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Touhou - Here comes Kumogakuru
Falling Apple Month, the 5th, Water Day
For the longest time, my most trusted companion in this small world had been this journal that I've kept in the depths of my bucket. Now its owner has changed, so it's time to start a new chapter. A journal does not usually have chapters, does it?
Memories are fleeting things. Even now, the me of a few days ago is already becoming a distant sketch, like an assortment of facts that I memorized about this former person who bore my name. I will attempt to the best of my abilities to recreate the most essential facts about this person.
Who was I before? I was a Tsurube Otoshi, and I still am. It is unlikely to change within this particular life. Like most of my race, I am a small creature that prefers to remain unseen. I have little interest in dropping buckets on anyone's heads, however. I've made my weapon my home, and from within, on high, I have observed all these people around me. Their games, idle chit-chat, their crimes and little lies. For as long as I can remember, as long as I have been writing down my observations, I have observed the flow of this city below, with all its faces and souls, like a never-ending shadowplay cast by the flickering lantern light of the streets. An aimless story unfolding in front of me as I try to make sense of it all, analyzing it and its actors to the best of my abilities, like I was possessed with the fear of a pop quiz at the gates of hell. Perhaps "possession" is too strong an image to evoke. Was I just bored, or afraid to step over these walls that protect and shelter me?
What has changed? Like any change that ever occurred in my life, the cause lies with my darling friend Yamame. Yes. The same one that the last 47 pages of this book were dedicated to. When she came to visit me late last night, it was not for the usual exchange of excited stories for thoughtful advice. That night, she came to me bearing a mind bursting with ambition. "I'm going to be a superhero," she exclaimed at me.
The last few pages were dedicated to the Reunion Revolution. I was evidently not the only one to notice that many Underground citizens are in an uproar over the reopening of the gate to the surface. A drastic change always causes panic as people are forced to leave their own personal buckets they've grown accustomed to, and panic always attracts opportunists who hide in the shadows. Law remains practically unenforced by the oni who can't tell when they're being lied to. "The innocent need someone to protect them from those bad guys," said Yamame, "and I will be that someone!", she snorted with clenched fist and teeth. My Yamame, who was already at the forefront of the revolution as an idol star acting as a friendly face for the dreaded impending change. "With great power comes great responsibility," she added with a self-assured smile. I don't think that is what the old adage is supposed to mean.
What can a young Tsuchigumo do to protect those in need of protection, I asked her. She scowled and tried to explain to me with grand gestures, how she's really strong, how she's all acrobatic because of her dancing, and how she can totally trap the bad guys with her string shot. Earth spiders are good singers because of their strong and flexible tongues that they use to shoot their strings with, she pronounced with pride, and her singing experience helped strengthen her shooting abilities even more. I remained skeptical. Your beatboxing is not going to be of any help beating or boxing any criminals, I retorted. She grew quiet and pondered, her face going through various expressions of discomfort in record time. Finally, she exclaimed, "but who else is going to do it?" Then her face suddenly brightened as she stared at me. And for a moment, on a whole new level, I could relate to the people and their deathly fear of change.
So it came to be that Yamame, this insane young friend of mine, requested for me to assist in her ridiculous quest, to act as a strategic advisor, as a profiler, as an inconspicuous scout operating in the shadows, and as a master over an arsenal of tools and weapons of varying levels of outlandishness. I protested. I screamed and flailed. It is no exaggeration to say that this fear was utterly new to me, as for the first time I remember, I was unable to consider my thoughts and argue rationally. All I wanted in that moment was for my friend to remain the lovable ditz that she was, and for me to remain the aloof fool that I was, for all eternity if it need be. My flailing and screaming continued until I ran out of breath. When I looked up again, I saw her standing there as before, smiling. Then she kneeled before me and reached into my bucket, wrapping her arms around me and holding me close. It was then that I knew that, if I declined her request, she would not be mad at me. And it would change nothing about her resolve.
All these years, I have observed the people in the streets from my bucket. I have observed all kinds of people and their actions, not as a judge, but as a keeper of the minutes. It is not my place to judge anyone's actions as good or bad. We are all just animals in the end, trying to catch the prey we need to survive by whatever means fate has given to us. I had no business intruding on anyone's life as they were living it. Yet here I sit now, as a sidekick and mentor to a self-declared superheroine. She is not extraordinarily strong, or extraordinarily agile. Her body is only that of a strong young woman. But her heart is filled with an extraordinary amount of determination and dreaminess, a power of change spiraling within her chest. How can I justify punishing these criminals, me, who knows full well that a comprehensive moral law is without my grasp? I cannot. I know only that, among the hundreds of people I have observed in these hundreds of years, I have not seen one as pure and sweet as my beloved friend. I have no right to judge anyone. But I want to allow myself to believe that, in this world, a kind soul with a silly smile can make a noble dream come true. I will permit myself to harbor this modest bit of selfishness.
PS: If you are reading this, and you are neither me nor Yamame, I'm afraid that these pages were not meant for you. I have hired a magician to lay a curse on this page, so I would advise you to meet me within the next half hour with a good excuse prepared. Otherwise, I hope you do not treasure your sanity too much. Take care.
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Spider-Yamame! What a novel concept. I somehow ended up mixing her with about as much Batman and a sprinkle of Venom, haha.
Kumogakuru is supposed to be a pun on a word for "disappearance" that uses the image of hiding something in a cloud, clouds being a homophone for spider, "kumo". Plus, if you split it up, you get "kumo go kuru" – "the spider comes!"
Kisume just barely rescued her from playing up the "watchful eye" aspect and calling herself "Mountain of Eyes", or "Me no Yama", if you will.