Chapter Text
choices
IV
close down or resist
How does the heart work? Senku pondered that question as a young boy. He'd heard his father suffer from "heartaches," and naturally, he was worried. But after ruling out all diseases related to that organ, he learned that it referred to a "heartbreak".
Senku didn't think the heart was a particularly complex organ. From a functional standpoint, its job was clear: pump blood, maintain its flow, sustain life. He didn't think of it as a decision-making center, much less a source of conflict; that was the brain's job.
However, there was something unsettling about the way everything seemed to hurt there lately. But he refused to accept Byakuya's experience.
It wasn't physical pain, not sharp or debilitating. It was more like a constant pressure, as if his chest had learned to tense itself out of habit. Senku had quickly diagnosed it: accumulated fatigue, prolonged stress, lack of sleep. It all fit perfectly into a logical equation.
And yet, the variable didn't disappear.
"You're quieter than usual," Gen commented, breaking the silence as he absentmindedly stirred a cup of tea.
They were sitting around the work table, the pale light of dawn still filtering into the lab. Ryusui was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, wearing that expression of his that suggested he was observing more than he let on. Chrome, for his part, pretended to review some notes, though it was obvious he was listening to every word.
"I'm busy," Senku replied without looking up from his blueprints. "As always. There's no time for a break, so don't get too comfortable, will you, mentalist?"
"No," Gen retorted, tilting his head and completely ignoring what Senku had said. "This is different. You're not busy. You're... closed."
Senku raised an eyebrow.
"Now you're doing emotional diagnoses too?"
"That's a mentalist's job."
"You sound unconvincing, as always. Why don't you try your hand at persuading others? Today's work will be tough."
"What do you think, Ryusui? I believe our dear Senku needs a special session to talk about his feelings."
"I hope you're joking," Senku said, looking up from his papers. "There's no time for that."
Senku glanced at Ryusui and, pointing at him, said: "I hope you're not actually thinking of playing along with this charlatan—referring to Gen. You're sensible, aren't you? You're not thinking we should waste our time on such nonsense."
"Only when it's too obvious," Ryusui interjected. "And believe me, Senku, yours is obvious from across the ocean."
Chrome swallowed hard before daring to speak. “If you’ll allow me to intervene, I’d like to join your conversation. I feel I can help in some way.”
“You’re the least qualified to do so, and besides, you have no idea what we’re talking about.”
“I’m sorry to tell you, Senku, but I know very well what you’re referring to,” Chrome assured him. “A few nights ago, I overheard you,” he admitted somewhat sheepishly, as he wasn’t one to eavesdrop. “I know all this is about Kohaku.”
The name landed like a stone on the table. Senku carefully laid down his pencil, as if any sudden movement might betray something he wasn’t willing to revela. “That’s irrelevant,” he said, scratching his right ear with his pinky. “She confessed a while ago. I was clear about it. Everything went on as normal.”
“Normal for whom?” Gen asked gently.
“For everyone,” Senku replied, faster than necessary. “We’re still working together. There are no conflicts. There are no errors in the team’s performance. End of story.”
Ryusui watched him for a long moment before smiling, though there was no amusement in his expresión. "The problem, Senku, is that you always talk about things as if they were closed systems. As if because a variable doesn’t explode immediately, it ceases to exist.”
“Feelings aren’t a priority,” he retorted. “Not now. Maybe never. And that’s fine. I don’t understand why you insist on having this kind of conversation with me. You won’t get the answer you want.”
Chrome frowned. “It doesn’t sound like it’s fine.”
Senku stood up. “And you’re the one saying this? Chrome, you can’t even handle your feelings for Ruri.”
“It’s different,” Chrome defended himself. "It's no secret how I feel about her, even if my priority remains learning more about science and all that. I don't deny what I feel."
"Neither do I, because I don't feel anything for Kohaku."
"Don't be so drastic. You know very well that you care about her," Ryusui interjected.
“I have the same affection for everyone, of course, but there’s nothing romantic about it. Really. And, honestly, as long as she understands that, my thoughts are at peace.”
“Why do you say that?” Gen asked, his curiosity piqued.
“Because otherwise, things would be tense. That’s not the case, of course, because Kohaku, unlike you all, understands that not everyone needs… that,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the air. “Some people function better without ties. She and I function better without ties.”
Gen sighed resignedly, exchanging glances with Ryusui and Chrome, who let him know, through their silence, that they understood the situation perfectly. Senku wasn’t verbally asking for help, but his actions betrayed his cries. Decisively, Gen didn’t wait for Senku to turn around and simply said: “And some people convince themselves they don’t need them because losing them hurts too much.”
The ensuing silence was awkward. Senku didn't reply. Not because he didn't have a response, but because, for the first time, he wasn't entirely sure of it.
After a while, only Senku, Chrome, and Xeno remained in the lab. The bustle and movement of the other community members carrying out their assigned tasks could be heard. Since the door was open, Senku could see Kohaku with Hyoga, hauling wood… and sharing knowing smiles.
.
One night, he slept poorly. He usually had troubled dreams where he couldn't help but feel sadness for how much he missed Byakuya, but that wasn't something he could put into words. However, now he was experiencing something strange.
That nagging feeling in his chest hadn't left him alone since Kohaku confessed to him, and with that, the tossing and turning began.
Falling asleep was difficult because of his racing heart when he thought about her, about Hyoga's proximity, and the games of the planets. Being the Sun had brought him a tremendous responsibility, and the truth was, he wasn't enjoying it.
But when he finally fell asleep, his mind decided to betray him cruelly. He dreamed of smoke, the smell of gunpowder, the sharp sound of gunfire, and absolute chaos: he dreamed of Stanley. More than a dream, it had been the memory of that vivid nightmare. What terrified him most that night, and what materialized in his dream, was the moment the entire team learned of the fall of their three strongest members: the deaths of Tsukasa, Hyoga… and Kohaku.
One by one.
He remembered the exact instant he found out. The information arrived like the worst news: immediate, brutal, irreversible. His logic couldn't fail him in such a cruel way, so that absence could only mean one thing: Kohaku was dead.
The world didn't stop. There were no screams. There was no collapse. Senku simply… carried on. He gave orders. He thought about Medusa. He thought about the counterattack. He thought about saving what was left.
"Luna, I need you to replace Suika and Francoise to carry out the plan to revive after the petrification."
"Oh! Of course, yes! Something simple and ideal for a cold woman like me! But… why me?" "Because if any parts of the body break," he smiled with that crazed expression he hoped would calm the girl, "you're the doctor! And you can stitch them up!"
"Chelsea will guide you," Ryusui seconded. "Hide far away from here."
Senku couldn't let them die too. He wasn't going to allow the death of those who couldn't defend themselves. He hadn't told anyone. At that moment, the deaths of the strength team weren't yet confirmed, but it was obvious.
He tried to take one last look at the route Hyoga and Tsukasa had taken when they went after Kohaku. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The truth hurt so much that just by looking at Ryusui, he realized he had come to the same conclusion.
Ryusui knew. Senku had always known. But they didn't say anything. Because saying it would have meant admitting that it hurt. And Senku couldn't allow himself to do that. Not when the bullets were starting to hit the fortress.
He woke with a start, his breath ragged and his throat dry. He ran a hand over his face, frustrated.
"Ridiculous..." he muttered. "It was just a dream."
Dreams were nothing more than mental debris. Even if it had happened, they had no power over what was to come. Stanley was petrified. Kohaku was alive. It was all over now.
And yet, the pain had been real. In that moment and in the dream, the idea of having lost Kohaku had tormented him enough. It was impossible to fall asleep after that.
.
The camp descended into chaos when Suika, running clumsily in the midst of the excitement, arrived after her expedition with Chelsea, who was also running after her. She cried out in desperation: "Senku! Someone!" Tears streamed from her eyes. "Kohaku's had an accident!"
Everything happened too fast. Everyone was in a frenzy, Senku was demanding explanations, Luna was preparing the small infirmary to treat the injury, and Hyoga didn't hesitate to go to the rescue even without knowing exactly where Kohaku was.
"Suika," said Senku after seeing Hyoga's quick thinking, "what happened to Kohaku?"
Suika explained as best she could that Kohaku had made a wrong move while trying to cut a fruit branch. Chelsea had warned her about the instability of the trees, but Kohaku, stubborn as ever, wanted to follow her instincts.
“The branch gave way,” Chelsea said, seeing Suika hyperventilating, “and Kohaku tried to grab onto it, but one of the cuts dug in, and… we saw a lot of blood, Senku.”
The sight of Kohaku covered in blood brought back memories of the night of the attack. How much blood had Kohaku lost the time Stanley killed her?
After a few seconds, Hyoga’s quick footsteps could be heard. He was carrying her in his arms; he had also sustained some injuries, most likely from when he came to her rescue, considering he didn’t have a clear route, but he didn’t think much of them. Hyoga’s attention was on Kohaku, who was gritting her teeth to stifle a scream of pain.
“Hang on,” Hyoga said with a chilling calm. “We’re here now.”
Senku remained motionless for barely a second. Just one. But it was enough for everyone to notice.
The first-aid room quickly filled up. Luna efficiently took charge, cleaning the wound and assessing the damage. Hyoga didn't let go of Kohaku's hand for a second.
"I'm fine," she said, trying to smile and ignoring the pain of the splinters. "Really."
"It'll be more bearable if you keep quiet," Hyoga replied gently. "Focus on your breathing."
Senku walked past the entrance once. Then again. Then again. He had no business being there. He wasn't helping. He wasn't contributing. He was just watching. The blood. Hyoga's hand clutching Kohaku's. The closeness. The genuine concern.
It was all too familiar.
"Are you trying to level the floor? Is that why you're pacing the infirmary so much?" Gen whispered. "Is this some new kind of paving?"
"I'm supervising," Senku replied.
"Sure," Ryusui added. "Supervising other people's feelings."
Senku stopped. "Don't start."
"Bad memories, huh?" Ryusui said, not looking directly at him.
Senku gritted his teeth and looked away, scratching his right ear. He'd felt something in his chest tighten, like a spring about to snap. But even though he'd mentally noted the symptom, he dismissed it.
"Nothing that can't be solved or avoided with logic."
He said it firmly. With conviction. But this time, not even he fully believed it. He turned his attention back to Kohaku. Luna had finished the wound care, but the bandage was starting to show red stains. Hyoga kept holding Kohaku's hand, while she smiled at him in gratitude, completely ignoring everyone else in the room.
Senku headed to the lab after the wound care was complete. But the truth was, he'd been thinking about what the others had said and what he'd seen. He'd always found their feelings and expressions ridiculous, as they seemed to distract everyone. And Senku didn't want to get involved in those kinds of embarrassing situations. In the lab, he sighed heavily and closed his eyes. The dream had been a sign, the accident another. His heart began to race.
There was something in Kohaku's expression, in the idea of her, that made him think of something different, especially because of Hyoga. He wondered what it would feel like to be Hyoga, to have the freedom to act just as he did.
Senku knew it would remain just that, a futile question. Because perhaps his heart had closed long ago. Perhaps it would never open again.
And perhaps… that was precisely what he was most afraid to admit.
Because between closing down or resisting, Senku Ishigami had chosen the former. Not because it was the right thing to do, but because it was the only thing he knew how to do. Although each day, it became a little harder for him to maintain that decision.
And the thing was… he had already experienced the fear of losing Kohaku.
What was happening to him? Why did his heart seem to clench at the thought of losing Kohaku while she was still alive, and with Hyoga?
"Hardest of heart", Florence + The Machine