The driver of the car slammed on his brakes, and the car came to a screeching halt. The driver threw open the door of the car and burst outward. “PEACH LIPS?!?!” The monster paused. The monster looked up. The monster spotted the intruder. The monster’s eyes widened. Momoko was flung ungracefully against the concrete walls, and the monster fled into the night. Sarashina Kyusuke stood, wide-eyed and shocked, next to the still-running car. Momoko’s eyes cleared. She moaned and shook her head. The left shoulder-strap of her dress, which had been partially shredded by the creature’s claws, finally drooped off her shoulder and fell, exposing half of her brassiere. Kyusuke’s hands balled into fists at his side. “Momo-chan . . . How could you . . .” Momoko instantly recognized the expression of shock and hurt on Kyusuke’s face. “I . . . I . . .” She tried to explain what had happened, but words failed to come to her mouth. Images failed to surface in her memory. In all honesty, she had no idea what had just happened to her. She felt weak and dizzy and tired, and guilty all at the same time. That’s funny, why would she feel guilty? She must have done something horrible. “Wasn’t I just in the waiting room?” she asked stupidly. Unbidden, a tear slid down Kyusuke’s cheek. But his jaw clenched in righteous, manly anger. “I trusted you, Momohara-san. I though that you were different from other girls. Stronger. Better.” Momoko couldn’t speak. There are times when there are no right words to say. Kyusuke lowered his head. “Fine. Be silent. I’d rather that you didn’t say goodbye, anyway. You don’t even have the guts to admit your guilt.” He was being childish, and he was being stupid, and they both knew it. But it didn’t matter. The stronger one’s feelings are, the more easily they can be crushed, and more devastated it leaves the person. And by this time, another feelings was beginning to worm its way into Momoko’s heart. Anger. How dare he stand there and accuse her of such a thing?! How dare he disregard all respect for her character and her integrity, and simply assume the worst?! And most of all, how could she just sit here and let this happen between them?! Why couldn’t she speak?! Why couldn’t she recall what she had been doing five seconds ago?! What was wrong with her, *what had she done?!?!* Momoko couldn’t decide whom she was more angry with, herself or Kyusuke. Sarashina Kyusuke calmly climbed back into his car and drove away. The following month at school, he and Momoko never once spoke to each other. After high school graduation, they never saw each other again for fifteen years. * * * * * * Momoko shook her head, snapping herself back to the present. She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, pursing her lips and watching the wrinkles form across her face. Was it just last week that she had spotted the first of what would no doubt be many gray hairs? After high school, there had been college . . . Her mother, recovered from her brush with death, had finally decided that her daughter ought to pursue her dreams, and threw her whole support behind the ambitious young woman . . . After college came the beauty pageant, the money, the noodle stand, and the first of many wealthy young lovers . . . There were the inevitable rumors that she was sleeping her way into favors with the most powerful corporations in Japan. In reality, these rumors couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Momoko was determined to build her empire with her own two hands, through honest, hard work. Never mind the fact that she had earned a rightful reputation as being promiscuous. She was always careful that her lovers could never be associated with any “favors” or other such corporate perks. She knew full well that the bored little rich boys were only using her for physical pleasure, and she was only using them as a way to relieve the stress of managing a young, struggling noodle franchise. Occasionally Momoko experienced feelings of guilt and self-loathing, but as a whole they didn’t particularly bother her. After all, she had pretty much destined herself for this lifestyle when she had cheated on her high school sweetheart one month before graduation. By the time that her noodle shops were popping up all over downtown Tokyo, “Momohara Ichi-ban” became the most recognized advertising slogan in the Japan, and her parents had retired to beachside mansion on Okinawa, Momoko had already moved into the last of three uptown apartments, the current one. Shortly after she had settled herself into her new home, and her fledgling corporation had acquired enough mid-level executives to assure that it would run smoothly without her twenty-four hour assistance, Momoko found that she suddenly had free time to pursue leisure activities. So, of course, she began to read manga again. From childhood all the way through high school, Momoko had always been an avid manga reader. Oddly enough, she had always preferred shonen manga to shoujo romances. She liked the large-breasted, unabashedly sexual heroines who could pilot space-ships or fly in giant robots or battle each other in metal breast-plates while wearing hardly any other clothing. She wanted to *be* like those women. Powerful, sexy, and dangerous. And, as the last years of her youth passed into middle age, she suddenly found herself to be the modern corporate equivalent of those shonen heroines. Shortly after Momoko once again began buying the weekly manga compilations, a talented young artist published the first chapter of the manga sensation that was about to enthrall the entire country. It was titled “Hunter Peach.” Momoko began thumbing through the first disposable chapter early one Sunday morning, a small smile dancing on her lips as she read the title. The artwork was pretty good, and the story itself proved to be downright intriguing. Peach, a space-pirate and bounty hunter in some far-off futuristic society, battled her wits against her greatest rival, the evil bounty hunter Falcon. Peach and Falcon almost always ended up chasing after the same prey, and also happened to both be vying for the affections of their handsome mutual boss, Hiroyuki. Momoko finished the last page of the first chapter, pleased to find herself already eagerly awaiting next week’s installment. she mused as she casually flipped back to the title page, seeking the name of the author. The name jumped straight off the cheap newsprint page, causing her breath to catch in her throat. Sarashina Kyusuke. Momoko’s mind whirled with shock. Finally, after several minutes of thinking gibberish, her brain spat out something that resembled a coherent, heart-felt sentiment. As it turned out, “Hunter Peach” quickly became the vogue manga for both young children *and* adults. Even little girls began to follow the adventures of Peach and Falcon, perhaps attracted to the ever-handsome and dashing character of Hiroyuki. Young boys adored the splendidly-rendered action scenes, running the gamut from Peach and Falcon involved in a fierce gun shoot-out to space battles that encompassed dozens of gigantic alien warships. And as much as they loathed to admit it, adult male readers reveled in the sight of Peach’s well- developed body and the skimpy outfits that she often wore. As the characters developed, the romantic triangle between Peach, Falcon, and Hiroyuki became even more intense. Falcon clearly lusted after her superior’s body, but it could not be said that Peach wasn’t interested in his physical appearance also. The difference between the two was that Peach and Hiroyuki appeared to be kindred souls, a pair of ambitious people who pursued their own goals to the point that they refused to form meaningful relationships with other people. Interestingly enough, neither character had particularly selfish goals in mind. Both just wanted to clean up the scum of the galaxy, and make the world a safer, better place - even if it took drastic means to do so. Momoko read every chapter religiously. Around her new corporate headquarters, “Hunter Peach” was all that her employees ever talked about. The space battles, the mysteries, the intrigue, the suspense . . . Female employees gushed over Hiroyuki’s charm and manly physique, while male employees had heated debates over whether Peach or Falcon was the sexier of the pair. --Miss Momohara, are you a fan of Sarashina’s?-- her secretary had asked her the morning that she put a “Hunter Peach” poster up on the wall of her office. --Actually, yes I am. I knew him when he was younger. We went to school together,-- she confessed. Her secretary’s eyes had widened like saucers. --You KNOW Mr. Sarashina?!-- --Yes. We were best friends.-- --Then, that must mean . . . that woman Peach . . . is based on YOU!!!-- Momoko brought her fingers to her lips. --Keep that quiet, would you? I’d rather that tidbit of information didn’t become public knowledge. The last thing I need is the press breathing down my back any more than it already is.-- --Oh, right. I understand.-- As her secretary scurried off, Momoko stood back and admired the poster. Peach, in all her large-breasted, slim-hipped glory, posed suggestively in a skin-tight battle uniform, a futuristic pistol cocked at her hip. The fictional woman bore very little physical resemblance to the real Momoko. Peach’s hair was long, straight, and the tawny color of tangerine fuzz. Her eyes were pale green, her nose was small but came to a pronounced point, and her lips were full and red. Momoko fingered her own small doll’s lips, displeased to find that they were chapped and raw. The air in her office was just too dry these days . . . Like millions of other Japanese citizens, Momoko tuned in to watch the annual Kodansha Manga Awards on television. And, like millions of other Japanese citizens, she was hardly surprised that Sarashina Kyusuke won the Best New Manga Artist award, even despite the fact that Kodansha was renowned mostly for its shoujo manga. Momoko sat leaning forward on her leather couch, intently watching the venerable golden boy as he took the stage to receive his award. Even though he was wearing a tuxedo and his hair was combed and gelled into an unusually well-ordered coif, she instantly recognized the smiling eyes, squat nose, and wide goofy grin of her high school paramour. Unbidden, a single tear slid down her cheek. Momoko ignored it. After the awards ceremony came the string of interviews with the winners. Kyusuke appeared relaxed and comfortable, even radiating happiness, during his interview. As Fujimoto Sashi threw him softball questions, Kyusuke never stopped clutching his award and grinning like a maniac. --Ano, Mr. Sarashina, do you anything that you would like to say about the romance between Hiroyuki and Peach?-- Kyusuke raised an eyebrow. --Romance? I wouldn’t make the automatic assumption that Peach will win Hiroyuki’s heart. There’s also Falcon, you know.-- --So, then, it’s not definite?-- --Now, I didn’t say that either. The problem is Peach. Hiroyuki loves her, and loves her very much. He depends on her, far more than he’s ever willing to show. But with that dependence comes sensitivity, and if Peach makes the wrong move in one direction or another, it could very well break his heart. And if that happens, he could do something very, very stupid.-- --Mr. Sarashina, that doesn’t sound at all like the Hiroyuki you portray in the manga.-- --That’s because the Hiroyuki in the manga NEVER reveals his true feelings. About anything or anyone.-- --Are you asking readers to believe that Hiroyuki is really a softy at heart?-- --Yes. And underneath all those cold calculations and cunning ploys, he also happens to be an exceedingly stupid man.-- --Is there anything else you would like to say? How do you feel about winning your award?-- Even though it seemed impossible, Kyusuke’s grin widened. --This is for Peach,-- he said. Not long after that, the entire world turned upside down. Even now, a week later, Momoko still wasn’t sure exactly what had happened in the thousand years that had seemingly passed her by in the blink of an eye. The official report from the Crystal Palace was that the world had simply stopped, and laid in a moment of frozen time for one thousand years. Whatever. All that Momoko knew was that one moment she was sitting in her office making a phone call to a prospective supplier, and the next moment the phone was dead and the radio on her desk said that Japan had once again become a monarchy. Oh, and not only that, but guess what else, citizens of Japan! Today is the dawn of the thirtieth century! Yes, true, it WAS the twenty-first century just a moment ago, but, well, what can you do? It had been . . . quite shocking . . . too see Momoko’s best childhood friend on television. Especially considering that said friend actually appeared to be years younger than when Momoko had first met her, and just happened to be the Princess of the new kingdom that was forming (a kingdom that would, eventually, include most of the planet.) Momoko knew for a fact that her first ever gray hair spontaneously generated the moment that she flipped on the television and saw Tsukino Chibi-Usa standing in front of her parents at the entrance to the Crystal Palace. That afternoon, while there was panic in the streets, wide-spread looting and riots, and occasional outbreaks of violence, Momoko stayed safely locked up inside her apartment just like the police force had suggested. Only the police were now answering four sailor-suited super-heroines, weren’t they? That’s what all the rebels were saying. Well, of course, it was so obvious, even Momoko knew about it. She also remembered the Sailor Senshi and the woman that was now Neo-Queen Serenity from her childhood. She *trusted* them. She had been among the first of the corporate elite to publicly pledge her allegiance to the new government, and although it had seemed the right thing to do at the time, it had also made her an opportune target for the small but organized band of rebels who were opposed to the change. It was sometime during those feverish three days in which Tokyo and the rest of the planet Earth reeled from shock that Momoko noticed the note slipped underneath her door. By the time she finally spotted it, she realized that it could have been there for five minutes, or it could have been there for days. Her first panicked thought was that it was yet another death- threat. But, eventually, curiosity overcame fear. Hesitantly, Momoko bent over and plucked the folded note off the floor. She unfolded it with shaking hands. __________________________________________________ Peaches, Have you been watching the news lately? It seems as if Chibi-Usa discovered the fountain of youth. Good for her, right? Too bad she still hasn’t rid herself of that dreadful poofy hair. Anyway, I watched your press conference being broadcast, on national television no less. Gutsy move, but also quite risqué. You wouldn’t believe some of the insurrectionist crap I’ve been hearing around the bars and bookshops and cafes and bus stops and . . . well, just about everywhere. At the moment, they’re far too civilized to accost a lady in her own home. But that could change, and very soon. Look, if you need a place to, you know, hide out until this mess blows over . . . Hell, nobody knows about or cares about the dump where I live. Dammit, why couldn’t you ever care about your own safety?! Why do you have to rely on other people to do it for you?! Meet me on the corner of 4th and 18th boulevard, at noon, on Wednesday. For the love of Serenity, at least try to wear a decent disguise. Amour, Kyusuke. PS - Eat at Momohara Noodle Cafe! Momohara Ichi-ban! PPS - If you measure with a millimeter ruler, you WILL notice that Peach has larger breasts than Falcon __________________________________________________ Very, very slowly, a smile formed on Momoko’s lips. At noon, on Wednesday, wearing a shabby trench-coat, drug-store sunglasses, and a scarf around her head that concealed her telltale violet hair, Momoko found herself waiting at the corner of 4th and 18th boulevard. Kyusuke showed up moments later, strolling down the street and whistling happily to himself, cheerfully ignoring the sirens a block away and the broken windows and littered television parts that crunched underneath his shoes. Part of the city was up in smoke, as Tokyo shuddered through the painful metamorphosis into Crystal Tokyo. But none of that mattered to Kyusuke. There was only one thing of real importance in the entire world. There was only one person of real importance in the entire world. Momoko waved. Hesitantly. Kyusuke tipped a salute. --Greetings, Captain!-- Momoko tilted her head at him. --We’re in the thirtieth century, now. You need a new batch of jokes. Your old ones are getting tired.-- --What? No ‘hey, Kyusuke, nice to see you after fifteen years, where have you been, what have you been doing, and did you miss me?’-- --I know the answers to all those questions.-- --Oh?-- --Your manga, you moron.-- --Ah, yes, well. You will be the first person that I tell this too. I’m ending Hunter Peach. Two more installments, and that’s it. You see, I’d rather have real conversations with a certain lady-friend of mine, instead of communicating everything that I want to say through manga.-- --Really?-- --Really.-- --And might I ask,-- and Momoko tilted her head the opposite direction, --how does it all end?-- Kyusuke grinned, that same wide-mouthed, tooth- flashing grin that Momoko remembered from high school. --Peach-chan and Hiroyuki finally confess their love for one another. What, you expected a different ending?-- --No, I didn’t.-- Momoko suddenly found herself reflecting Kyusuke’s contagious grin on her own features, and she was utterly powerless to stop it. --Is there anything else that you would like to say to me, before you whisk me away from this place of certain peril and lock me up in your steadfast, safe castle?-- Kyusuke dropped to one knee. --The knight errant has only one thing to say.-- Momoko waited, silently. --Momoko . . . I’m sorry.-- Momoko closed her eyes. --I’m sorry too.-- Which, in the end, was all that they had ever needed to say. And thus the knight errant whisked the fair damsel into his arms and into his bed, and the two spent a tiring but splendid night together. Which brings us, readers, back to the present, with our heroine standing in front of the bathroom mirror, wondering if she can be completely sure of her lover’s motives, or if more than a decade apart has turned him into just another pleasure- seeking or money-seeking man to use and discard her. Momoko clasped her hands in front of her breasts, and said a short prayer to the Moon Goddess. From the bedroom, there came the subtle sounds of a man stirring awake. Sheets rustled, flesh creaked, and breath sighed. Momoko held her breath. Far away, a thousand miles from the threshold to the tiny bathroom, Sarashina Kyusuke began singing in the most God-awful baritone that Momoko had ever heard. “Largo al factotum della citta . . . Presto a bottega che l'alba e gia . . .” Momoko knew joy when she heard it. She knew that there were many different kinds of joy. There is the primal, testosterone-driven joy that men feel after they bed a beautiful and fertile young woman; there is the equally primal joy felt when one wins access to a wealth of money and future security; and, there is the joy felt when you find the one person on the entire planet that you can understand, that you can trust, that you can love more than any other. It was the latter joy that Momoko heard in Kyusuke’s voice, and recognized instantly, for it was in perfect harmony with the joy coursing through her own heart. For the umpteenth time in the past year, silent tears of happiness slid down Momoko’s cheeks. Momoko straightened her shoulders, tightened her robe, and brushed her hair back from her forehead. She had to make herself presentable before she once again rushed into the arms of her lover, waiting in the bedroom just beyond the mirror and the sink. She had already outlined her actions for the morning in five concise steps. Rush into Kyusuke’s arms. Hold him. Kiss him. Tell him to never, ever sing opera in her presence again. And, finally, she would left her heart and her instincts be her guide. Outside the walls of the tiny apartment, a new world order was being formed. A multi-million dollar franchise waited patiently for Momoko’s return, and two bounty- hunter lovers in the far-off future awaited the return of their creator to finish their story once and for all. But all of that could wait. At the moment there was just her, Kyusuke, and fifteen years of pent-up love, loneliness, and confusion between them. Momoko wasn’t sure how the story of her and Kyusuke would end, but at the moment, a kiss at least seemed like a pretty good place to start. THE END. ~ Kotetsu, 11/04/00