Spring had come to Tokyo, and the last of the winter chill had been dispelled by the early April sun.
Ayanami ended up staying longer than expected, and the girl seemed to relish the experience of working at the izakaya, bussing dirty dishes, setting up plates, everything—but even her time there would soon end. Mikasa would be proud to see how much she'd learned about the craft of making and serving food.
Yamatani had grown quite attached to the former KANSEN, now a simple girl who wanted a simple life, yet she didn't mind that Ayanami was going to be leaving. Perhaps knowing she had left Ayanami something to carry forward had something to do with it.
No, Ayanami's eventual departure was not what bothered the girl. It was the absence of a certain airman.
This was not the first time Clark had been gone for a long while, but this time, Yamatani couldn't bring herself to smile at the thought of him coming through that door, sitting by the counter, and ordering something off the menu.
No. Even the girl would know what was happening. The world knew.
She, too, knew.
Somewhere, there was a fire raging, and many a good soul was marching into it.
If not today, then tomorrow, or the day after that.
Draftees, volunteers—didn't matter. The jungles would chew them up and spit them out.
And she couldn't do anything about it.
And she hated that she couldn't.
"Okami-san, are you okay? You are spacing out."
Yamatani's voice snapped her out of it.
But wasn't she the one who was supposed to look after others?
"Ah, sorry. Just...thinking. How are you...feeling, Yamatani?"
The girl was forcing that smile; it was easy to see. There was heaviness threatening to drag those lips down.
"I'm fine, okami-san."
She wondered if Yamatani herself believed it.
The news on the TV set was now murmuring things like "trainers," "stability," "peace."
Nobody was using that word.
Nobody would use that word until a lot of young men had come home in flag-draped boxes.
In the corner booth, Kanzaki-san was bristling, but kept quiet. The other patrons in the slow, lazy night didn't react either. Not even when the chime above the door sounded. Only Yamatani whipped her head around in a snap.
It was only Jerry, shoulders sagging as he sat in his usual place by the counter. He only smiled a little when Ayanami went over to greet him.
"Good evening, sir," she said.
"Evening."
"Jerry?"
"Skipper."
None of his usual warmth was in his tone. There was only a foreboding sense of dread that she'd felt before.
But as if he sensed her thoughts, he put on a smile. Strained, but trying. The smile that many young pilots had as they were about to board their aircraft, knowing that they might not come back.
"I'll...have the usual."
A Coke was poured into the iced glass, as usual, but the routine didn't feel so comforting now. He only took deliberate sips, as if showing enjoyment, as if nothing was wrong.
Another chime.
Yamatani had gone stiff as a board, and the other patrons all looked to the entrance.
There he was, making his way inside in a manner no different from a dead man walking.
"Cl—"
That name died on Yamatani's tongue.
Clark's eyes had a different look, like he had seen a side of himself he didn't want to know, like a man who'd looked down into a dark abyss and felt the void gaze back.
She'd seen those eyes before.
Yamatani quietly ushered him to his seat, but he didn't order anything. His gaze was locked onto the TV screen, where the anchorman was still talking about "peace" and "progress."
He didn't give Jerry the customary salute either. In fact, it was as if he was avoiding the man's gaze.
"...Is it time?"
There, she asked. The question tasted foul on her lips. She could see Yamatani pausing, much of her face hidden behind the tray.
He only nodded. There was a clang as the tray made contact with the floor, drawing all attention to the girl. Paling, she dropped to her knees to collect it, but Clark had gotten off his chair, his eyes still looking away from Jerry, and went over to her. She didn't get to stand up, and instead found him meeting her gaze.
"I'm sorry," he began. His voice was soldier-like...or rather, it was the voice of a young man trying to sound like a soldier, with rehearsed, practiced words. "But you know what? If...when I return to America, once I'm done with this tour, I'll go back to Utah, and enroll in college with the GI Bill. Then maybe....maybe if we meet again someday, I'd have become an engineer. Then you can see...see how the inspiration you gave me has grown. You believed in me, and I would like to believe in myself, too. I...I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer. I...will write whenever I can...if I can. But I will say this now. You will make it to university, too, I believe it. You are smart and bold, Yamatani-san. So...don't let anything keep you from doing it."
"..."
"I...I'll be going now. I still have things to do. But...I will never forget you."
Yamatani's cheeks were flushed, but the look on her face wasn't that of a smitten schoolgirl.
She was scared, but trying not to show it.
"Ta-take care...and please, be careful, Clark-san."
The smile he put up was strained, as was his laugh.
"Yeah, I'll try."
The next moment, his eyes went over to her, and it was then that she felt something like an electrical current.
"And you, too, Skipper. Thank you. For everything...and..."
"...It's alright to be scared. Only fools never are."
That was all she could offer. Honesty. Not the spin and dance of a politician that sent America's sons to war.
His gaze was on Jerry next.
"...You too, Captain. For your advice. It helped."
"Son, I'm sorry."
A pause, but a nod, as the two men exchanged looks.
"...Thank you. All of you."
One last sweeping look around the izakaya, before finally, he was gone. Kanzaki-san's eyes following him as he walked out didn't go unnoticed by her.
There was silence until the TV announcer's voice came back in, talking about the weather.
Yamatani was still clutching at the tray, staring at the door.
"Go. Now. Say what you have to say."
"Oka...okami-san..."
"Go. I don't want you to regret it."
She could only do this much.
With trembling steps, the girl went out, chasing after the departing airman, her apron getting askew as it was caught on the edge of the table.
The other patrons turned their heads back to the TV set. Jerry didn't, still looking at the door, until the sound of the bell faded.
"...And just like the damned news, sooner or later, the Ambassador and I will have to sell this war. Make it palatable for allies...even though we...are not sure if...this time we are the good guys, too, Skipper."
"...I know."
"So even you don't believe it. Then why keep pretending?"
Kanzaki-san had shot up, drawing looks from the other customers, her teeth clenched and her knuckles turning white. Jerry didn't turn his head, his fingers drumming against the glass.
"It's part of my duty, miss. It's the burden we bear...just like how we have to tell the families of the fallen that their loved ones died for a good cause."
"Don't you mean, lie to them?"
"Maybe. Maybe not."
"How can you...how can you...!"
"Miss, you have no idea what it is like to be in a position like mine. You can hate me all you want, but that is the reality we face. I'd have to sell this war, and I will hate myself for it. Uncle Sam wants to play the hero, and that's what he will get. Duty calls."
"That's what they all say. And the ones who pay the price are boys like that airman. Boys who don't even believe in it themselves. And—"
"Not tonight."
That got the two of them to stop and stare. It had been decades since she last used that tone.
Another glass of water for Kanzaki-san, and another round of Coke for Jerry, and the two went back to quietly sitting. The others went back to their food.
"A shame, isn't it, yes," Ayanami remarked as she stepped behind the counter. "War makes demons of us all...yes. It never ends."
"At least, demons can choose not to be demons. Like you."
"…I like it here. It's quiet. If I'm kind, maybe…that's enough."
Ayanami's cheeks became a little rosy. Whether it was Mikasa or her who gave one, a pat on the head always drew that reaction.
"Nmh...That is true, yes..."
Yamatani returned not long after. Her eyes had traces of leftover tears, but they had steel, too. It seemed that she managed to catch up to him before he was out of reach. Whatever they talked about, she figured it was better off left unasked. Yamatani said what she needed to say, and that was the end of it.
One thing was for sure: he wouldn't be forgotten, and not just by the girl.
She turned the TV off. Nobody objected, and the night went on with only the murmurs of conversation, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses.