Happiness

"Something is bothering you, and I know it's not about your loss in our morning spar," Shoukaku declared as she joined her sister.

"You know, huh," Zuikaku, who was watching the cloudless skies, replied; there's no hiding something from Shoukaku, but then again, she tends to wear her emotions on her sleeve.

"Well, I'm your sister; of course, I would," Shoukaku made herself comfortable beside Zuikaku, who slightly moved aside to make room for her. Just behind them, a ragtag group of seamen and pilots was having a rather boisterous carousing―singing, dancing, and drinking the cheap liquor the Imperial General Headquarters would now and then distribute to the front lines—a way to keep the already fragile morale from completely crumbling.

Zuikaku couldn't entirely grasp what the song they were singing was about; most of them were already inebriated to various degrees―and all she could hear was a tuneless, raucous cacophony. But, knowing firsthand how typical rank-and-file navy members would usually act, she guessed the song was most likely about something bawdy.

"Hm. Victory is still nowhere in sight, yet they are having this revelry; what a waste," Shoukaku can only scoff at the sorry sight, but Zuikaku was more forgiving.

"Can you really blame them, Shoukaku-nee? Any day could be their last; why not make merry while they still can?"

Zuikaku recalled how distraught the men were as they wrote what could be their last letter home before they were sent to battle, a far cry from how unruly they are now.

She also recalled—not without regret—once seeing a young officer nearly breaking into tears as he sorted through the letters, keeping the ones belonging to the survivors and setting aside those belonging to the fallen to be sent to their loved ones, the latter outnumbering the former. He was berated and slapped for being weak.

A piece of old wisdom likened the life of a warrior to cherry blossoms―ephemeral yet meaningful. Though having witnessed their numbers dwindling quickly, seemingly for no purpose, Zuikaku often wondered if such a metaphor still rings true.

"But truly, they aren't celebrating," Zuikaku heard Shoukaku speaking, her tone noticeably softening as she watched the sky and squinting at the stars—scarce, dim, and distant. "Because they aren't happy at all; they are simply hiding their fears. Come the next battle, they are likely to perish, aren't they?"

"Stop it, please."

"That's why dai-senpai and all of us are going to bring an end to this war; for the sake of these men and the people of this land," Shoukaku laid a hand on her sister's shoulder and gave it a light, comforting squeeze, which she appreciated.

"Ye-yes; of course, we will," Zuikaku replied, returning the gesture by placing her own hand on top of her sister's. Shoukaku smiled softly before noticing something that made her smile turn into a smirk.

"…And, of course, that includes our old friend over there."

Looking in the same direction as Shoukaku, Zuikaku saw a lone pilot slipping away unnoticed from the group before nervously shuffling towards the sea and stopping on the edge of another pier. Looking around, seemingly without purpose, he noticed the two sisters and approached the pair.

"Oh, if it isn't Sublieutenant Ohtori; too pure to join that band of rowdy drunkards, aren't you? What are you, a kid? You shouldn't be up and about at this hour, then."

"Can it, stupid crane," Sublieutenant Ohtori Kensaku hissed his retort to Shoukaku's playfully snide remark with an equal amount of venom but took a seat beside her anyway.

"I don't want to be called stupid by someone who was nearly dead last among his class of cadets," Shoukaku shot back.

"Gah! I hate you, you insufferable woman."

"Likewise, coward."

Zuikaku rubbed her temple as the two traded barbs. It's nothing new, of course, but it's not something she could or wanted to get accustomed to.

With a sigh, she shot up, the sudden act silencing the bickering duo.

"Alright, Ohtori, Shoukaku-nee, move aside a bit," she told them flatly; after expressing a brief surprise at the request, the man gladly complied. Seeing how happy he was, Shoukaku was less than amused but said no word as she made room for Zuikaku to sit between them.

"…Okay, please stop bickering just for tonight, can you two…?" Zuikaku spoke in a tired whisper as she resumed sitting, chin resting on her knees.

"Sorry," Ohtori murmured, while Shoukaku merely responded with a slight shrug before turning her attention to the skies once more, engrossed in gazing at the stars as if she was searching for something.

"Why aren't you staying with them?" Zuikaku glanced at the man beside him, staring at the distant seas in contrast to Shoukaku. Upon hearing the question, he immediately blushed.

"…Not really my thing," he muttered, almost expecting Shoukaku to say something insulting. But much to his surprise, she did not. Hearing the reply, Zuikaku nodded in understanding; when faced with what might be imminent, inevitable death, some would be like the group behind them—rowdy and rambunctious. However, some others would become very quiet and contemplative, just like the man beside her—except when he spoke with Shoukaku, that is.

"Oh…well, yeah, I know. Even back then, you've always hated gatherings, eh?" With a smile, Zuikaku replied; from the corner of her eyes, Shoukaku noticed his reaction and subtly smirked. His feelings were too easy to read, but Zuikaku never noticed.

"Ah…guess that's true…by the way, what are you girls doing here anyway?"

"Um…" Zuikaku trailed off, leaving Shoukaku to answer.

"It's nothing much. We just feel like getting some fresh air. It's been stifling these past few days in the living quarters, aren't they?"

"Eh…well, I suppose we have the same reason then," Ohtori replied, "and then they dragged me to that little party of theirs," he pointed at the group; by now, the noise they were making had begun to die down, probably because some of them had already passed out.

"They aren't happy, are they…?" Zuikaku asked him; he gave a puzzled blink in response, but despite that, he eventually replied.

"…They? I don't know. But…if anyone can actually be happy during these circumstances, that would be amazing. Why did you ask?"

"It's nothing. I just remembered something Shoukaku-nee said before. They're not happy and only hiding their fear."

"…And aren't we all…?" Out of the blue, Shoukaku exclaimed. The remark had the other two staring at her in confusion, their heads tilting in the same direction.

"…Eh…what do you mean, Shoukaku-nee?"

"Nothing; forget it," Shoukaku promptly dismissed the question, and as if to emphasize that point, she quickly turned her attention to the sky again. Zuikaku decided she wouldn't press further, as Shoukaku probably would deflect the question instead of responding in earnest anyway.

Though she had to admit, her sister was right.

"As much as I hate to say it, I suppose we all do. It's hard not to think of death…when you just spoke to someone you know one day, and they were gone the next day," Zuikaku heard Ohtori speaking after keeping to himself for quite a while.

Though his eyes were still focused on the waters, the words were most likely addressed to Shoukaku; however, she offered no response. Perhaps, Zuikaku guessed, her sister was content to silently agree to the statement.

"…But you know…talking to you guys…even about stupid things, this, and that…I feel like I can live with that, somehow. So yeah, I'm glad I could talk to Zuikaku…and even Shoukaku while I still could," Ohtori continued. His voice was noticeably cracking, and when their gaze happened to meet as he glanced at her—with the man shyly looking the other way immediately when he saw that her cheeks were reddening—Zuikaku saw just how vulnerable and pained he was. Even then, he smiled a little, though it disappeared when he heard Shoukaku giggling.

"Getting honest, are you…? Maybe we really should celebrate after all," she said while Zuikaku groaned her sister's name, worried she would have to break up another spat. Meanwhile, Ohtori blinked at the remark; while he believed Shoukaku was clearly teasing, something else was there. Something he could not quite put the finger on, perhaps genuine joy, but he wasn't sure about it. Whatever the case, he decided to humor her nevertheless.

"…Well then, celebrate with this," he finally said; after partially unzipping his jacket to get something he kept inside, he presented a small flask to Shoukaku.

Looking at it, within seconds, Shoukaku's expression turned into surprise, then amusement, while Zuikaku kept a puzzled look as she stared at the object.

"Don't look at me like that, Zuikaku. The boys forced me to take it," Ohtori said as he idly tossed the flask to Shoukaku, who easily caught it. She let out a small laugh before sipping the content.

As she had expected when the liquid passed her lips, it was cheap liquor, nearly tasteless save for a hint of bitterness, and only good at making one intoxicated. But they indeed served their purpose well—to make men forget.

"You have got to wonder why anyone would want to drink this," Shoukaku commented after she took another sip and passed the flask to Zuikaku, who reluctantly accepted it. She ended up cradling it instead of drinking the content and eventually returned it to its owner.

"… It's as you said before, Shoukaku-nee… they…" Zuikaku replied quietly, and Ohtori sighed deeply. Though Zuikaku didn't finish what she had wanted to say, he understood, having recalled their earlier conversation.

He recalled the day she opened up to him about their decision, and though he struggled to accept it, he finally did. And now, he decided, he could affirm that to them—to Zuikaku, especially.

"…And isn't that the reason why you guys are going…?" he asked, though seeing that Zuikaku didn't answer and the change in her expression, he realized it probably wasn't a good question at all. Shoukaku noticed that as well, and it dawned on her why Zuikaku seemed troubled.

"…If we are…will you be okay…Ohtori?" After a while, Zuikaku spoke, her voice quieter than before and her head downcast.

The pilot paused to collect his thoughts and replied, as firmly as he could manage, despite the pang in his heart, "…You should do what you need to do. Shoukaku needs you, and you need her…so please, don't worry about me."

"But…"

"I'm not a child that needs to be coddled, Zuikaku, and you know that… putting an end to this conflict... that's more important than me…" Ohtori continued. Shoukaku noticed that his voice began to crack again despite his efforts to put on a strong front.

As she heard the words, a resigned Zuikaku passed a brief look at Shoukaku, who was watching in silence, and replied, "No…but, I…I understand."

"… I'm going to be alright. And once this is all over, we'll meet again, you two and me…so you guys better have good news to tell," having regained himself, Ohtori finished; he was pleased to see Zuikaku smiling at that, and eventually, Shoukaku as well.

Not long after, a brighter-looking Zuikaku stood up rather hastily, much to the other two's confusion.

"…Sorry, Shoukaku-nee, Ohtori, gotta go; I have something that I must do," Zuikaku quickly excused herself before they could ask anything. As she left, Shoukaku and Ohtori looked at each other and shrugged.

By now, the noise around them had died down altogether. Ohtori noticed some drunkards were still awake but struggling to get to their feet, much less walking. He was sure those men would complain of a headache tomorrow…or getting chewed at by their superiors.

"…So, you are still adamant about not telling her, huh?" Shoukaku began after making sure her sister was really gone from sight. As she had predicted, he got defensive over the abrupt question.

"Wh-what's your business with that…?"

"It's alright to let her know…You might regret it if you don't."

Diverting his attention from Shoukaku, who looked unusually melancholic, Ohtori replied,

"She's burdened enough as she is. I cannot bring myself to weigh her down, you know…? I…I want her to be free."

"…I guess you are right. A bird should not be weighed down if it wants to fly."

"Yeah, maybe…just maybe, one day, I'm going to tell her. So please…protect her, will you…?"

"…Like you need to ask; try to stay alive yourself."

"Of course. You too."

That was the end of the talk until Ohtori decided to call it a night and rose from where he was sitting, saying, "Well, guess I gotta go back before I get myself into trouble…are you going?"

"I still have things to think about," she answered curtly, shaking her head. Ohtori nodded and placed the flask he's been holding beside her.

"Don't stay up late, though. Good night, Shoukaku."

"Yeah, good night, Ohtori."

Shoukaku watched the man as he left, following his every movement until he eventually disappeared from her line of sight. She noticed the flask sitting beside her, thinking he must've forgotten it—or perhaps, left it there on purpose.

"For me…?" She laughed dryly at the thought and sipped the drink inside once more. Maybe it was just her, but it tasted a touch more bitter than the first time she tasted it.

"Fool," she muttered to herself.

***

The next day, Ohtori ended up waking a bit earlier than usual, owing to his inability to sleep the night before. It left him a little worried about how it will affect his performance—they are sortieing again today, for the first time in days. Now that he remembered that, the anxiety from the anticipation was the most likely cause.

He couldn't return to sleep and wasn't feeling sleepy anymore, so he eventually decided to go outside to get the morning air and calm his frayed nerves.

As he walked out of the quarters, he was surprised to see Zuikaku out there, and much to his relief, no one else; for reasons he can only wonder, she appeared to be waiting for him. However, he was thankful to see that she wasn't troubled anymore. Not with that big grin adorning her face—the kind of smile he always loved to see.

"Hello, Ohtori. I never thought you could be up this early," she began, both hands behind her back, seemingly hiding something.

"Don't be like Shoukaku," he answered just as lightheartedly, having calmed himself to a degree, thanks to her. " Um…you want to talk about something…?"

"Oh, I've been thinking… I should leave you with something. I dunno, maybe it will cheer you up…"

"…But I'm not sad or anything…?"

Zuikaku laughed again before moving forward and revealing the piece of ema she was holding.

"You are always a bad liar. Here…for you."

Ohtori felt his cheeks heating up as Zuikaku gently took his hand and put the ema on it. When he looked at it closely, he found a hastily scribbled word that left him stunned.

"This is…"

"Happiness is such a wonderful, magical word," Zuikaku continued, her expression softening, "I don't know how to explain this, but whenever I say it to myself...it always sounds so short but meaningful. Well, let's just say it's my wish for you."

Ohtori willed himself to keep his emotions in check as he took her words—the ever-sincere words from a girl who knew no falsehood—in, lest his tears would spill and that moment would end. It was challenging to do so when she seemed intent on not letting go of him, but he cherished the feeling of being connected with her more.

"…Hey…" amid the silence, Zuikaku whispered, looking down at the hand she was still holding, "if...only..."

"Zuikaku…?"

Sensing the concern, Zuikaku quickly looked up and put on a smile.

"Nothing! Well, I have to prepare things before our departure…so make sure you'll see us later...well, if you could," having said that, she let go of Ohtori and turned to leave.

He watched as Zuikaku began walking away, sometimes glancing at the hand she held just before. It felt exceedingly empty the moment she let go as if it could no longer hold anything.

To his surprise, she stopped after only a few paces, but with her back turned against him.

"…Hey, Ohtori? I guess I'll just ask this now…is there something you would like to say to me…?"

At first, Ohtori was confused, but as soon as he caught on to the possible implication behind it, the question had him torn like never before. He did not know how long the part of him that told him to say it and the other that wanted to deny the whole thing went, but eventually, Zuikaku looked over her shoulder, still smiling even when he failed to produce an answer.

She was looking back with such guilt-inducing sympathy, and Ohtori had to fight the urge to look away.

"I'm sorry, that question is unfair, isn't it? See you later, Ohtori."

Zuikaku was about to resume walking away, but Ohtori, unwilling to let her go just yet, called her back, giving her pause.

"…You…you've been looking after me all this time...without asking anything in return...right now, I've nothing to repay your kindness, but...I...I, at least, could wish you happiness too...!" Ohtori stuttered.

Zuikaku let out a brief laugh, though she wasn't laughing at the fact that he turned into such an inelegant mess or at the heartfelt declaration. The laugh soon became a gentle smile.

"Mutual wish, huh?" Zuikaku said as she turned around, allowing him to see that smile—and probably that faint color on her cheeks if he was observant. Maybe he did because he was just as flushed.

"Yeah...uh...well...I meant it. I want you to be happy...but..."

"Yes...?"

"...But before peace comes, that's impossible, isn't it?" Ohtori continued; from the way he was hesitating, Zuikaku had an inkling that it wasn't what he wanted to say—she hated the way it rolled out his lips and the fact she could not afford to get him to open up right now. But she could, at least, be encouraging for his sake and hers.

Ohtori soon found her hands being entwined with his once more. He stared at their hands, seeing a single tear falling on them, followed by another, and then another. But she held him still.

"But I will fight to get peace to come. And then, when it's all over, we could meet again. And by then, I know I will be happy," she proclaimed.

"...I know I will be happy, too..." he murmured, and she nodded.

They stayed like that for a bit longer until Zuikaku finally told Ohtori she had to go. Soon, he found himself watching her back grow further and further, with no small amount of consternation. But he never had the intention to hold her back. This time, she eventually disappeared from sight, but Ohtori remained there for a while.

His hands again felt empty. But to him, it was fitting. Once they let go, they knew they would have to give up their optimism. As any soldier could attest, the battlefield is no place for the hopeful and dreamers.

And for now, they cannot be dreamers anymore.