Conscious, Conscientious

A storm was closing in.

The rhythmic thumping on the other side of the wall was its thunder, and the hundreds of muffled voices its rainfall.

At least, that was how it felt to Deon.

“On in three minutes!”

Only catching a brief sight of the worker’s dangling badge before she rushed off, he nodded his thanks in her general direction. But her update meant little: there was nothing more he could do to prepare.

Right now, the hardest job belonged to Kotono.

And that was why his heart pounded harder.

We’re not ready for this, he knew.

Deon figured every added glance towards the back of this dimly lit room risked wearing his concern too obviously, but he took the chance anyway.

Kotono still sat on the floor alone, hugging her knees to her chest and staring off at nothing.

They can’t seriously make her do this right now, he thought.

But he knew his inner protests didn’t matter:

It had to be her. It was unfair, but it was the only way.

The ‘mask to our costume…’ he remembered. That’s her…

Whatever that means.

Kotono didn’t blink as a woman kneeled down with a brush to even out her makeup. She shook her head subtly when another assistant asked if she needed anything.

Someone’s shoulder brushed Deon’s arm, and when it lingered there he knew who had to be.

He turned to meet Skrili’s ever-cutting eyes. Determination festered within their purple irises, burning straight through him perhaps more intensely than she even realized.

But the sharpness softened him.

With her this close, Deon found himself wishing they could stumble upon just one quick moment alone. He was grateful the whole group had stuck together for practically every waking moment since Hiroko’s ceremony—they all needed it. But there was still so much to process with his true teammate.

Especially before…whatever it was they were about to do here.

He had so many feelings to let out about Azvaylen—things he knew only Skrili could receive. He longed to hear her thoughts, her grief, to take it in. If he couldn’t find the chance, none of his own emotions felt tangible. This spiraling blend of loss, relief, and fear would keep living solely in a void—nearly separate from reality.

It was becoming chaos in his head, and he feared the same for Skrili. It was too much.

Just a few moments….

To remember Hiroko.

To celebrate saving Lammy.

To cry.

To kiss Skrili back.

He felt her kisses again in his mind. But the dissonance of their context overwhelmed him—they had served as a means in the middle of a fight. He needed to confirm how real he hoped they were.

But that fight still had yet to end. It had grown far beyond the Worldline containing Azvaylen.

Pang.

Rescuing her was the last step. And the beginning of that step was now underway.

Hang in there for us.

“One minute! Everyone please get in position!”

Deon caught Lammy’s eyes watching from the far wall as Phillip and Kotono drew near. Despite his attempt at a confident smirk, he knew his cousin sensed his apprehension immediately. It seemed Lammy’s resemblance to Aunt Ergi had only grown more uncanny in the time they’d been apart—his empathy was written all over his face just the same, even despite his own nerves. Deon felt home in his gaze.

Mustering a smile, Lammy reached up and pointed to the new triangle tattoo on his cheek.

Right…we’re Pang’s guardians, Deon reminded himself, feeling his own triangle. We’re her protectors.

I have no idea what we’re about to do…but let’s do it.

This is how we save her.

“You’re on!”

In sync with the stagehand’s cue, the large black wall before them began to rise. Immediately, cheers flooded in from the other side. Skrili nudged Deon again, and he remembered to begin stepping forward.

Twenty-three steps. Posture straight, shoulders back.

He hoped the number of steps were accurate, because within a moment, he couldn’t see a thing. The wall ascended above his eye level and a blinding light masked everything before him.

She isn’t ready for this…

Deon turned to Kotono once more, who was still standing in place behind them. “Hey, if you need any help—”

His words froze in his mouth. The blinding light obscured what lay ahead, but it illuminated Kotono’s face clearly. And she shifted so drastically, he wondered if he’d just moved backwards in time.

Her face glowed, her makeup-accentuated eyes now glimmering with life. All of her attention was on what lay before them as her smile pushed up her glittered dimples.

In an instant, right before his eyes, she ceased being Kotono and became the Kotono Inoue from all the commercials, posters, and public appearances.

The transformation would have stopped Deon in his tracks, if not for another guiding nudge from Skrili.

If backstage had been an impending storm, they’d now stepped straight into the downpour. The sweeping applause saturated him from all angles and the booming music intensified.

But even still, beyond what he could only somewhat make out as the edge of the stage, he couldn’t see any faces in the theater—only the shadows of a collective wave.

Was this all a dream?

Five subtle circles of light appeared towards the front of the stage’s floor, spread evenly across its width to mark everyone’s positions. Deon separated a bit from Skrili, reaching his spot beside hers on his twenty-third step.

Finally, he could see faces in the crowd—just a few in the very front row of the seating. Many were around his age or even Lammy’s, their eyes wide and hopeful. But a few adults were mixed in, some with keen analytical glares.

Still heavily blinded, Deon couldn’t derive the size of this room. But he certainly got a better idea of its vastness when the cheers erupted even louder: in a rehearsed delay, Kotono emerged. She marched daintily between Deon and Skrili on one side and Phillip on the other, and took center stage atop a raised platform.

She allowed the applause to resume for a moment, her warm gaze meeting each corner of the theater like an answered prayer. Her dress settled around her in radiance, its shades of red serving as the crowd’s long-awaited sunlight.

Then the music faded, and soon after, so did the voices.

A transparent circle appeared before Kotono’s mouth.

“Friends, fans, and members of the Consciousness League,” she began, “it’s me: your Kotono Inoue.”

Deon couldn’t help but stare at her, just like Skrili, Phillip, and every single person in the room. But his amazement, and that of his companions around him, ran much deeper than the crowd’s fanatical awe.

They knew much more tangibly than the crowd what she’d just lost. They saw it happen. Yet now, despite Deon’s deepening gaze, he couldn’t spot even the slightest hint of the trauma she’d just endured.

What is happening?

“From the bottom of my heart, I want to thank you all for being here. The League has always been grounded in community, in relationship, so I wanted to share this with you in the most personal way I could think,” Kotono began. With her usual stutter entirely absent, Deon could hardly place the voice with the mouth it came from.

It turned out he had no reason to worry earlier; she was nailing this to perfection.

And yet, it only replaced his uncertainty with a new one: would this really be enough?

Would the plan work?

“As I’m sure you all know, our fellow pro and dear friend Pang Pereo has gone missing, and…” Kotono hesitated. “…Giving up her life to try and stop Pang’s kidnappers…we lost my dearest friend of all: my incredible teammate, Hiroko Hamasaki.”

Despite the endless voices from before, not a soul made a sound.

Kotono fell silent for a moment. At last, her brightness faded a bit while her eyes grew distant, looking past the hundreds of people towards unseen ghosts beyond. Deon noticed a thin outline of a gray aura surround her body—but he doubted the spectators could see it from their distance.

Kotono blinked, and her spirit returned to the room. Her face flooded with a hard resolve.

“She gave up everything to try saving Pang,” Kotono uttered. “And that’s why we’ve all decided to stand before you today. That’s why I refused to postpone this announcement: because this is what Hiroko would want. This is our move—how we make a change.”

She took a strong step forward, her hands on her heart.

“So on behalf of the Consciousness League, and in Hiroko’s name, it is my honor to announce the launching of its brand-new division: the Special League,” she declared, the liveliness from her introduction returning to her speech. “In the Special League, new teams of all-Certified fighters will compete in events at the most prominent arenas across the Multiverse, pushing the boundaries of what consciousness fighting can be.”

She took a calculated pause, meeting Skrili’s, Phillip’s, and Deon’s eyes one-by-one.

“Because instead of the traditional teams of two members,” she revealed, “these Special Teams will have five.”

Hushed exclamations rose at once, and immediately gave way to a new surge of energy.

Deon could feel it reaching him from the masses: what started as surprise grew into a steady electricity coursing through the air.

“Allow me to introduce you to the first Special Team ever announced: my own,” Kotono said over the simmering hype. She spread her arms out to her companions. “There’s nobody else I could think to b—begin this chapter with.”

Deon’s heart warmed at the sound of her familiar stutter. Despite the spectacle, he had no doubt that sentence was genuine.

“This is our chance to fight back. Because one-hundred percent of our team’s contribution will fund the League’s full-scale investigation into this tragedy,” Kotono said. “So with your support of this new division, we can do this. Together, we will find Pang. We will avenge my teammate. We are Team Hiroko.”

The audience erupted.

Deon stared on, offering a smile and a wave to the infinite strangers.

But he felt no connection to the motion. Something was blocking him off—something in his head.

This couldn’t be real.

Here they stood, receiving a shower of applause under dazzling lights, while Hiroko was gone and Pang was with Proscious somewhere in unimaginable danger.

Was that right? Was this really the way?

He shot a subtle gaze towards the fifth circular marker on the stage—it was still vacant.

Deon tried to shake out of it. He was there for the plan’s inception. It all added up.

And yet, leaping from impossible powers and death straight into a world of raving jubilation left his mind spinning.

He couldn’t help but ask himself:

How the heck did we end up here?

~~~

The entire room was white—the floor, the walls, and even the floating, glowing orbs at the ceiling that illuminated the space.

Deon sat between Lammy and Skrili on the only furniture in the room. The bench-like couch spanned each wall like a border, without an opening even for a door. But such accessibility wasn’t necessary, because as Deon watched Kotono and Phillip sit opposite to them, he realized this place didn’t even have a door.

He supposed it made sense, given how they arrived. Credo told them they would know precisely how to meet him when they checked their TeamTracks.

And sure enough, there was a new app on all of their screens: a simple white square.

When they opened it, a light briefly encompassed them. And in an instant, they ended up here.

Deon was grateful Credo gave them a chance to say their thanks to Hiroko’s family, and their goodbyes to Gibblezgorv and the other dragons before leaving Hidakala. Because based on Credo’s words and this strange new atmosphere, he was beginning to realize they weren’t returning anytime soon.

He noticed Lammy fidgeting with his hands, his eyes absently glued to the cold floor. He had taken just as long as Kotono to say his goodbyes to Zayza; Deon had watched on from a distance as he and the princess embraced several times, tears streaming from both of their faces.

I guess he met a teammate of his own out here, Deon realized.

He imagined a blanket onto Lammy’s lap, knowing no elaboration was needed.

The stillness came to an end with a white flash between the five consciousnesses. Credo appeared, having left his Hidakalan clothing behind. Deon figured it probably wasn’t meant to exit the sacred land.

His current outfit seemed much more fitting to his modern hair and sheened light green beard, its sleekness matching the room.

“I can’t thank you all enough for choosing to join me here,” he uttered, adjusting his coat. Its pearly fabric and square black buttons rivaled the elegance Deon and Lammy had seen on many of Kotono’s outfits, but its angular nature clearly wasn’t native to Fantasy Country fashion—or any reality Deon and Lammy had traveled through so far.

As he turned to greet each of them, Deon couldn’t help but notice how much his attire matched his face: refined, yet electric and vital just the same. The wrinkles under his eyes displayed prior years, yet the light in his stare revealed a new desperation.

“Deon, Lammy, and Phillip…we’re essentially strangers to each other,” he said warmly. “And Skrili, I’ve only been a spectator of your great work. I’m sorry we’re all meeting under these circumstances. But we’re about to become a lot more familiar with each other, believe me.”

His gaze returned to Kotono, their mutual familiarity palpable in the air. As he watched her try to contrive a smile, his own only weakened under watering, knowing eyes.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered to her.

Kotono pretended to check her nails, letting a sniff slip out.

Credo faced the whole group once more. “I promise you’ll get a chance to rest and recharge very soon. But right now, after hearing what you all took the time to share with me, we need to set this in motion.”

“What are we doing? Set what in motion?” Deon pressed. Skrili shot him a glare to show a little respect—or perhaps just patience—but he shrugged it off.

Credo seemed unbothered. If anything, he was eager to answer. “Our rescue operation,” he said.

Everyone’s attention sharpened on him.

At last, Deon felt a fire forming in his heart, challenging his uncertainty, as he picked up on the agency in Credo’s tone. It finally occurred to him: this man called the shots for the entire League.

He rubbed his hands together.

“Alright, well this will be a breeze if you’re the head League guy,” Deon said. “You can probably just get all the thousands of consciousnesses to help us fight, huh?”

“Billions,” Skrili corrected.

“Billions?!”

Phillip shifted in his seat, leaning forward pensively. “No—that would be far too reckless,” came his deep, certain dismissal.

“Huh? But why?”

Deon’s puzzlement only deepened when Credo offered a nod to the gloomy Illusionist. “You’re exactly right, Phillip,” he confirmed. “Based on all of your accounts, it seems like this group—Proscious—their presence may permeate the League itself. So technically, most of the only consciousnesses I can trust right now…are you five.”

The revelation sunk in as Deon thought back before the battle. According to Phillip, the group who took Pang first approached her at the Conscious Competition ceremony.

Then, they managed to find out where she and Phillip were privately training with Skip.

…And then, they tracked her down again and finally snatched her at the Conscious Conference in Fiction Country.

“It’s true,” Lammy uttered. He faced his cousin. “The first Proscious members who tried to catch Zayza were in Realistic Fiction Country. One was a villager in the middle of nowhere, and the other guy was a student. The villager only found us by chance.”

Deon felt a chill.

Not only did their enemies know how to stalk League members—their presence quietly reached across the Multiverse.

It really was up to Deon and his friends alone—to those with the triangle tattoo.

He smirked. In spite of this realization—or rather, because of it, his tenacity brewed.

“Just us, huh? Sounds like we have everyone we need, then,” Deon declared. He leaned back, locking eyes with each of his companions until he could see the same fiery drive in each of them. “We beat Wei and his buddies. We can do it again.”

Credo watched them all for a moment, a smile growing under his beard as this new joint energy reached him.

Deon crossed his arms. “So what’s the plan, Pops?”

“Step one: don’t refer to the owner of your career as ‘Pops,’” muttered Phillip.

Dismissing the wording, Credo let out a contemplative sigh. “Kotono,” he began. “I’m sure you remember: we’re scheduled to have you announce the Special League at the event in two days.”

Kotono’s eyes darted from side to side. She nodded unconvincingly.

“Well…your people remember, I’m sure…” Credo uttered. “Now listen closely: we’re not going to cancel or postpone it. I’ll be contacting your people tonight to have them call off all arrangements with your three Special Team members. Skrili, Phillip, and Deon…they’ll be your teammates now.”

‘Special League?’ ‘Special Team members? wondered Deon. What is he going on about now?

He noticed Lammy and Skrili’s eyes narrow in equal curiosity.

But Kotono seemed to comprehend all of these terms just fine, nodding slowly as she listened for where this was heading.

“The Special League’s first phase will go live next month, just as planned,” Credo continued. “But this team will be our weapon against Proscious. Officially, as you compete, all of your team earnings will fund my investigation into Pang’s kidnapping.”

Wait…as we ‘compete??’ repeated Deon in his head. His neck jolted as he spun his head around to everyone in bewilderment.

“Uh…did I miss something?” he let out.

But Lammy, Skrili, and Phillip all kept their focus glued to Credo. He could see they’d arrived at an interpretation he hadn’t.

“We’re supposed to just…do pro fights and raise money…?” Deon objected. “Guys, he’s gotta be kidding.”

“That’s the thing…I think he is,” said Lammy.

Skrili nodded. “Mr. Covewalk…what do you mean that’s what we’re doing ‘officially?’”

Credo’s eyes glinted. “Proscious members could be anywhere within the League…the only way to keep them from targeting and silencing you would be to put you in the public eye at all times...and to convince them that you don’t have the spirit to challenge them anymore,” he said carefully.

He paced, walking by each consciousness with a hand stroking his beard.

“To them—to everyone—it’ll seem like you’re scarred, trying to reintegrate into normal life again and only offering help from a safe distance,” he said. “So, your professional fights will be funding an investigation…but what Proscious won’t know…is that you are that investigation.”

Credo’s pacing stopped back in the center of the room where he’d started. His crafty smirk found Deon.

“You see: the Special Team will be your costume,” he revealed. “And in two days, at the announcement, Kotono will be the mask. But under the outfit…you’ll be Proscious’ reckoning.”

~~~

“…And last but far from least: introducing Deon Stutter!” Kotono exclaimed, her hand reaching out towards him.

With the warm applause now booming towards him, Deon shook out of his memory. Ever since the Conscious Competition, he’d hoped this many eyes would be on him someday—but he never anticipated it would be this paralyzing.

He waved again, even more stiffly than the first time.

“You may be shocked to hear he’s a newcomer to the League…especially once you see what he’s got!” Kotono advertised. “And now, I’m sure you’re wondering…where will you be able to catch these exclusive fights? Well that’s the best part…”

Her details poured out, but Deon couldn’t help but hear Credo’s words continue over them:

“The Special League will take us all across the Multiverse. It’ll give us the perfect cover to explore everywhere for any sign of Proscious.”

Kotono’s speech had moved on to discussing something about ‘VIP signings’ at the events.

“You’ll go about your professional business,” Credo had said. “But once we detect anything suspicious—or anything that could point us to Pang’s whereabouts—I’m sending you right in.”

Despite the exhaustion in Deon’s muscles and mind alike, remembering those words pulsed a rush of adrenaline through him.

Kotono’s announcement was the launching point.

Pang’s true rescue had begun under a guise, and only they knew.

He could see it in everyone. Skrili, her chosen family. Phillip, her beloved companion. Lammy, the stranger she sacrificed her own escape to try and free. And Kotono, her idol.

All of their fists were clenched, ready for a faceoff much different than the ones their spectators were cheering on.

But Deon eyed the fifth position on the stage. It was still unclaimed.

"As much as it pains me to say…without Hiroko, you will be down one Special Team member," Credo had added lightly. "But there is one more certified pro I can rely on…"

Deon picked up on Kotono's speech slowing, almost as if to drag out her concluding presentation.

Where is this guy? Deon wondered.

As if in response, the audience's attention shifted abruptly to the side of the stage. Then, their elated shrieks forced Kotono to pause her smooth delivery.

"Not only is he more than powerful enough…" was Credo’s insistence, "I'm confident he'll be hell-bent on pulling this off with us."

At last, a pair of sleek magenta shoes stepped into the fifth glowing circle of the stage.

“Sorry I’m late, everybody.”

The ensuing screams nearly ripped Deon’s ears apart.

“There you are,” sighed Kotono. “That’s right everyone, you’re not dreaming. Here’s the fifth member of our team: multi-time champion Otogi!!”

If Otogi was any degree athletic, he hid it well under his classy suit jacket. But his pose made it clear he belonged in the limelight much more than all besides Kotono, with one heel raised forward, hands in his dress pants pockets, and head cocked to the side at just the right angle.

He remained in this position like a still painting while the crowd noise raged on.

Then, flipping his pink bangs, he raised a cool hand up into the air, his finger pointing towards the ceiling.

He waited for the audience to finally catch their breaths before speaking again:

“This one’s for you, Hiroko.”

The screams returned harder, but his dedication only made Deon nauseous.

What does this guy know? he lamented.

But Otogi’s head turned towards his new teammates. His eyes, fully black aside from thin white lines tracing his irises and pupils, landed on Deon’s uncertain stare.

Then, it happened again: almost as drastically as when he saw Kotono shift from her true self into star-mode, Deon witnessed the inverse in Otogi. His expression hardly changed, and yet, it was a complete transformation.

Deon could see a man with a desperate goal in mind.

He could see the vitality. The fierce resolve.

In less than an instant, Deon understood Otogi knew exactly what they were all here to do...

…What they were really here to do.

And he was all-in.

Otogi spoke once more, this time to his teammates:

“Let’s make a scene.”