Chapter 16: Feathers of a Nightmare
Konoha's commercial street bustled under a strangely harsh sun. The light was dazzling, almost metallic, casting sharp shadows but offering no warmth. Instead, a biting, artificial chill hung in the air.
Takagawa stood motionless amidst the flow of pedestrians. People brushed past him, their conversations a cheerful buzz about decorations, new restaurants, family gossip—a tapestry of mundane joy. But their happiness felt distant, alien. A heavy, inexplicable stone sat in his chest, immovable, smothering any attempt to join their lightheartedness. He couldn't remember why he was here, only this profound, anchoring dread.
What's wrong with me today?
"Hey, it's a holiday…" he muttered to himself, trying to summon enthusiasm. A rare day off, and he felt… hollow. Maybe every guy has those days.
"Hey, Takagawa. Move it if you're not going anywhere." The voice from behind was flat, lazily drawn-out. He didn't need to turn. Only one person he knew talked like that.
"Makoto. Am I in your way?" Takagawa turned, forcing a friendly smile onto his face, though the corner of his eye twitched traitorously.
"Yikes." Makoto didn't bother hiding his disgust, even exaggerating it to provoke a reaction.
Oh, now my fists are itching.
"Hey, Takaga," Makoto quickly shifted, seeing the danger. "You know where Sensei Kazuhiro is?"
"Sensei Kazuhiro?" Takagawa shook his head, suspicion nagging. "Why are you looking for him?" It was a holiday. Why would Makoto seek out their stern chunin instructor for extra training? Was he… hiding secret efforts to get stronger? The thought was intolerable.
"It's… something. You wouldn't get it," Makoto said, spreading his hands with a look that clearly doubted Takagawa's intellect.
That sealed it. Suspicion curdled into certainty. "Then I'll come with you!" Before Makoto could protest, Takagawa grabbed his arm and hauled him forward.
Makoto opened his mouth to refuse, saw the 'you're-not-shaking-me' glint in Takagawa's eyes, and sighed. "Uh… fine."
Time became fluid, strange. The vibrant afternoon seemed to compress. It grew dark with unnatural speed. The streetlights lining their path remained dead, leaving them to fumble in near-total blackness.
"What's going on?" Takagawa muttered, scratching his head. "Feels like only an hour or two passed. Didn't even have lunch…" It made no sense.
Guided by vague directions from passing shinobi shadows, they finally found their target. The figure in the green flak jacket stood with its back to them under a flickering, failing streetlamp.
"Seriously, these lights are all busted…"
Ignoring the strangeness, driven by his competitive urge, Takagawa pulled Makoto toward the silhouette. "Sensei Kazuhiro!"
The figure turned slowly. In the strobe-like flicker of the dying light, 'Kazuhiro's' face was revealed.
It was a face of black feathers and a cruel beak. A crow's face. Its eyes were pits of absolute black, swallowing the weak light whole.
Takagawa skidded to a halt, but too late. They were already within arm's reach.
"S-Sensei…?" His voice trembled. He'd seen the vest, the posture…
'Kazuhiro' said nothing. It took a jerky, staggering step forward, movements stiff and uncoordinated.
Horror dawned. "You—you're not Sensei! Stay back!" Takagawa yelled, spinning to grab Makoto. "Makoto, let's get out of—!"
His hand closed on empty air. Where Makoto should have been, he held only the severed, cloth-covered arm of a shop-window mannequin.
He was alone.
Panic surged. He looked around wildly. No one. The crow-faced thing advanced.
Caw!
The 'Kazuhiro' figure split apart like a rotten scarecrow. A flood of black crows erupted from its straw-stuffed interior, a shrieking cloud that swarmed past Takagawa. Beaks and claws scored thin, burning lines across his arms. When they passed, the figure was gone, only scattered straw on the ground.
"What… what is happening?!"
Bzzzt—FZZT!
The streetlights sputtered violently back to life, flooding the street with a harsh, sterile glow. The silence was absolute. The commercial street next door, which should have been noisy, was dead quiet.
"Takagawa."
He whirled. Makoto stood under a light, facing him. He looked normal. Whole.
"MAKOTO!" Relief, desperate and giddy, washed over him. "Great! Where did you go?!" He started to run forward, then remembered the scarecrow, the crows. He faltered, stopping a few meters short.
"Takagawa," Makoto said, a smile playing on his lips. "You've gotten smarter."
The smile didn't reach his eyes. A cold dread, deeper than before, seeped into Takagawa's bones.
Makoto began walking toward him.
Caw.
Takagawa tried to speak. Only a raspy crow's cry emerged from his throat.
Makoto loomed larger with each step. No—he was getting smaller! The streetlamps towered like skyscrapers. The ground yawned away. He was shrinking!
He looked down. His hands were gone. In their place were black-feathered wings. His legs were slender, clawed sticks.
He had become a crow.
Makoto, now a giant, reached down and plucked him from the ground with both hands.
"NO—!!"
Takagawa jolted upright in the white hospital bed, gasping, drenched in cold sweat. The sharp, real pain from his bandaged wounds chased away the last remnants of the nightmare.
He took shuddering breaths, forcing himself calm. What a weird dream…
The memories of the actual attack flooded back—the giant black bird, Makoto shoving him aside, the whirlwind of feathers and pain, then darkness.
He'd been saved. Makoto must be okay. But the dream… it left a visceral, lingering terror.
"Chi? You're awake?" The door slid open. Their chunin-sensei, Kazuhiro, entered, his stern face softening with relief.
Seeing him, Takagawa flinched, the image of the crow-faced scarecrow flashing behind his eyes. Just a dream. Just a dream.
"Sensei… what happened?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
Kazuhiro's expression grew heavy. He hesitated.
Takagawa's heart clenched. "Makoto… is Makoto alright?"
"Makoto…" Kazuhiro sighed, the sound weighted. "He is currently missing."
"What?! But I'm here! He should be—!"
"By the time backup arrived," Kazuhiro interrupted gently but firmly, "Makoto was gravely injured. The assailant… took him. His status is unknown."
The world tilted. Takagawa tried to surge from the bed, but agony ripped through his body. Fresh blood bloomed through the bandages on his chest and arms. He collapsed back, helpless.
As Kazuhiro leaned in to check the reopened wounds, his eyes narrowed, his entire body going rigid. "What… is this?"
Dread, colder than the dream, pooled in Takagawa's gut. He followed his sensei's gaze to his own right leg.
There, rooted in the flesh of his calf, was a single, long, glossy black feather. It wasn't stuck to him; it grew from him, emerging seamlessly from his skin.
Kazuhiro examined it, his face pale. He gave a tentative, careful tug.
White-hot, electric pain lanced up Takagawa's leg. He cried out.
Kazuhiro released it immediately. "It's… integrated. We can't remove it carelessly." The unspoken horror hung in the air: It's a part of him now.
Takagawa stared at the feather, its darkness stark against the sterile white sheets. The dream flooded back—the transformation, the wings, the helplessness.
In the dream, he became a crow.
In reality, a crow's feather grew from his flesh.
A silent, screaming question echoed in the sterile room: Was it starting?
(End of Chapter)
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