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ArabicHonkai Star Rail: My Death Feeds Their Madness — Chapter 9
Chapter 9: How to Understand
The morning air bit at their cheeks with a crisp winter chill, yet for Clarice, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Mr. Kagashi filled her chest with a quiet, enduring warmth. Their footsteps crunched softly against the frost-kissed pavement as they neared their destination.
Clarice tilted her head, feigning a perfectly casual tone. “Mr. Kagashi, let me help you with the cleaning later.”
“I couldn’t possibly allow that,” Kagashi replied, his voice a gentle murmur. “How could I let a visiting friend do manual labor?”
Clarice smiled, springing her little trap. “Then tell me, Mr. Kagashi—is it normal for friends to help each other?”
He paused, sensing the corner he had just been walked into. “…It is.”
“Exactly.” Her eyes curved into bright, triumphant crescents. “I’ll help clean your teacher’s home, and in return, you have to do me a small favor. Deal?”
She had fully anticipated his initial refusal, deliberately phrasing her request to leave him no room for retreat.
“What small favor?” he asked, a faint trace of amusement in his tone.
“I recently signed up for a fashion design class, and I’m desperately short on body measurements for male models of different heights…” Clarice stepped back slightly, her gaze sweeping over Kagashi from head to toe. “…Mr. Kagashi, you look to be at least a hundred and eighty centimeters tall. You have a tall, well-proportioned build, which perfectly fits one of my assignment criteria.”
In truth, one didn’t need such precise data to knit a simple scarf, but a fitted sweater was an entirely different story. She had only recently taken up hand-knitting, spending her evenings gaining proficiency, so exact dimensions hadn’t been a pressing concern until now. But her skills were progressing rapidly. If she could secure his measurements today, she could begin working toward the final garment.
“If it is just providing some measurements, that hardly counts as a favor,” Kagashi said.
Guessed right again! A sweet surge of joy bloomed in the girl’s chest. She felt as though she had successfully deciphered a small, hidden chapter of the ‘Mr. Kagashi User Manual.’ Now, she could naturally push for the next step.
“Then, Mr. Kagashi, please sacrifice just a little bit more of your time and be my model…!” Clarice leaned in, staring intently at his elegant profile, her eyes brimming with bright expectation.
Kagashi considered his current circumstances for a brief moment before giving a soft nod. “Alright. However, I cannot be your model for long.”
“That’s perfectly fine, just this winter is enough.” Clarice tilted her head, a hint of curiosity bleeding into her voice. “Are you planning to do something important?”
“…Yes. I will be traveling far away for a while soon.”
“May I ask how long you’ll be gone?”
“It is hard to say.”
“Oh. Then I won’t ask.” Though a pang of genuine curiosity tugged at her heart, Clarice understood the boundaries of their dynamic. Prying was never wise, and Mr. Kagashi clearly did not wish to elaborate on his departure.
Their casual banter carried them the rest of the way. Reaching the front door, Kagashi reached out and deactivated the glowing Energy Lock. The mechanical hum died down. “It’s ready. Let’s go in.”
The chores were simple and rhythmic—sweeping dust from the wooden floors, mopping the stone tiles, and carefully wiping down the antique furniture and delicate decorations. Once the heavy lifting was finished, Clarice seized the opportunity during their rest break. With a tailor’s tape in hand, she carefully measured Kagashi’s shoulder width, chest, waist, and neck circumference, committing every number to memory.
Perhaps overwhelmed by her own boldness, she seemed to be in a sudden hurry, offering a hasty goodbye before practically fleeing the house.
Three days later, in the evening.
Kagashi sat leaning against the wooden windowsill, a familiar habit born of quiet solitude. Cradled in his arms was a traditional ruan, his slender fingers rhythmically plucking the silk strings. As the evening sky darkened into a deep, bruised purple and the interior lights remained off, his solitary figure gradually melted into the encroaching shadows.
His gaze was untethered, drifting aimlessly into the void beyond the glass. At some point, the melody slowed, dragging by a few heavy beats. Each note carried a deep, suffocating weight, ringing out with exceptional clarity in the silent night. His mind was clearly elsewhere, wandering through the distant, unknown fragments of his past.
“Meow~~”
The plump orange cat leaped from the floorboards, landing with practiced precision squarely on Kagashi’s lap. It nudged its soft body against his robes, tucked its paws neatly under its chest, and curled into a fluffy, vibrating loaf. The sudden weight pressed down firmly. Viewed from above, the outline of Kagashi’s lap had been entirely swallowed by orange fur.
As if deciding the spot wasn’t quite warm enough, Xiao Ju shimmied an inch closer to Kagashi’s abdomen, finally squeezing its eyes shut in absolute contentment and letting out a soft, engine-like purr.
Minutes drifted by like fallen leaves. The slow, mournful melody gradually found its way back to its proper tempo.
“A thousand cups of searing wine poured down the throat… What does the departing traveler seek? Whose heart lies shattered in the dust?”
Kagashi lowered his eyes, his deep, magnetic voice bleeding into the thickening night. He sang unconsciously, breathing life into a sorrowful ballad that seemed written for no one in particular, yet meant for everyone he had ever left behind.
Outside the door, Clarice and Ms. Durand had just arrived. Hearing the haunting vocals drift through the wood, Clarice froze in her tracks. The Bamboo House was pitch black. By unspoken agreement, neither mother nor daughter made a sound to interrupt the performance.
Woven into that melody, Clarice thought she could hear the crushing disappointment of unrequited love, a loneliness so vast it swallowed the stars. She stood there in absolute silence, subconsciously lifting a hand to wipe the corner of her eye, only to realize her cheeks were already wet with tears.
It wasn’t that she had never heard Mr. Kagashi play this piece before. But this was the very first time she had ever heard him sing it.
When the final, trembling overtone faded into the cold air, the sorrowful melody finally fell silent.
Clarice took a deep breath, composing her fractured emotions. “…Dr. Kagashi, we’re here.”
The Bamboo House remained quiet for a fleeting second. Then came the soft rustle of an instrument being carefully set aside, followed by the sharp click of the overhead lights flickering to life.
“Please, come in.”
The calm voice of the man and the protesting meow of the displaced cat echoed out one after the other.
Kagashi’s tone had smoothly returned to its usual gentle, unruffled state. To fulfill the heavy promise he had made to this girl, he had been carefully preparing for this exact day for a very long time.
The success rate for treating this specific form of amnesia was infinitely close to one hundred percent.
As Ms. Durand lay back against the sterile cushions of the Medical Pod, Kagashi leaned over, expertly attaching a series of neural electrodes to specific meridian points on her scalp.
“Ms. Durand, the procedure can begin at any time. Are you ready?”
“Thank you for all your trouble, Dr. Kagashi,” the older woman replied, offering a weak but trusting smile. “I am ready.”
“Drink this.” Kagashi handed her a small glass vial containing a translucent, shimmering liquid.
Ms. Durand swallowed the medicine without a second of hesitation, letting out a soft, trembling sigh of relief as the cool liquid coated her throat.
“I will see you tomorrow, ma’am.” As he spoke, Kagashi tapped the console, initiating the pre-written surgical program.
Ms. Durand’s vision quickly blurred at the edges. Within seconds, her consciousness sank into a deep, peaceful sea of darkness.
Catching the lingering trace of anxiety shadowing Clarice’s face, Kagashi offered a soft, comforting reassurance. “There won’t be any accidents. I promise you.”
“I trust you, Mr. Kagashi.”
For the next several hours, Kagashi entered a state of absolute, unbreakable focus. His hands moved with blinding speed. The surgery itself would not fail, but that absolute certainty was entirely predicated on the first half of the treatment being executed without a single error.
He needed to carefully integrate the fragmented memory archives Ms. Durand had left behind from her previous, failed treatments, digitizing the raw emotional data and backing it up within the pod’s mainframe. After that came the dangerous methodology he had pioneered when he personally acted as his own clinical trial subject.
He had written an automated script back then, and not a single experiment had ever gone awry. However, the human mind was a fragile thing, and everyone’s memories were uniquely structured. Despite having a secure backup of Ms. Durand’s neural pathways, he still felt that manual operation was the only way to guarantee her safety.
Throughout the grueling process, Clarice’s gaze remained glued to Kagashi. She couldn’t comprehend even half of the dense, scrolling code made of glowing numbers and letters on the main monitor. All she could do was watch Kagashi’s long, slender fingers dancing across the hundreds of different keys on the control console.
During her mother’s previous treatments, Mr. Kagashi had never looked nearly this busy or strained. Right now, bathed in the pale light of the monitors, the intensely focused doctor exuded the deep, untouchable aura of a master scholar.
Clarice simply watched him, the affection in her gaze growing increasingly tender with every passing minute.
After what felt like an eternity, Kagashi lightly tapped the final execution key. A bright green progress bar materialized in the center of the screen, slowly ticking up from one percent.
“There we go,” Kagashi exhaled, his shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch. “The only risky part of the treatment has been safely completed. Now, we just need to wait nine hours for the integration to finish.”
Only then did Clarice glance up at the wall clock, shocked to discover that three entire hours had already slipped by.
“Thank you, Mr. Kagashi…” Having finally reached this long-awaited day, a complex, overwhelming mix of emotions swelled in Clarice’s chest.
“The night is long. Go get some sleep,” Kagashi said softly, turning his chair to face her.
“I can’t sleep.” Clarice shook her head, looking through the pod’s glass at her mother’s peaceful face with a deadly serious expression. “My mother is at a critical crossroads for her future. As her daughter, of course I have to stay right by her side.”
She paused, her eyes shifting from the pod back to the doctor. “My mother once told me something… She said, ‘Life is a winding maze; we have nothing but our memories.’ How do you understand that sentence, Mr. Kagashi?”
“…”
Kagashi remained completely silent, his dark eyes reflecting the soft green glow of the monitor.