Arms LengthLike a lone clap of thunder, Jakurai sits upon a throne that overlooks humanity — an honor hard-earned, but an honor arduous as well. Acknowledging how heavy this crown is would be admitting that he is fallible, so instead he fits himself to the expectations of those who'd extolled him, of the sins that require penance, and wears glory with not a single complaint about its weight.

They declare him gifted, and so he holds himself to a perfection that he tells others does not exist. They laud him a genius, and so he hides his aches and pains under humility. They exalt him a god, and so he strives for victory no matter how unworthy he feels. When one treads a path on their own yet watched by all, one cannot afford to stumble.

Yet for every title thrust upon him, there’s a man as dazzling as the sun who calls him “Doctor” without the reverence; another as gracious as the moon learning to speak his name as he would any other.

The sound of "Doc" and "Doctor" and "Dr. Jakurai" on their lips is almost enough to ground him — to bridge the gap between heaven and earth he inhabits, the same way he's been so close to being human before. Those idyllic days that had yet to shatter flash by, where his string of perfect scores has his dear friend vowing to best him; senseless war soon follows, where the son he's sworn to protect stands by his side with eyes filled with life; this new era mandated by a sordid regime then takes the stage, where he fights with the greatest enigma he's ever met, with two souls burning with determination.

But each instance he's touched the ground only reminds him that he doesn't belong amongst the people. Many a kind gaze have since become twisted with scorn, the vows he'd made broken by his own faults. From each failure, Jakurai has learned he's meant to serve humanity — not be part of it.

"Yoohoo, earth to Doc~ Your wrinkles are gonna get worse if you keep looking all mopey like that"

"Hifumi, don't be rude"

"What I'm just saying"

Indeed, Hifumi and Doppo grant him respite from the burdens he carries — but joining in their life, in their love, means it will eventually end. He has no right to free himself from divine atonement for even a moment, not when he has blood staining his hands and stolen lives haunting him. Baring himself to them would defile them too, and to drag such bright lights to hell with him would be his most unforgivable sin.

So he smiles. Lays a hand on their shoulders. Commits Hifumi’s giggles and Doppo’s awkward breath of laughter to memory when he tells them “It’s quite all right, at least I know whom to see to fix these wrinkles of mine.” All the while, he stands taller than them, trails behind them, watches over them — out of reach. As a god to their people, as an assassin to their target, maintaining distance is a necessity.

(Then again, justifying duty has always been easier than explaining the emptiness that follows yet another loss.)