#kyoto came up before when they were on the steps in chapter 13 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

violettelueur · 3 years

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— JUJUTSU KAISEN EPISODE NINETEEN || BLACK FLASH

↳ featuring : basically everyone at this point from jujutsu kaisen

↳ warnings : mention of blood + mention of violence + EXTREME grammar issues

↳ form : story

↳ published : 13 april

↳ pronouns : she/her

↳ word count : 4.6k

↳ synopsis : within the jujutsu world, there were three famous clans to be aware of, the Kamo clan, Zenin clan and the Gojo clan. However, unknown to many sorcerers there was one last family that was known to be apart of the three, only for them to disappear after the golden era leading some to speculate that they had died in battle after the sealing of ryomen sukuna, but....

↳ previous episode : sage

↳ next episode : nonstandard

↳ barista’s notes : let me admit, this will probably have terrible grammer issues here and there because i started this at 10:30pm and how it is 4am....ʕ ㅇ ᴥ ㅇʔ but also fun fact, when i was writing the fight scene, i legit had to grab a chopstick and try to reenact the scene i needed to write for in the kitchen ʕ ꆤ ᴥ ꆤʔ BUT moving on from that, thank you so much for being so patient with the series and hope you enjoy this special cup of classic black coffee ʕ•ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡

BEFORE READING, I NEED YOU TO BE AWARE OF THIS:

1. the whole story belongs to Gege Akutami and the credits go to them and them only.

2. the spell curses used belong to Tite Kubo due to them being the ‘Kidos’ being used on the manga and anime ‘Bleach’ - but none is mentioned in this chapter.

2.5. for the ‘cursed spells’/kidos (bleach) i will link this video here and tell you the time stamp to check out what i am intending to show - remember i add a few twist here and there by adding the katana to link with Y/N’s cursed technique : hopefully this video is slightly better...

Destructive Curse Spell Number Sixty Three : Raikoho (6:29-6:44)

Destructive Curse Spell Number One : Sho (4:56-5:04)

3. if you are confused on anything, please don’t hesitate to message me since i know this whole thing is so confusing.

A multitude of running footsteps continuously pounded against the wooden floor below, as everyone was determined to get away from the special-grade curse that was chasing them at this very moment in time, as what followed everyone was a vast wave of wooden branches that was violently destroying the corridor behind them.

“Are you all right, Inumaki-senpai?” Fushiguro asked with concern enveloping his overall tone, as the mentioned upperclassmen seemed to be struggling right now.

“Salmon,” Inumaki replied, in an attempt to reassure his classmate that he was doing and going to be alright, when in fact it looked as if it was the complete opposite currently.

“Here it comes!” Kamo yelled out to warn everyone as he spun around to face his opponent, leading the cursed spirit to launch a few sharp branches towards him as well as you, once you fully turned around to make sure that your classmate from the Kyoto side was going to be safe.

“Stop,” Inumaki commanded leading his curse technique to come to effect as his voice not only echoed through the hallways but forced the curse and its attack to come into a sudden halt, leading Kamo the given opportunity to launch his technique as a rapid long-ranged shot of blood directly attacked towards the curse’s head (which was somewhat covered in burns due to your last technique before everyone started to flee by your command) causing some fragments of it to chip off to which surprised Fushiguro slight as you stood at the top of the stairs just above Inumaki.

“Hurry! He’s just gonna heal right away!” Kamo instructed everyone as he ran up the stairs causing you to give one last look at the curse before rushing up the wooden steps as Kamo has told you.

From what you could observe, the branches seemed to be the curse’s weakest point since Kamo’s last attack managed to hit its head causing you to come to that conclusion while your curse spell managed to cause some permanent damage to the curse due to the damage that remained after. However, even if you did want to continuously use the same curse technique over and over again, to not only cause the building that everyone was residing in to collapses and burn down but it also put your comrades in danger, something that you ultimately wanted to avoid at all cost.

Hearing a small but noticeable cough, you quickly turned your head back slightly to discover Inumaki’s face glistening with sweat as he took another sip of his medicine leading you to become more concerned about how much longer he could since this plan that suddenly came about wasn’t the most practical of them all, yet...it was the best for now.

Right as you turned back to look forward, you noticed that you were coming to a door leading you to push yourself further as you reached your arm out to slam the door open before jumping over the balcony to the roof that was slightly down below leading the boys to follow after. However, mere seconds later, there was an explosive sound erupting from behind causing you to quickly turn back to find that the curse had already made a wooden pathway with its branches as a way to walk over to everyone.

“Inumaki-senpai will stop it. Don’t worry, just go,” Fushiguro mentioned as he guided Nue towards the curse, leading the shikigami to fly straight towards the opponent with no hesitation.

“No wait!” you shouted, as you reached your whole arm out like you were able to reach the owl-like creature in time. However, the second Fushiguro turned to face you to see what was wrong, the curse’s arm swiftly punctured the shikigami straight through causing Inumaki to collapse to the ground with blood seeping out from his mouth leading you to realise that your upperclassman was at his limit.

On the other hand, before you could even react, you heard someone behind you being thrown causing you to look behind only to discover Kamo’s body being flung to the other side with Fushiguro right behind him to catch his fall leaving you in the middle on the rooftop between your classmate and the curse.

“Are you alive, Kamo-san?” Fushiguro questioned in a panic since he was not only troubled by the fact that one of the students could be in life-critical condition but with you also being in danger due to where you were standing currently and him having no idea why the curse was going after you.

Steadily, your hand slowly moved towards the dark blue metal pole that has been hanging on your belt for some time as you hooked your katana horizontally on your back, so your other hand will be free to freely manoeuvre the weapon of choice that you were choosing to handle the curse.

However, it seemed as if Fushiguro had other ideas as his hands shakily began to hesitantly raise up as if he was going to summon another shikigami into the battlefield. Although, before he was able to completely commit to his plan, there was a sudden pressure laid upon his shoulder catching him by surprise as he turned to look back at Inumaki, who was somewhat struggling to stand.

“Mustard leaf,” Inumaki stated with determination with a hint of tiredness lacing in his tone, leading you to turn your head back to notice him beginning to stagger towards you.

“Inumaki-senpai...That’s enough!” Fushiguro mentioned in a worried tone causing you to grab onto his sleeve once he stood by your side, only for him to present you a small smile once he turned to you - as if to tell you that everything was going to be okay.

“Blast away!” Inumaki suddenly roared leading to curse’s body to instantly flung itself to the other rooftop that was positioned above you just a slight bit before he fell to his knees with blood began to profusely run down his mouth causing you to kneel down by his side as you supported his body with one hand while your other hand gently on his neck to begin the process of reverse cursed energy to ensure that he was going to be stable before someone was able to take him to Shoko - if someone even could at this point.

However, it seemed as if Inumaki’s attempt was futile as the special grade curse sat up with no issue at all leading you to wonder how strong this curse was since it didn’t seem to take any damage whatsoever from Kamo’s and Inumaki’s attempts leaving you to the conclusion that you had to use your curse technique at this point.

“You can’t cut me with that dull blade,” the curse stated before raising its arm to not only block but shatter the weapon Maki was swinging towards it leaving her to look at it with widened eyes before tutting in annoyance leading Fushiguro to jump over you to attack the curse with his weapon once again, only for him to miss slightly as he managed to slice off a piece of the branch that acted as its eyes.

“Now this sword isn’t so bad, but you could just give me the girl as we will call it a day,” the curse commented while healing the tattered branch causing it to grow back, leaving no trace of it ever being cut off by Fushiguro.

Although, it seemed as if Fushiguro and Maki had something else planned as your classmate reached into his shadow that was manifesting below him to replace his sword with another cursed tool before giving it to Maki, who tossed the broken tool she had to the side.

“I have something even better. This one feels disgusting to use, though,” Maki mentioned before quickly unfolding the weapon to reveal a three-sectioned staff before swiftly spinning around to swing the weapon across towards the curse, resulting in the curse to block the attack, only for it to be violently and forcibly pushed forward into the forest.

“Gojo, run towards the edge of the veil and stay there!” Fushiguro yelled out to you before him and Maki sprinted forward towards the direction to where the curse was located, causing you to stare at him in confusion before instantly turning back to check in Kamo was still right behind you to which lead to carefully place Inumaki down on his back as you rush towards the Kyoto student’s side before you proceeded to turn his body to discover that his face was damaged badly causing you to place your hand over his head leading you to heal what you could before transport arrive.

On the other hand, before you could even worry about how you were going to get both Inumaki and Kamo to the end of the veil, you suddenly heard someone calling out your name causing you to peer up to the sky, only to find both Itadori and Todo coming down towards you in a speed that not even Sonic the Hedgehog could even achieve.

“GOJO!” Itadori yelled before powerfully landing right in front of you, leading you swiftly to grab on to the top of the roof to maintain some balance while using your other arm to cling onto Kamo’s body to make sure he didn’t fall as well.

“Itadori!” you replied in relief causing your classmate to smile at you even in the tough situation you were in right now.

“Gojo, Nishimiya is going to get those two out of the veil but according to her, the veil is an anti-Gojo Satoru one,” Todo inform you causing you to look at the first-grade sorcerer with widened eyes before you turned your head to the side to observe the veil that was enveloping all the students right now.

“Anti-Gojo?” you muttered under your breath, before turning your head back towards the muscular student, only to see him smirk confidently at you before Itadori took his hand out as if to help you up.

“Don’t worry about the other two, they will be safe, we all need to head to where the curse is right now!” Itadori mentioned leading you to turn to him as you quickly noticed the amount of cursed energy that was surrounding him right now, causing you to wonder how much he has improved over the past few months he was away.

Placing Kamo gently on his back, you grabbed onto Itadori’s hand causing your friend to pull you up before Todo stretched out his arm behind you, trying to convey for you to sit there so both he could carry you to the destination where you needed to be at this very moment in time.

“Todo...I need you to follow a plan,” you sudden declared, causing him to turn to you with a confused look while you seated yourself on his large arm (which surprisingly managed to keep you still with the help of Itadori, who placed his arm behind your back). “Just promise me you won’t tell anyone about my curse technique at all, not even a single word of it,” you said to him with a threatening tone causing itadori to look at you with a somewhat frightened expression on his face while his friend peered at you with a smile.

“I’m fine with that, but I also need you to help me with one thing,” Todo mentioned as he turned his head to face forward.

“And what would that be?” you asked.

‘Ah...this is going to be a drag…’

ꕥ

"Sprinkled on the bones of the beast! Sharp tower, red crystal, steel ring. Move and become the wind, stop and become the calm. The sound of warring spears fills the empty castle! Destructive Curse Spell number sixty-three: Raikoho!" you chanted, as you placed your hand out like a claw leading to an exciting orb of yellow concentrated cursed energy to manifest itself within your palm, before rapidly striking down towards the targeted special grade curse like a destructive lighting bolt leading Todo to grab Maki within his grasp a second before the cursed spell hit the ground which leads to your opponent being paralysed.

“Keeping to the deal?” Todo asked you with a smile on his face causing you to shift your eye to the side, where he stood before unhooking the metal pool from your belt.

“Yeah, I am,” you answered causing him and Itadori to move to the side for a second - which Itadori was confused about since he didn’t know what show he was in for.

Fushiguro, who was crouching down with a speck of blood trailed down on the corner of his mouth began to argue against the appearance of you and Itadori. However, it seemed as if you weren’t listening to him to or to any of the student behind you at all since you needed to concentrate on both the situation you were in right now but also on the little deal you made with Todo - even though, regardless if you were able to show him the technique or not, you knew that Todo was keeping his word about keeping your technique a secret...that was what you could rely on him as well as his strength.

‘Black Flash huh...now that is a drag…’

“Now that you are here, why don’t you come peacefully?” the curse asked, causing you to mentally sigh as it was causing your concentration to waver, but you really weren’t in the mood to answer.

Stretching out your arm, you held the dark blue metal poll right in front of the curse before letting the weapon extend itself before forming an extremely sharp blade at the top leading the curse to look at it in confusion since it seemed to notice that your katana was missing due to it remembering that it was handing behind your lower back area.

ꕥ

“This is my gift to you! Think of it as a welcome to the Gojo Clan gift!” Gojo excitedly announced as he presented you a gift box with a bright smile on his face, causing you to look at the gift in surprise since you didn’t expect him to give you anything when you came to his clan estate but also by the fact that the ribbon tied into a bow was the same colour as his eyes.

‘I don’t know if it’s because he is being egotistical or he just like the colour blue’

“Thank you,” you said with much gratitude before taking the box away from his grasp leading him to gleefully chant that you open it in front of him since he was desperate to see your reaction.

Looking at the box, you couldn’t help but notice a little note saying ‘a gift from a father to a daughter’ leading the corners of your lip to twitch a little since you came to the realisation that it had been a while that someone had ever given you a gift before you processed to tug the tail of the bow before lifting the lip once the ribbon was fully removed.

“A metal...pole?” you said in a confused tone as you tilted your head to the side, before letting your fingertips touch the ice-cold metal as they began to trace the gold detailing that was embroidering the gift.

“No, no dear, it’s a polearm that just needs to be extended with cursed energy! It was made by your ancestor during the Heian era and I’m surprised it managed it stay intact after all that time here in the Gojo Clan since it was a gift from them to us,” Gojo informed you, as he took a sip of the sweetened coffee that you had brought from him before coming to his estate. “I thought that it might be better if it was in your hands from now on, besides it does technically belong to you,” Gojo suggested with a bright smile on his face, once you lifted the weapon out of the box to observe it more.

Turning it around in the light the room provided, you couldn’t help but suddenly notice a small design of what seemed to be a small flower depicting a tsubaki painted in a light pink right in the middle of the metal pole causing you to stare at it in absolute curiosity.

“Thank you so much, Gojo-sensei,” you stated once again in appreciation once you placed it back into the box causing Gojo to pout at you which led you to look at him in complete confusion the second you looked up to face him.

“CALL ME DAD, Y/N!”

ꕥ

“Are you even listening?” the cursed questioned you as if seemed to be getting annoyed at the fact that you were just standing in front of it with no emotion attached to your face, causing the students behind you to look forward since they were beginning to become confused on why you haven’t attacked yet.

Although, it seemed like it didn’t have to wait long since you used your other hand to grab onto the pole before beginning to spin the now extended polearm aggressively leading the curse to now be on its guard since it had no idea what you were planning on now.

‘Black Flash is a distortion in space that occurs when cursed energy is applied with 0.000001 seconds of a physical hit, it can amplify a normal attack’s force by 2.5. It’s such a drag process but since this curse likes to get up close and personal, it seems like the best choice for now’

Suddenly, you quickly grabbed the polearm halting the spinning motion before using the ball of your foot to push yourself swiftly across the lake to appear in front of the curse, catching it by surprise since it seemed like you had just teleported right in front of them, only for you to violently swing your polearm down onto its shoulder leading it to groan in pain causing you to speedily spin around behind it leading the polearm to now swing across before forcibly landing the sharp blade to its side, suddenly causing the formation of a familiar black spark that danced around the area you were in like electricity currents causing Todo (who was observing from the sideline) smile at the scene with confidence, while Itadori looked at the same battle in shock.

However, before Todo could even call you to remove yourself from the battle, you instantly placed your hand above the other in order to rapidly rotate the polearm leading the other end to strike its other shoulder (while the blade was now facing downwards) causing another flash of black to appear once again to which lead the curse to cry out in agony, causing everyone to admire the fight with such astonishment.

“Gojo! Switch!” Todo yelled out, leading your concentration to instantly waver once again which caused you to push the heel of your back foot to quickly retreat to the side where everyone was before the curse could even afflict any attack on you in retaliation on what you had just done to it.

“Told you there is nothing to worry about,” Todo mentioned as he looked down at Fushiguro causing the shikigami user to look at you with his surprise before turning to look at Itadori.

“If you die again, I’ll kill you myself!” Fushiguro declared causing you to look at him with a complete perplexed look on your face since the sentence he just stated didn’t make any sense, leading Panda to extend his arm out to carry his lower classmen to the other side of the veil.

“Pandash!” Panda yelled out before carrying both Fushiguro and Maki to safety.

“Guess I can’t afford to die now,” Itadori muttered before rolling his shoulder to prepare for his turn on the battlefield with determination after witnessing your performance.

“I won’t lift a finger to help, Itadori. Not until you land a Black Flash. If you can’t land a Black Flash, then I’ll just watch you die, no matter what happens to you,” Todo declared with his arms crossed with one of his hands holding on to your katana, leading you to stand up straight with a dumbfounded look on your face after what he had just yelled out before taking your original weapon from his grasp.

‘HUH?! WHAT WAS THE POINT IN MY LITTLE PERFORMANCE THEN?!’

“Got it!” Itadori replied after letting out a breath, causing you to look at your classmate with the same surprised expression, even though his back was facing you right now.

“Don’t you think that is a bit dangerous?” you queried as you turned back to look at the Kyoto student, only for him to give you a serious look on his face as if to say that he believed in Itadori and his threat was just a fluke.

“I guess I can’t stop you then...I already know he’s got this,” you muttered before shrugging your shoulders since you knew there was no way Itadori wanted you to interrupt this lesson.

To be honest, Black Flash was the perfect move for him.

Suddenly, you heard a loud explosion from behind causing you to turn your whole body around to find Itadori punching the ground leading a huge splash of water to arise before noticing two pieces of rock attempting to strike the curse, only for them to be deflected the second it touched its hand.

Once the water dropped down, you witnessed Itadori’s fast reflexes as he managed to dodge the curse’s attack, landing a few kicks towards its stomach before Itadori used his last kick to target its face. However, you could tell then intensity was low meaning he wouldn’t even hit a single Black Flash with an attempt like that, only for the result you had come to happen as he attempted the technique once he landed a punch against the curse’s torso, only for Itadori to force himself back once the curse retaliates by trying to hit him with its branches, only for the effort to be futile.

“My friend,” Todo said causing Itadori to look at him, only to receive a smack across the face leading you to look at the scene with a fed-up expression since the connection on Todo’s hand and Itadori’s cheek was quite loud for a normal slap to sound.

‘What...The...Hell?’

“Anger is an important trigger for sorcerers, sometimes then can be taken down purely because they accidentally angered their foe and the opposite is also true. Sometimes they lose because their own anger disrupts their cursed energy, so they can’t exercise their abilities. Your friend has been wounded, and worse yet, they’ve rained on your honeymoon with me, you best friend, so I can really understand why you’d be boiling with rage,” Todo expressed with understanding, only for you to look at him with an extremely fed-up expression depicted on your face.

‘I don’t think the ‘best friend’ bit is why he is really angry, you drag’

“But that rage is too much for you, put it away for now,” Todo then informed Itadori before slapping his face again leading you to vocally express your confusion about the scene that was happening right in front of you.

“Huh?” you uttered out.

“Are those stray thoughts gone now?” Todo questioned with a small smile plastered on his face.

“Yeah, not a single one left. Thank you so much, best friend!” Itadori replied with a confident smile on your face leading you to tilt your head to the side as you witnessed this scene - if you were going to tell this to Kugisaki, you wouldn’t know if she would believe you or not…

Walking back out into the river, Itadori raised his fist up while peering at the curse with an intense stare only for his opponent to quickly push itself forward leading Itadori to follow as branches began to invade his side. However, it seemed as if Itadori hadn’t noticed them at all since he was directing going straight down the middle, leading his fist to make contact with the curse’s torso causing the manifestation of the black spark that you and Todo were waiting for.

“He did...it,” you muttered in amazement as the curse’s branches suddenly disappeared while its body was forcibly pushed back.

“Now you understand the taste of cursed energy,” Todo mentioned as he proceeded to walk into the shallow river with a proud smile on his face. “Up until now, you’ve just been throwing an ingredient you’ve never tasted before into a pot and boiling it without knowing why. But after experiencing Black Flash and understanding the taste of your ingredient, your cursed energy, you stand on a completely different level as a chef than you did three seconds ago. Congratulations, brother, you can become strong,” Todo then expressed with joy leading your classmate to look at him with a concentrated expression on what he was trying to explain.

‘I guess that is a good way to describe it. To be honest, it is kind of similar to Gojo’s teaching but a tiny bit better…’

“It can heal?!” Itadori asked in shock, as it noticed the growth of the curses’ hand.

“A cursed spirit’s body is made up of cursed energy. Unlike us, they don’t need any advanced reversed cursed technique to heal like how Gojo does. An injury like that is nothing to a special-grade, but there’s no doubt that it shaves away their cursed energy and if you crush their head, it’s game set,” Todo explained before turning to look at you with a

“Now, shall we get cooking?” Todo asked you and Itadori in an assertive tone, leading you to look at him with a surprised expression before sighing as if you had a choice to not fight anyway.

However, before you could even take a single step into the river, you notice something from the corner of your eye causing you to raise your polearm swiftly seconds before you were now suddenly violently pushed back to extreme lengths away from the battle you were going to involve yourself in causing Itadori to yell out your name in complete panic. Although, there was no point in chasing after you, as you were now concealed within the multitude of trees that were surrounding the area with a hooded intruder, who was now keeping you at more than an arm’s length away from the two students you were supposed to keep an eye on.

“Destructive Curse Spell number one: Sho!” you chanted, leading a small ball of concentrated cursed energy to form in the middle on your polearm leading to the weapon and the person, who was pushing you, to be blasted back leading a distance to be created between you both giving you the space to press your feet down onto the ground to gradually pause your movements as you placed your hand on the ground to give you more support.

“Who are you?” you asked in anger before standing up straight in a defensive position and you aimed the polearm’s blade downwards to the ground, leading the person to raise up what seemed to be a pair of tonfa’s like the ones Fushiguro had earlier during the event, only for them to be metal rather than wood.

“WHO ARE YOU?!” you queried once again, getting irritated at the fact that the person was just giving you the silent treatment which caused them to giggle slightly as your frustration.

“Isn’t that a warm welcome for someone that took care of you so dearly?” the person spoke with a soft tone, causing you to freeze up in shock after realising how familiar that tone was to you to which lead the instructor right in front of you to slowly remove their hood leading their hair to spill out as well as to slowly reveal their face to you under the light the tree could, causing you to let out a breath of shock as your eyes widen at the sight in front of you.

“Mother?”

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tact-and-impulse · 5 years

Text

At Arm’s Length Chapter 13

Sometimes, an update ends up being 53 pages on the word doc, so uhh, yeah.

Chapter 13: The Most Beautiful Smile

With his damp sleeve, Koshijiro wiped his brow again. This was the first time he had vigorously practiced, in nearly a year. He was out of shape, and he needed the book he had begun writing. His movements were slightly off, a missed step or swing here and there, but overall, his body remembered more than he initially thought. And he believed he had worked out the balance issue. With some help from his teeth, he had tied small weights around his left shoulder. But he moved better, with this bokken shortened for one-handed use. That was key, because his hits required greater precision to compensate for the decreased range. If he dedicated his free time to practice, he could return to his former level of fitness. Hopefully, that would be soon.

If Shishio came to Tokyo, there was no way Koshijiro could stand on the sidelines. Shishio’s forces were not to be underestimated; it would not be a fight like at Takeda’s mansion.

Orders from the top had ensured that the officers were diligent and able-bodied. Koshijiro remained quiet when they grumbled over the sudden emphasis on drills. He noticed their progress, as well as the slight increase in official visits. A quick check-in, another survey of the police force. Of course, those were flimsy excuses to Koshijiro and he remained alert for any word of an attack on Kyoto.

The chilled sweat on his skin drew his attention. He wasn’t satisfied yet, he needed to continue. Lifting the bokken, he stepped into the kata again.

***

Okaa-san’s letters typically arrived in the early half of a month, and he timed his venture to Sakura Domain appropriately. He took his savings with him, loose change accumulated over the years exactly for this purpose. He assumed his best chances of finding her were to go through the religious figures, who must have passed her letters along. The following three days were spent on inquiry, and for the most part, the priests and nuns were helpful. Eventually, he found himself in one of the larger towns, sharing his story yet again to a middle-aged priest.

The man nodded. “Yes, I know her and I usually expect her around this time. If you could assist in the shrine’s upkeep, I can offer you a bed and a meal. You’ll have to accommodate your horse elsewhere.”

It was generous enough for Koshijiro. “Thank you. I’m very grateful.” He set out once more for a stable and a bathhouse. Dusty and travel-worn as he was, he couldn’t greet his mother like this.

Time dragged on. Under the priest’s direction, he performed menial tasks, sweeping the grounds and scrubbing the floors. He kept an eye on the visitors, but none of the women sparked recognition. After the first week, doubt began to creep upon him. What if he was totally wrong and she was elsewhere? And if so, what could he do next?

Then, he didn’t have to wonder any longer. He had just purified himself, preparing to begin his morning, when he noticed a silhouette approaching the shrine. Shoulders hunched against the early chill, arms held close to the front of a dark kimono. A gust loosened wisps of hair from her bun.

He bent his head in greeting. “Welcome.”

“Good morning.” The voice was a little hoarse from disuse, but he knew. As he abruptly straightened, he caught her perplexed expression. There were subtle changes, new lines at the corners of her eyes and a freckle at her jawline. In his memories, he had always looked up to his mother. Now, he was head and shoulders above her, and it felt terribly strange.

He had thought about what he would do and forced himself to carry it out. With effort, he unlocked his jaw and said. “I’ve stood tall and bent, but I hope I haven’t changed too much.” That did not feel true. In fact, he was indecisive and awkward, unable to move a muscle.

“Kotaro?”

He nodded. He was that little boy again, running through the tall grasses.

Okaa-san blinked. She rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her palm. “How did you get so tall?!” Something like a laugh left her, before it turned into a soft cry. “Come here, Kotaro. Let me look at you.”

As her cool hands lifted to cup his face, he managed to say. “You recognized me.”

“Of course, I did! You look like your father but you have my nose. You’re far from your father’s house, so what are you doing here?”

“…to visit?”

She smiled. “And I’m so glad you did.”

After bidding farewell to the priest, they headed into town. She lived in one of the row houses, and the interior was cramped. A single futon was rolled against the wall, baskets of thread lined the floor, and a loom occupied a corner. Koshijiro ran a finger against a thread on the half-made blanket draped over it. “Is this the same loom that didn’t come with us?”

Okaa-san was trying to clear the space she had, stacking baskets and wiping dust from the corners. “Hm? Oh, no. The one you remember was given to another family. I only took what I could carry with me to Sakura Domain. I’ve been sewing with a few women ever since. But what about you? You had your genpuku ceremony, I see. I suppose I shouldn’t have called you Kotaro.”

He did look like a typical young samurai, with his topknot and two swords at his side. “It’s Koshijiro. The first character is the same in ‘to cross over’. The second is written as ‘path’. And I don’t mind being called Kotaro.” I’m still your son.

She shook her head. “That wouldn’t be proper.” Her drab appearance highlighted the difference in their statuses. Sudden nausea overcame him. He didn’t ask to be treated like his own mother’s better. “Koshijiro is a good name. It sounds like you’ll overcome any challenge in your way. Tell your father I approve, when you return home.”

“And are you coming too?” He immediately knew the answer, upon seeing Okaa-san’s expression.

Her lips pressed together. “It’s not so simple. I have people here who need my skills, and I enjoy the work. I enjoy being useful.”

“What if it was for a few days? A short excursion?”

“I can’t, Ko-shijiro.” The near slip in his name was noticeable. She sighed. “Yes, I sew blankets and clothes, which are all necessary for the end of the year. But I also sew up people, when it’s necessary. I only had you, but I know bearing a child isn’t easy. I travel with a midwife, there’s no telling when a delivery can take a turn for the worse. I couldn’t forgive myself if I was gone when I was needed. At least, not right now, when I haven’t taught everything to the younger girls in the trade.”

Koshijiro glanced away. His mother’s stitches had always been tight and neat. It was no wonder then, that her handiwork was good enough for flesh. As much as he wanted the revival of his childhood happiness, he remembered that day when they delivered blankets to the peasant families. Okaa-san’s kind nature hadn’t changed, and he was proud to be her child. “I understand. I help in teaching kenjutsu.”

“Kenjutsu? Is that what you like?” Her tone was light but there was an undercurrent of something else. Apprehension? “I hope you’re careful.”

“We don’t use real swords, and I would be careful.” He defended.

She regarded him for a moment, appearing to search for any scars or wounds. Finding nothing, she asked. “Can you tell me what you do?”

“I go to the dojos of Sensei’s students, and my latest assignment is in town, with the Ishii family. The class has ten boys, the youngest is five and the oldest is thirteen. I teach them kata, the movements we go through. I cut bamboo for their shinai, which they use every day. Once a week, we have a sparring session, and the winner is exempt from cleaning the dojo. I always clean with them though, it wouldn’t be fair otherwise. They’re good students, but I have to keep telling them to quiet down. I try not to shout. It only makes the youngest cry, so I just give a light tap with my wooden sword.” He touched the hilt of his short sword, and he was surprised to see her flinch.

“I’m sorry. I know that to be a samurai is to carry a sword, and last week, I wouldn’t have reacted. However, right now, swords aren’t very popular among the people.” Okaa-san said. “Particularly new ones.”

He assumed something had happened. From what he had seen on his travels, this domain had greater affluence than his native Oyumi. That also meant more people, and in turn, more opportunities for clashes. “I would never test a blade on someone.”

“I should hope so. It’s horrible. But enough of that. Tell me more about how you’ve been living.” She took a seat at her loom and worked on a blanket as he talked.

“I work with Otou-san when he’s patrolling, and I know all the routes. I asked for time away, so I won’t get in trouble.” He hastily added.

Her head was about to turn to him and at his clarification, her attention returned to the cloth. “Good. Is your father still painting?”

“He’s preparing to sell three for Setsubun.” If he had to be honest, Koshijiro was a little confused. He hadn’t expected his mother to readily bring up Otou-san. “He’s well.”

“Mm.” Her fingers kept moving, her face passive.

He was definitely even more confused, but he didn’t know what to do. Ask whether his mother still loved his father? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that. If she said no, it would hurt but it would have further justified her departure. If she said yes…that would be another layer to their already complex family dynamic.

He decided to change the subject. “My teacher is an elderly man, and he was Otou-san’s teacher before me. He has a great amount of conviction but he’s directed all of it to his vision of kenjutsu. His daughter is our cook, and she’s been kind to me.” His mouth was dry. What else could he say? “Otsuna and Kinutake have married well and have their own households.”

This made her pause, and her busy hands settled in her lap. “Did they hurt you?”

“I was mostly ignored.”

“Really?” Her gaze was sharp. She would know he wasn’t telling the whole story, and he looked away. “Did you know your sister tried to push me when I was pregnant with you?”

“What?” The story was entirely new to him.

“I was close to the pond and she crept behind me. She wasn’t strong but it scared me enough.”

The pond. “Wait. Where was this? Did you live at the main house?”

“…I did. For two years.”

“I must have been too young to remember living there the first time.”

“No. I left after that incident, I wasn’t showing then and I was afraid she’d do worse or enlist your brother into her plans. I hadn’t even told your father I was pregnant. He would have tried to protect me, even if it was improper. So I ran. You were born in that village house and I did my best but the famine hit. After your siblings were gone, your father found us and stayed. Now that I’m this old, I realize I just repeat the same course of action.” She muttered.

“Sometimes, running is the best course of action.” He attempted to be helpful. “I tell my students that.”

“Well, I’m not as young as they are. With luck, I’ll be as energetic as your teacher.”

“…speaking of which, did you know the cook Oichi-san because you lived at the house?”

“I shared quarters with her when I first came to live there. I’m happy she was kind to you too.”

He blinked. “You were Otou-san’s servant.”

“Not when I met him. When we met, I worked with some artisans but I had a falling-out with them, and I needed another job. Your father needed a maid. It was the simplest option.”

“Was that before or after his first wife passed away?”

It was her turn to be surprised. “Why would you consider before? Your father was unaware I existed until a year after her death. As for me, I couldn’t have picked him out from the rest.”

“Oh.” Otsuna had been lying. But while her mother was dying, what was Otou-san doing at that time? “I’m sorry, that wasn’t appropriate to ask.”

“Koshijiro, I don’t blame you for being curious. It’s been a long time, and I doubt this story would have been told while your siblings were around.”

After that conversation, the past was a rare topic. Occasionally, she would mention his childhood exploits, like when he began to walk or when he was startled by a comet shower, one summer night spent stargazing. He tucked those stories in his memory, as if each was a round pearl. For the most part, he would accompany her on her errands and walks to patients’ homes. Okaa-san had true passion for her work and it showed in her expression, whether it was discussing measurements or wiping her brow after a difficult delivery. She looked at her hands with absolute confidence.

Koshijiro also had a glimpse of his life, if his mother had taken him along a second time. A life bowing down to the samurai who rode past. A life laboring in the fields or in the market. He thought of not teaching, not experiencing the serenity from meditation or seeing the excitement on a child’s face when a kata was mastered. He would have been Kotaro with a kinder childhood, but just as easily a target for a new blade.

All too swiftly, his journey ended. At dawn, Okaa-san saw him off and true to character, she firmly stated. “You have to go back. Don’t worry about me, I’m not going anywhere. Be alert on the road and trust nobody. Make it home safely, understand?”

“I understand. And, um,” He tightened his hold on the reins of his horse and shifted awkwardly, before bowing his head. “Thank you. For sacrificing your time with me so I could have this life. It’s a privilege I won’t waste.”

Koshijiro heard her laugh, but it sounded sad. “You’re my boy. All I want is for you to live well.”

He nodded and pulled himself onto the saddle. “Will you still write?”

“Of course. And this time, I have a letter.” She slipped him a folded paper but kept her grip on his hands. “It’s for your father, so try not to read it.”

“…I won’t. I promise. And if I can, I would like to visit again.”

“Let me know if you do, so I’ll clean up.”

That made him smile. “Goodbye, Okaa-san.”

“Goodbye, Koshijiro.”

Squaring his shoulders, he steered out of the town and towards Oyumi Domain. He trained his gaze forward, as the rising sun peeked over the horizon.

When he returned home, it was deep into the night, and he mustered whatever energy he had left to see his father. Otou-san was still awake, reviewing the day’s report with a furrowed brow. As Koshijiro opened the door, he looked up and set it aside. The candle on his desk flickered once, just as he smiled. “Welcome home. I’m glad, it seems you didn’t run into any issues on the road. We can talk in the morning; get some rest first.”

Koshijiro stepped forward, anyway, withdrawing the folded letter from his front. “I will but I’ll give this to you. It’s from her.” He had no idea what it said, but now, his curiosity was directed to his father’s reaction. He handed the paper over, watching carefully.

Otou-san’s eyes widened and he accepted the letter. For a moment, unrestrained wonder crossed his face. Then, he caught himself, his composure returning. “Ah. Thank you for carrying it all this way.” He gently placed it before him and reiterated. “We’ll talk in the morning. Good night.”

“Good night.” Koshijiro backtracked into the hallway, yet the letter remained unopened. His father was staring at it as if he didn’t know whether it would sting or soothe.

***

Dr. Gensai’s clinic was quiet for today, and Koshijiro waited in one of the small rooms. He had appreciated the doctor’s home visits, but it was better if he visited the clinic. Like his return to kenjutsu, this was another step to regaining his function before the war in Satsuma.

He tapped his thumb against his leg, turning his memories once more to the image of Otou-san and the candlelit paper from Okaa-san. Even now, he did not know what that letter had said. The morning after, he had told his story, including that his mother chose to stay in Sakura. He could still recall his father nodding, as if he expected as much. The conversation that followed had fleshed out the details of the visit, but afterwards, they slipped back into their normal routine.

The knock on the door made him snap to attention. “You can enter.”

Takani’s smile greeted him. “Hello, Kamiya-san. Dr. Gensai allowed me to conduct your physical examination today. Is that alright with you?”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

“Thank you very much.” She closed the door behind her, and he noticed her hands were pink from a fresh scrubbing. “Is there anything you would like to discuss today?”

“I’ve been well so far, but if you’d like to look at my left shoulder, you can.”

“I would like that.” Takani appeared to be genuinely interested. She inspected his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. She checked his fingers and feet, giving a little nod before listening to his lungs and heart with a tubular device. “You weren’t wrong, your health is good. How have you been eating?”

“Sekihara-san and Tsubame have been kind enough to accommodate me.” He had also sent the latter’s message to Yahiko, the poor girl flustered but grateful.

“That is kind of them.” She echoed. “And I know you walk to and from the station.”

“That’s true, but I’m attempting to practice kenjutsu again.”

“Ah. To be ready, in case trouble comes here.”

“Yes.”

“However, it is summer, so please make sure you have plenty of water. It would be even better if you had someone else at the dojo, in case you have an accident.”

Admittedly, he was irked. He wasn’t an old man. “I know what I’m doing.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s only advice that I give to everyone in this heat. So, may I have a look at your shoulders? I’ll help you with the right side.”

“Go ahead.” After she rolled up the right sleeve, he did the same with the left. He always thought he was ready to see the stump, but every time he looked at it, his gut gave an initial lurch. The explosion had burned his skin, leaving it flushed and puckered, and though the nape of his neck had fully recovered, the sensation in his left shoulder was duller. The stump came to a flat end, where the bone was severed.

Instead of remarking on the sight, Takani focused on palpating his shoulder joints and comparing them. “It’s good that you’ve been exercising. The muscles have atrophied somewhat, yet the bone underneath is still strong and it’s healed with everything in place. How’s your pain?”

“It’s still a daily inconvenience. The aspirin hasn’t helped in that regard, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry. I wish I knew more about the cause.” Her wistfulness was genuine.

“This is a new age, there are plenty of things left to learn.”

“Infinite things.” She smiled. “That’s it for your exam. Any last questions?”

“Not at all. You seem confident and capable. Please give my regards to Dr. Gensai and I’ll leave you to the rest of your patients.”

“Thank you, Kamiya-san.” She hesitated for a second. “Any news from Kyoto yet?”

“They’re making good use of their time by training and spreading word. In my last letter, I suggested that Kaoru contact the police there for assistance. You’ll be the first to know if a message arrives.”

“Mm.” Her gaze was distant. “I’ll see you out.”

After paying the usual fee, Koshijiro departed. He had dinner at the Akabeko, the restaurant full with the noise of clattering dishes and loud conversation. He greeted Sekihara-san, as she hurried between tables, and she acknowledged him with a bright smile before calling out instructions to her workers. As he sipped fragrant tea, he observed the other customers. A group of merchants, a handful of families. Diagonally across the room, he spotted the white and navy uniforms of kenjutsu students. Running through his memory of past tournaments, their faces were not familiar. They could have belonged to a new school, but Maekawa hadn’t mentioned anything of the sort. They were either recent initiates or they were here to train at their school’s main dojo. He mentally noted to greet them later. After all, if they were new in town, he could sympathize.

***

“Relax your elbows. A little more. There. Remember that, and you’ll find the next movement is more fluid.” Koshijiro instructed. The new student, a seven-year-old boy, nodded and tightened his grip on his bokken. Throughout the dojo, the other students had paired off for practice. Now that there was an odd number in the class, Koshijiro joined the newcomer. He watched the boy repeat the kata, before sweeping his gaze to check on the rest of his charges.

From the front of the room, the eldest Ishii son usually supervised. Today, there was a guest standing next to him. A thin man, his deeply lined face adding years to his already somber expression. Motomiya-sensei already had a reputation among the various schools, and the older students mentioned his ambition and intelligence. He was in Oyumi to scout for help in starting a new branch. Sensei had insisted that Koshijiro should do his best to impress him, for it was rare that an opportunity came to the seeker and such a good one at that. And he wouldn’t have to leave for Takaoka to receive the training of the Motomiya Shin school. However, Koshijiro didn’t have the nerve to volunteer for demonstrations or start a discussion. He stayed with the youngest boys, focusing on their progress and his next task.

Practice ended for the day, and Koshijiro made to leave, before Ishii Tadanobu, the third son, clapped him on the back. He gave a toothy grin. “Hey, Kamiya-kun! Motomiya-sensei wants to talk with you.”

Sudden self-consciousness swept over him. Was it something he did wrong? He could only silently nod and follow Tadanobu. A small group of students still lingered around Motomiya-sensei in the yard, giving their family names and years of experience. As the seconds crawled by, Koshijiro closed his eyes, trying to find peace in the noise of the whirring cicadas.

Tadanobu’s voice pulled him to the surface. “This is the one Iida-sensei had spoken of. I’m glad you were able to meet today.”

“Yes, it was an honor.” Koshijiro racked his mind for more to say. “I appreciated what you said at the beginning, about not letting the cutting edge of the sword distract from its weight.”

“Thank you. Kamiya-kun, was it?” Motomiya-sensei regarded him with a nod. “How old are you?”

“I am sixteen.”

If he had any issue, he didn’t show it. “If you are available, I would like you to assist me. Iida-sensei is someone who does not give his favor lightly, and I see that he was right.”

Koshijiro felt a rush of elation, shooting through his fingertips. “I would definitely like to help you. Please let me know what I can do, and I’ll be in your care.”

“Excellent.” He relayed the address of his new building, with some directions. “I expect you at dawn.”

When Koshijiro told Sensei, the elderly man had a mixed reaction. He was resting on the porch, a blanket drawn over his lap. “That’s good, but you should have spoken up! Be proud of your accomplishments, and use your voice! You are fortunate to have one, don’t forget it!”

“Yes, Sensei. I understand.”

“If you understand, then act. Action is what matters to society.” Sensei sniffed. “And don’t forget about me either, while you’re with Motomiya-sensei.”

“That’s impossible.” Koshijiro smiled. “For guiding me this far, thank you.”

“A student’s success is the best form of gratitude to a teacher. I haven’t regretted taking you on, and at last, I can retire in peace.”

When it came to Motomiya Shin, Koshijiro was able to adjust well. The first couple months were spent on making the necessary changes, learning the unique kata and Motomiya-sensei’s rules. His new teacher liked to pose questions, prodding the boundaries of their knowledge. Why was the sei-gan stance appropriate in this kata? Why was a certain sequence used? Initially, there was dread, but Koshijiro felt he was learning more than mere swordplay. His early answers were hesitant and he was prompted multiple times to speak up. However, no one was scolded or criticized. Motomiya-sensei was quick to point out the error and pivot to the correct line of reasoning. His approach was what convinced students to stay, and the moderately sized dojo became busier with each week. Along with Koshijiro, there were three other experienced students. Two were from the main branch and had volunteered to travel here. The last, Kikuhara, was from Echigo, and he was excited to be further south.

During a water break on a particularly hot day, Kikuhara wiped a cloth around his face. “Kamiya-kun, are there any nice places to see?”

“Well, in spring, it’s beautiful here. The leaves are new, the cherry blossom petals cover the roads. There’s an acting group that likes to perform most nights, in a spare room of one of the restaurants. I’m sorry if I can’t tell you more, I don’t really go out to town.”

“That’s fine, we’re still poor students after all.”

Koshijiro smiled. “What is Echigo like?”

“It’s by the coast. There are cliffs where you can see seabirds diving for fish, and many rice fields. And the mountains! I like them best in autumn, with all the colors. If you ever happen to find yourself in Echigo, I hope it’s in autumn.”

“If I have the chance, I will certainly try.”

A few of the other students overheard their conversation and began talking about the local brothels. Their favorite women were described in graphic detail. Koshijiro forced a neutral expression as they discussed the sordid details, and he noticed that Kikuhara looked uncomfortable as well. He assumed it was because they were both the youngest, and thus, the least accustomed to this kind of talk.

When practice ended and they were cleaning up, Kikuhara spoke over the wash basin. “Do you have someone special, Kamiya-kun?”

Koshijiro didn’t answer at first, scrubbing his hands with coarse soap. “…I think being with someone asks for a lot of trust. I doubt I can give that to a woman I don’t know.” He couldn’t relate to the desire his peers spoke of, couldn’t fathom how such an intimate act was approached so casually. Even thinking of being naked and vulnerable with a strange face induced a visceral repulsion.

“That is true.” Kikuhara looked as if he was about to say more. Instead, the conversation ended.

The subject didn’t come up again, until the dojo received a letter sent from Echigo and addressed to one Kikuhara. Upon reading who the sender was, he flushed and immediately stuffed the envelope close to his heart. The moment Motomiya-sensei stepped out, the others began to tease him.

“Kikuhara-kun has a sweetheart!”

“You dog! Is she a beauty?”

His friend averted the gazes upon him, constantly glancing towards the door. Koshijiro interrupted. “Let’s not make him angry. I’d be on the receiving end, if he is.” He had been assigned to be Kikuhara’s target, for the jumping face stroke.

“What are you standing around for?” Motomiya-sensei’s voice was like the crack of a whip. His disapproving gaze swept over them. “Didn’t I tell you to start? You are not mere boys who need constant supervision. Run laps around the building until I call you back inside. That should clear your minds.”

Koshijiro was disgruntled at the collective punishment. He hadn’t been sidetracked; he was trying to stop them! But he could do nothing about the unfairness of the situation, except sullenly jog. It was another quarter of an hour until they were summoned, and Motomiya-sensei’s mood was like a hovering thundercloud throughout the session.

“Kamiya-kun!”

Koshijiro’s head shot up. It wasn’t often he was called on, and he knew this wasn’t for a good reason. “Yes, Sensei?”

“Step forward. Show the class what you just did.”

He obeyed. Sweat rolled down his temples.

“Did anyone notice?”

There was utter silence. Koshijiro finally spoke. “I held my elbows too high in the second to last stance.”

“That is correct. And what would have happened?”

“I would have been stabbed in the ribs, straight to my lung.” He envisioned the scenario and his ears burned with shame. How could he have slipped up?

“Correct again. Make the adjustment and remember it. Back in line.”

“Yes, Sensei!”

There wasn’t a word out of turn that day, and after cleanup was finished, Motomiya-sensei dismissed them with a neutral “I’ll see you in the morning”. They filed out, humbled and relieved their teacher’s frustration had ebbed. Koshijiro headed for an overgrown mulberry by the roadside, intending to rest his feet before continuing home. In its shade, he nearly tripped over Kikuhara, who flinched and crinkled the paper in his hands.

“Oh, sorry.” Koshijiro apologized. “I didn’t see you.”

“No, I should be leaving soon anyway.” He was sitting cross-legged on the grass and he smoothed a corner of the letter before refolding it. His expression was downcast, his mouth drawn tight. “You’re not going home yet?”

“I wanted to sit down first, after all we did today. Are you alright?”

Kikuhara gave a wry smile. “It wasn’t bad news. On the contrary, it was a very friendly message. I am happy and I wasn’t expecting more than this, but I was still hoping.”

“For what?”

“I’m not sure. Words of love? That seems too much to ask for.”

“With this person, you may feel better if you’re honest. No, sorry, that sounds like I’m trying to extract a confession from a suspect.” Koshijiro winced.

“I wish you could see yourself, you look so troubled. Don’t worry. You’re trying to help and I really appreciate that.” Kikuhara paused. “It’s not, well, it’s not like my feelings will ever be returned.”

“…is it a married woman?”

“Not married.” His voice dropped as he added. “Not a woman either.”

“Oh.” It was not uncommon among the samurai to be interested in men, but not publicly approved. “Well, as long as no one is hurt, how a person chooses to live should be up to them.”

Kikuhara gave a tight smile. “That would be nice, but that’s not how things are. We’re expected to fulfill our duties.” He stood, walking into the street, and Koshijiro was left to mull over the conversation. His parents, the girls longing to join kenjutsu practice, the commoners bowing to his presence, Kikuhara and his preferences. The world in which they lived had defined boundaries and made them absolute.

They would teach you that the world is proper and harmonious, but it’s far from it in reality. There is no peace. Sensei’s words from long ago returned to him.

So, how could peace be achieved? What would be necessary to make it reality?

These questions were partly answered by Motomiya-sensei. He allowed any boy, regardless of social rank, to join the school. Any distinction was forgotten at the door. Sparring pairs were formed at random, and he had an excellent memory of who had already faced whom. But such matches paled in comparison to the excitement of dueling their teacher. Once a month, Motomiya-sensei would allow students to challenge him. The prize for the best display of skill was bragging rights until the next time; nevertheless, it was a motivating event. They would form a line, the youngest and least experienced in front. Those boys were disarmed in under a minute, given parting words of how to improve, and sent to the walls to observe the rest and learn. Eventually, as the line dwindled and a handful remained, it was usually Koshijiro’s turn.

His strongest memory was when he was placed second to last. He did his best to watch, trying to keep the building anticipation at bay as Motomiya-sensei drew closer. Then, it was just Kikuhara and himself. Koshijiro lifted his shinai and went for an overhead strike. After so many duels, his teacher’s stamina was still unflagging and he easily deflected the attack before rushing towards Koshijiro.

Step back. Water stance. Find an opening to take the offensive!

His mind was racing, his arms trembling with nervous energy. The pounding of his heart filled his ears, yet he was holding his own. Motomiya-sensei hadn’t landed a hit on him, and although he wasn’t sure how much time had passed, his teacher’s neutral expression morphed into slight approval. The duel continued, blows exchanged one after another. Koshijiro believed he had found that place of comfort, when he could allow his body to react while his brain calmly assessed the next possible moves.

Kikuhara’s voice pulled him out of that tranquility. “Kamiya-kun, turn right!”

Koshijiro did, and the end of a shinai clipped the loose fabric of his gi. Motomiya-sensei seemed faster, more aggressive; the attack would have sent Koshijiro wheezing for air and stumbling into the back wall. This was Motomiya-sensei’s true strength. And he could not underestimate his teacher now, in the heat of such a challenge. Koshijiro dug deep, seeking any advantage. Abruptly, Motomiya-sensei pulled away, reestablishing distance. In the next instant, he lunged for Kikuhara.

I won’t let him!

Koshijiro dove, sliding across the waxed floorboards. He swung, aiming low…and struck Motomiya-sensei’s legs. Tired as he was, there wasn’t enough force for a takedown, but it was adequate to stop his teacher short of reaching his friend. The ensuing silence was tense.

“Kikuhara-kun,” Motomiya-sensei began. “Earlier, you called out to Kamiya-kun. In our duels, can anyone else intrude?”

“No, Sensei.”

“Then, why did you do so?”

Kikuhara struggled for a moment and admitted. “I was unable to discipline my emotions for a friend.”

“Hmm. Then why did I attack you?”

“I inserted myself into this fight.”

“And you stopped me.” He said this to Koshijiro. “Why?”

“Like Kikuhara-kun said, I was unable to hold back for the sake of a friend.”

Motomiya-sensei regarded them in turn, but Koshijiro refused to back down against the intensity of his stare. At last, he rolled his shoulders and formed a half-smile. “Next time, I will not condone interference. However, I am pleased that my students will defend each other. Bonds forged when learning together should not be broken easily. Everyone in this class should remember that. Understood?”

The answer was a loud chorus. “Yes, Sensei!”

“Very good. Kamiya-kun, you’ll be at the end of the line next time. Let’s clean up.”

They were dismissed without Kikuhara dueling, but he didn’t seem disappointed. That evening, Koshijiro insisted on treating him to dinner and Kikuhara attempted the same for him. They ended up paying for each other, made funnier because their orders were identical, down to the indulgence of a bottle of plum wine. Kikuhara was certainly a lightweight though, and despite his own inebriation, Koshijiro walked him to the place where he was boarding.

“Ah, I miss him.” Kikuhara remarked, breaking the quiet between them. “I miss him. I wonder if he misses me? I hope he does…”

Koshijiro glanced at his friend’s wistful, pained expression. “I haven’t experienced love yet, so forgive me if I’m wrong. But it’s alright to miss someone.”

“Even if it’s hopeless?”

“Well…you can’t help yourself. But you deserve to be happy. Everyone deserves to be happy.”

“Thanks…” Kikuhara clumsily patted his back before stumbling inside. Koshijiro tipsily turned towards home and he dimly recalled his father’s amusement upon his return.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Mm.” He nodded, and the house swayed.

“I will tell Oichi to make something for your hangover in the morning.” Otou-san laughed. Over the following day’s breakfast, he was still in a good mood, pouring every cup of tea. Embarrassed at the attention and wincing at the resounding pain in his skull, Koshijiro decided he’d avoid plum wine for the rest of his life.

His father noted. “You have a good friend in Kikuhara-kun. You seem happy.”

He was. He had found balance in his life, between kenjutsu and policing. At seventeen, he made his first arrest. He had assisted over the years, following the commands of the older samurai. This time, he was alone in the market and technically off duty. People were milling about, and he thought nothing was out of the ordinary until he caught a straying hand reach out. There was a cry and a scruffy-headed fellow sprinted off, shoving bystanders out of the way. Koshijiro automatically gave chase.

“Excuse me! Coming through!” He shouted. Down the street, he spotted the man’s swinging arms, a coin purse tightly gripped in his right hand.

Koshijiro didn’t really remember the next few seconds, except for the burn in his legs and his vision narrowing to the man’s back. He did remember diving into a tackle and hitting the ground with the thief. And how thin the wrists were, as he forced the thief to let go of the coin purse. It wasn’t long before the nearest patrol unit arrived and his shoulders were repeatedly smacked in congratulations. He was allowed to get up and for a brief moment, he locked eyes with the man he just caught. Hollow cheekbones, shadowed eyes, dirt mixed into his stubble. This person decided to break the law. One of the samurai grabbed the thief’s worn collar, roughly dragging him away and shoving him against a wall to be bound. A distinct guttural sound of pain resounded in the air.

Koshijiro knew he did the right thing, and he felt a little surer when he returned the stolen coin purse to its rightful owner, a middle-aged woman reminiscent of Oichi. So, why did he feel guilty?

After the official documentation was completed, he was ready to be anywhere else. The other men had gradually left for their original duties. He was about to turn to the direction of home, when a komono, a commoner hired to assist in policing, remarked. “You could have used your swords, you know. Those aren’t just for show.”

Koshijiro glanced down at the two swords at his side, their weight brought to his awareness. He only unsheathed them for maintenance, but he wouldn’t admit that. “I, er, I believed I was fast enough to catch him.”

“Ah. Youth. Well, you won’t always be so young and fast, hm?” The komono shrugged.

Unnerved, Koshijiro walked on. Even if I’m old and slow, I wouldn’t be violent if I didn’t have to! And that man was wrong to steal, but does he deserve to be treated harshly? I tackled him, but he took all of the impact and I landed on him. What if I broke something of his? And what does that make me?

“Koshijiro? You seem upset.”

He startled and noticed his surroundings. He had arrived home and was in the midst of slipping off his shoes, without even consciously thinking about it. And the voice…

“How…? Okaa-san?”

His mother was standing in the doorway, with an amused expression. The sight could hardly be real, but at the same time, his chest squeezed painfully at how normal it seemed. She reached over, clasping his shoulder. “I’m here to visit for a week.”

“What about assisting the midwife?”

“The girls I’ve taught are good enough. I’ve seen them handle pressure and even though I’d like to supervise, I have confidence in them. Just until I return and continue their training.”

“But for now,” Otou-san stepped out from behind her, a finger’s width away from actually touching. “We’re going to be thankful for her company.”

For the first time in a decade, they had dinner as a family. Okaa-san insisted on helping Oichi in the kitchen, despite the latter’s consistent shooing. At the table, Koshijiro caught his father smiling into his cup of sake, and he ventured a question.

“Is this what it was like before I was born?”

Otou-san’s gaze became distant. “Somewhat. Just like now, your mother would assist, although she would not eat here with me.”

“Oh.”

“But those days are over.” His tone was neutral, accepting. Koshijiro didn’t press, for Okaa-san strode in with a tray. Oichi brought the rest and took her leave for the evening, to tend to her father. While they ate, Okaa-san spoke of her group of seamstresses and the struggle to obtain a workplace of their own.

“Right now, we’re saving money to buy out the land. We are very close, perhaps two months more. It was fortunate that our pieces are well-received, and even the servants of samurai have approached our door. The attention must be why we haven’t been thrown out yet.”

“What have those servants purchased from you?” Koshijiro asked.

“The usual blankets and clothing. The latest was a furisode meant for a wedding ensemble, I’m proud of the embroidery. I wish I had some left to share with you. Although if you’re so interested, I can show you how to sew. It’s easy enough, and there could be a day when you need a quick adjustment.”

“If you have the time.”

“It won’t take that long! Unless you stab yourself too many times.” Her wry remark made him smile.

“The needle may not get through my calluses.” He held up one palm, pointing at the thickened skin. It was the hand of a swordsman, and he realized he didn’t know whether it was still a sensitive subject.

She spared a glance to the calluses and resumed eating. “You say that now, but you might be surprised.” Her gaze shot over to Otou-san, whose shoulders shook with restrained laughter.

“Is that what you say to all of your girls?”

“Hm. I suppose I do.” The corner of her mouth lifted.

“Miyo.” He set down his chopsticks, to look at her. He started to speak, pressed his lips together as if changing his mind, and finally said with effort. “As long as you are happy, I am content.”

“I am happy.” Okaa-san asserted.

Koshijiro kept his head down and drank his tea, wishing he was elsewhere.

Thankfully, the rest of the week was not as awkward. Dinner was spent as a family, and Koshijiro looked forward to every evening, to both of his parents welcoming him at the table. For the promised sewing lesson, they sat on the porch, not far from her room and the servants’ quarters. She gave him a thick piece of cloth to work the needle on. For such a task, his fingertips seemed broad and imprecise.

“You’re getting better every day. Don’t give up.” She encouraged. “Before I go, I’ll tell you how you can close a wound.”

“It’s not the same as this?”

“No, it’s a little different. Oh, I’ll just tell you now. Wind the thread around the needle. Yes, like that. Now, do it again and go in from the top.” She instructed. “In a real case, make sure the wound is clean before you start. If you practice enough, you could save someone. This is a surer way than with any weapon.”

He didn’t dare correct her. “Yes, Okaa-san.”

When she departed for Sakura, she donned a nun’s garb, including a fitted cap to hide her hair. It was the disguise she had used on the road, although Otou-san insisted that two of his attendants escort her. Koshijiro had half a mind to come along, but Okaa-san, who had protested she didn’t need anyone, told him to stay.

“Your students need you. I will go with these two, if you remain here. I’ll see you both again.” She hugged him tight, and whispered. “Practice!”

“I will!” He made that promise just as much to himself.

She stepped back and bowed to Otou-san, strangely formal. There was a flash of longing in his gaze, but he didn’t move closer. Then, she was riding off into the distance, and gone once again. Koshijiro felt bereft, but the familiar ache had eased.

Kinutake and his wife returned for Obon but Koshijiro refused to stay anywhere near them. He packed his clothing and was halfway across the yard before Otou-san stood in front of him.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Staying anywhere else until they’ve left.”

“Now, Koshijiro, you’re acting childish. You should be polite to our guests.”

“There’s nothing to be said between us. He has his own life, and I have mine.”

“You could at least try. You are brothers, after all.”

“No. Over the past year, Kikuhara has been more of a brother to me than he has.”

Otou-san’s mouth twitched. “I didn’t raise you to be discourteous. What would your mother say?”

“Don’t use her like that!” Koshijiro exploded. “Especially since she’s not here to speak for herself!”

“Koshijiro.” His father’s voice was ice cold.

“I know what she would say, she told me years ago. That you have trouble choosing between your heart and your mind, and she was right. You can’t see that my siblings and I will never be the happy family you want.”

“Do you think your father is blind and deaf?” Otou-san shouted. “Of course, I know what they have become, I know my own shortcomings. But I will not have you change, like how I’ve seen Otsuna and Kinutake change. A good man would behave properly, make the best impression despite private feelings. That is how the world works, and yes, your mother is not here, but she would hate to see her son spit on all the etiquette and education he received. Go to your dojo, and what would our guests think of you?”

“I doubt they’d think of me at all in the first place.” He retorted. And with that, he pushed past, ignoring the calls of his name. He patrolled and taught throughout the day, then stayed at Kikuhara’s until evening, before sleeping at Sensei’s house. Sensei never turned him away, though he warned Koshijiro not to draw too near for he had a persistent cough. Koshijiro helped Oichi tend to him, but didn’t mention what was happening at the house. Oichi must have, because Sensei once said to him.

“Sometimes, we need to fight to move forward. It can be better than staying in the same place.”

As the sunset came earlier with each day and the summer flowers browned, Obon ended. Koshijiro returned home, and the place felt subtly different. He immediately went to his room and noticed some of the books had been rearranged. His pulse was in his fingers as he fixed his possessions. He conducted a careful search, but nothing was missing. He might have felt better if something had, he could have had an excuse to be righteously angry. His mind played a seductive scenario of riding out, catching up to Kinutake and his faceless wife, punching him, striking him, solar plexus, shoulder, hip…

No. I am not a thug. Nothing’s missing. They’re gone. That’s the end of it.

Shame fully replaced the anger, and he focused on the very concrete task of unpacking. From the attendants, he learned his father was working and they did not meet until clouds gathered around the rising moon.

“How was your day?” Otou-san asked.

“Fine. I taught a new kata to the students. Motomiya-sensei said I spoke clearly and everyone understood. I’m leading the demonstration again next time.”

“That’s good. Have you eaten?”

“Yes.”

“I have as well.”

“Otou-san?” The apology was between his lips, and it was nearly out, but the images of Kinutake, the old box of letters, and his mussed room stopped him. His stomach twisted and black crept at the corners of his vision. “Good night.”

“Good night, Koshijiro.”

Neither of them ever apologized, and he regretted it.

The weeks became months, without another argument. Okaa-san visited in the spring and autumn, and despite his reluctance to reveal his uneven stitches, she was quite proud. She was also appreciative of Otou-san’s landscape sketches, which were particularly beautiful. His father had an extra bound to his step after her compliments, yet he had not noticed anything outwardly different between them. Until, he returned earlier than usual and caught them sitting together on the porch. He narrowed his eyes against the sun’s glare. Were their hands intertwined?

“Koshijiro!” His mother stood to face him, brushing herself off. “Welcome home.”

“I’m home.” He looked between them, trying to find any traces of the moment he just witnessed. He couldn’t, but he thought better of bringing it up. They deserved privacy, after so much time had been stolen from them. Perhaps, he would attempt to be louder when moving around the house. But…would that make him the parent in this situation? Mortified, he took up his bokken and burned the discomfort away with kenjutsu.

Koshijiro was nineteen when Motomiya-sensei made the offer. The dojo was receiving a good scrubbing, and he was hanging the washcloths to dry. “Kikuhara-kun, Kamiya-kun. After you finish, meet me at the front of the room.”

He and Kikuhara glanced at each other, and it was apparent neither of them knew what to expect. They sat on their heels before him, as he poured them cups of tea. The steam warmed Koshijiro’s face as his teacher drove straight to the point.

“It has been two years since I arrived here. Two years since you first became my students.” His eyes closed as he sipped. “My cousin’s family has resided at my own residence, to look after my own. But now, he is moving and I must return to my hometown at the end of the month.”

In the past two years, he had never mentioned a family. Koshijiro thought it was quite odd.

“I have no regrets; I have confidence this place will thrive on its own.” He leaned back, surveying them and the dojo stretching behind them. “Kamiya-kun, Kikuhara-kun, I would like you to assist me in Takaoka. I believe the two of you have the drive and ability to start your own schools someday. If you are able to join me, you can develop the skills to teach the next generation of kenjutsu practitioners. Now, I do not expect an answer today, but I would appreciate decisiveness from my first choices.”

“Yes, Sensei.” Kikuhara bowed his head and Koshijiro followed suit.

As they walked down the road, Kikuhara asked. “Are you going?”

“I’m not sure. I would have to think it over. What about you?”

“I’ve already come this far. My mother would be disappointed that my homecoming will be delayed, but she will understand. And I must check my finances first, before I officially accept.”

“Mm. It would be good for you.”

“I could say the same to you. But I think having a friend always makes a new place better.”

He had to agree and he continued to think as he opened the gate to the Kamiya residence. His mother had a hand against the thick trunk of a cherry tree, admiring the multitude of blossoms. His father sat on the grass and sketched upon a wooden block for a makeshift desk. They made a peaceful image, and Koshijiro’s heart wavered. The indecision must have showed when he greeted them, because Otou-san asked how he was. There in the spring scenery, he told them the story. His father was pleased and remarked on such good fortune. But Okaa-san reached for him, directly looking at Koshijiro.

“Tell us what you honestly feel.”

He spoke slowly. “I like teaching and not everyone has the chance to go to the main dojo, but…I would be away.”

“This house isn’t going anywhere.” His father gently said.

“I know that. And I know my coworkers would understand.”

“But if you stay, how would you feel?”

“If I stay…I may wonder if there was more in Takaoka. I don’t know what I can do here, other than continuing what I have always done. I need to improve. I need to grow.” He paused. “Then, I should go.”

“If it doesn’t work out, you can come home.” Okaa-san pointed out. “But you can’t decide to go if you’ve already rejected the offer. There are some opportunities that only come once. You should reach out, because it’s better than letting them pass by.” In the afternoon light, her eyes glinted. “Would you like us to support you when you speak with your teacher?”

“No, I can do it on my own. I’m already nineteen.” Feeling too embarrassed, he hurriedly went inside to change out of his uniform.

The following week, he made his departure. Sensei and Oichi had been happy for him, Sensei dishing out last-minute reminders to cultivate good standing and Oichi preparing rations for the early days of travel. Okaa-san had already left, though not before practically smothering him in a tight embrace, so Otou-san saw him off alone. He was making the journey with a pair of sturdy horses and a small cart holding most of his belongings.

“I expect letters about how Takaoka can’t compare to our Oyumi. Once a month, at the very least.” His father smiled widely.

“Of course, I’ll write.” Koshijiro sighed.

“And you will let me know if something-”

“Bad happens, yes.”

“Bad and good. Please don’t hold back.” He clasped Koshijiro’s shoulder and said. “I’ll ride to the Motomiya dojo in a heartbeat if you’re injured.”

“I’m sure they have good doctors. I’ll be alright.” He felt so awkward and he bowed his head. “I’ll see you in winter, Otou-san.” That was months away, and it didn’t seem quite real.

“Goodbye, Koshijiro.” A quick squeeze, and then, he let go.

Koshijiro found a comfortable spot on the cart and took hold of the reins. In his peripheral vision, he saw the gate of the house he had lived in and his father’s silhouette. With a nod and a snap of his wrists, he headed down the road, to the meeting spot where Motomiya-sensei and Kikuhara awaited. To Takaoka, where he would continue his training and where the next phase of his life would begin.

***

Rain pounded against the roof tiles and a strong gust rattled the windows. Lifting his attention from his paperwork, Koshijiro squinted past the glass. The abrupt storm had wrapped the world in dark gray, the occasional sheet of rain swirling through. Hopefully, no one was out in this weather.

He released his pen and extended his fingers, the knuckles cracking with release. This morning, he had received a telegram from Fujita. It only read ‘shachihoko swimming home’. During lunch, he’d had to sift through folklore books to fully understand the reference.

The shachihoko is an ocean monster, with the head of a tiger and the body of a fish. It’s usually seen as a protector; when there’s fire, it’ll summon water onto buildings. So, this must be Shishio, the former soldier. Is he planning a naval attack on Tokyo? But from the sea, how will he set a fire? No…he’s setting a fire in Kyoto as a distraction, escaping through the harbors, and sailing to Tokyo for the naval attack.

There were no drastic changes to the current plan, but he needed to know what would be done to protect soldiers and citizens alike from the bombardments. If people were to be evacuated, it would have to be soon, and where to? How far inland could they relocate thousands?

“Officer Kamiya,” Shinichi tentatively approached, and Koshijiro nodded for him to continue. “I was just downstairs and this is for you.” He passed over a rectangular piece of paper that could only be a telegram.

“Thank you, Officer Shinichi.” He turned it over and his gaze flew to the sender in instant recognition: From Kamiya Kaoru. Finally! He smiled. “Ah, I was waiting for this. I’m very grateful.”

“You’re welcome!”

Keeping his own excitement in check, he read the message.

FOUND KENSHIN AND SANO. ALL SAFE. LETTER INCOMING.

He exhaled. It was good that they were alright and together in Kyoto. He lamented the lack of detail, but it couldn’t be helped, telegrams were expensive. Kaoru must have deliberated over every word choice. Two more rainy days passed before the awaited letter arrived, and each hour of that period of time was slow and agonizing. When Koshijiro received it at last, he rushed to open the envelope and nearly tore a corner of one of the papers within.

Dear Otou-san,

I’ll start from the beginning.

You had a good idea in your last letter about communicating with the police. About a week ago, there was a new prisoner who’d been making trouble, and of course, it was Sano. Yahiko and I bailed him out, which wasn’t too expensive because the jail was eager to get rid of him. Sano told us he took the Nakasen Road and he didn’t come across Kenshin at all. But he did lose his way multiple times, so we were skeptical. He learned a new technique from someone, and he’s become much stronger. Yahiko was impressed by how much Sano can punch now, but I do know Megumi won’t be happy. Since then, Sano’s lurked around and searched for information. He’s learned Shishio’s stormed through a number of villages, but it’s hard to tell just how many.

Eventually, Fujita-san found us. I asked him about Kenshin, but he dismissed me, that he had no idea where Kenshin was at the moment. He did say there’s a young boy coming to Tokyo, and to add his safety to your list. I was glad when he finally left, although Sano joined him to interrogate an associate of Shishio. Afterwards, Yahiko and I were cleaning the outside of the Shirobeko, when we saw a familiar face in the crowd. Unfortunately, it appeared to be Shinomori-san. He walked past, without even turning his head. If he did see us, I don’t think he would have recognized us, given what happened the night in Kanryuu’s mansion.

The next morning, a girl around my age stopped by the Shirobeko. She noticed the poster of Kenshin and said that she had traveled with him for a while on the Tokaido Road. The girl, Misao, led Yahiko and me to the mountains, where his master lived. We arrived at a small house in the forest, and there he was. Kenshin looked so surprised to see us, and then, he didn’t say much at all. I wondered if he was angry, and he said he was, but only partly. He had mixed feelings, but I hope that relief is winning now. We wanted to wait for him, but Kenshin had to train with his master and learn the succession technique.

We were heading back down the mountain, when Yahiko remembered that we had seen Shinomori-san. Misao was excited; she was searching for him while traveling with Kenshin. He’d known her since she was a child, and she also belongs to the Oniwabanshuu. However, she wasn’t aware of the deaths, and I broke the news to her. About the fight, the bravery of her friends, and that Shinomori-san was probably looking for Kenshin. I tried to be gentle as I could, but she took it very badly and ran off. We followed her to the Aoiya, an inn that serves as the group’s headquarters. Their leader was missing, and that worried Misao enough to look for him. Meanwhile, Yahiko and I spoke with the other members at the Aoiya. Their leader, Okina-san, is like a grandfather to Misao, and Shinomori-san was challenging him for control of the group. We weren’t there long before Shinomori-san returned alone. He asked where Kenshin was, but Yahiko said he was training and that he’d defeat Shinomori-san. And I told Shinomori-san that his sword was used against so many, it could only bring misery. He wouldn’t listen to either of us though, and he was gone when Misao returned with Okina-san’s injured body. He needed many stitches but he lives.

We’re staying at the Aoiya now. As the new Okashira, Misao offered and as expected of the Oniwabanshuu, the people there have experience fighting. We’ve just settled in, and there’s much more room for Yahiko and I to practice. I don’t have to worry about knocking into anything with the naginata. And Kenshin knows to return here, when he’s finished.

The next time I’ll write, it will most likely be after the battle. The atmosphere in Kyoto is so tense, like everyone is waiting for the first strike. I’m going to do my best and protect this place.

Me too! And thanks for Tsubame’s letter. Tell her I’ll send a reply once we win- Yahiko

I hope we can bring everyone home soon, and we miss you.

Your daughter,

Kaoru

He would have read it again, particularly the part about Himura, but the chief had scheduled an afternoon meeting. Accounting for the rain, he had to leave the house earlier. However, he never made it. In the lobby, a young man, around Kaoru’s age and wearing a Western suit, intercepted him.

“Officer Kamiya?” At Koshijiro’s confirmation, he gestured up the stairs. “I’m here to escort you.”

“Was the chief’s meeting moved?” There wouldn’t be enough room for the entire squad in any of the offices.

“No, this is a different one. By orders that outrank the chief’s.” Another voice floated from the staircase, and he recognized the balding head.

“Commissioner Kawaji.”

“Hurry up. We are short on time.” He sniffed and walked on, inviting them to follow.

Koshijiro grabbed the handrail, glancing back at the young man. “I’m sorry, I never learned your name.”

“Makino.” He seemed he was going to say more, but at Kawaji’s insistence to pick up the pace, they headed to the second floor in silence.

Kawaji urged them inside a room at the end of the hall, loudly closing the door afterward. The many chairs were unoccupied; instead, the handful of men present stood in a tight circle, murmuring over papers at the end of the long, polished table. They all snapped their heads up. Every face was unfamiliar, but their decorated uniforms told him enough. He bowed in turn to each government official, as Kawaji announced who they were. He tried to remember their names, but his effort was thwarted when one of the men said.

“I remember you, Makino-kun. We still deeply miss Minister Okubo’s presence.”

Makino solemnly nodded and his profile was familiar. Koshijiro blinked. Makino was related to the late minister, the resemblance strong enough to be a son or a nephew. The moment of mourning passed, and Kawaji beckoned them closer to the group. There was no formal beginning to the meeting, but they huddled around a map in the center of the various papers. Koshijiro stood at the periphery, unsure of where he belonged.

“Saito-san has made contact from Kyoto. A warship was sighted off the coast here.” The speaking official jabbed a point in the blue meant for the ocean, a thumbprint away from the old capital. “Our colleagues are maintaining surveillance at all hours, and we are ready to defend in the event of an initial strike.”

Rapid-fire discussion followed, of coded military tactics that went unexplained. Someone brought up the idea of mobilizing forces from as far south as Choshuu, but it was struck down, those troops would arrive too late. Then, Koshijiro was addressed.

“Officer Kamiya, I believe you were given a contingency plan?”

“I was. Am I permitted to share this now?”

“Please do. Given the latest report from Kyoto, Shishio’s numbers were slightly underestimated.” The papers were rearranged to add a map with a closer view of Tokyo.

As Koshijiro pushed small wooden markers designating units, he inquired. “How much is slightly?”

“By one hundred, but the main issue is the presence of an elite group directly under Shishio. The Ten Swords have reputations of their own.” A slim folder was opened, and the reports within were read aloud. Koshijiro wasn’t sure what to make of some of the accounts, of a fearsome giant or a winged menace. He did pay attention to the monk and the blind man, both of whom could be overlooked in surveillance. The most obscure had an unknown appearance, and his existence was identified only by a series of similar mysterious deaths among high-ranking men. That one must be favored by Shishio, Koshijiro thought.

“What can we do about them?” Makino murmured. There was silence, and Koshijiro realized with a start that they were staring at him.

“I do not know if the current plan addresses the Ten Swords.” He admitted. “Saito-san is working with some trusted individuals, who are more than capable in combat. For now, I can put my faith in them. He also informed me that Shishio is planning a naval attack on Tokyo, and that is another thing I wanted to speak of. Is evacuation a viable option?”

“Evacuating the entire city of Tokyo?” Someone scoffed.

“Is it so unreasonable?” Koshijiro countered. “Shishio is driven by hatred against the government. If we fail to protect the people, it gives him further justification.”

A ripple of discomfort ran through the men. Kawaji spoke first. “It’s too early to act. Saito-san’s mission may succeed and Shishio could be finished off in Kyoto.”

“I’m not content to wait until the worst happens.”

“And neither am I.” Another man with a thick mustache agreed. “Commissioner Kawaji? Count your men. The police force will be tasked with evacuation, in a week’s time. If we hear that Shishio’s warship has passed Kyoto, start earlier.”

Kawaji lowered his head. “Yes, Minister Ito.” Ito. The new minister of the Department of Internal Affairs. The one who was now governing in Okubo’s stead.

As the papers were rolled up and they filed out, Koshijiro felt a jab against his shoulder. Frowning, he turned to see Kawaji. “Commissioner-”

“I expect you and Chief Uramura in my office tomorrow morning. We’re going to develop that plan for evacuation. Bring anything you need, I’m locking the door as soon as you’re both there. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” He reached the bottom of the staircase and once the balding man walked off, he sighed. The documents needed for the logistics would have to be gathered, and the streets inspected in person for ease of access.

Makino quietly approached. “Would you like any help?”

“I can manage, and I have my subordinates to assist me. My concern is for those in Kyoto, preparing to oppose our enemy.”

“If you need manpower, I can ask around at the university. We would like a break from classes anyway.” He smiled.

“I appreciate the offer, and I wish you the best of luck in your studies, Makino-kun.”

“Thank you. Good luck to you too.”

They shook hands and parted ways in the lobby. Through the glass-paned windows, Koshijiro watched the continuing downpour, the shimmer of rainwater on the street. He thought once more of Kaoru’s letter and the phrase that rattled in his mind.

Mixed feelings.

Why did he sense that was such a loaded thing for Himura to say?

***

The Motomiya home was slightly smaller than his father’s, but it seemed even more so next to the adjacent main dojo. There was a grand total of fifty students, eight of whom directly assisted Motomiya-sensei. Half had trained together most of their lives and while friendly enough, they clustered together. That left Koshijiro, Kikuhara, and two others. They exchanged glances and sized each other up, before introducing themselves.

Maekawa was born and raised in Edo, and though the oldest in their little group, he was the most boisterous. That energy made him an endearing elder brother figure and a fearsome sparring partner. Nevertheless, he vigorously disliked mornings, and they often had to haul him to his feet for breakfast. But once he was awake, he couldn’t be stopped.

Surprisingly, Hayashi was from Sakura. He was a slender fellow and he had what Maekawa jokingly called “fox eyes”. He was a year younger than Koshijiro yet he had been married for half a year, in an arranged match. He was sharp-tongued, always quick to give as good as he was dealt, and the most intuitive judge of an opponent.

The four of them spent nearly all hours together, bunking down in one of the larger guest rooms. As the older half of the boarding students, they rose at dawn and assisted in errands before lessons. The vegetable garden had to be weeded, the bathhouse cleaned, the outer walls inspected for any cracks or loose bricks. The elderly housekeeper Osue was usually the one who assigned these tasks; rarely, Motomiya-sensei’s wife would leave her wing of the house. Shio-san was from Ezo, the northernmost island, and that was the sole given explanation for her appearance. Her hair was a very light brown, her almond-shaped eyes a pale blue shade. Her voice was heavily accented, though she infrequently spoke. Her interactions with Motomiya-sensei were limited to curt updates about their daughter. According to the Takaoka students, they had not seen her for years; their teacher mentioned her once to say that she was frequently ill and confined to her room.

Koshijiro sympathized, about a month into living there. A cold was skipping through the students, and it was thought to have passed. He was proven wrong. He tried restoring the moisture in his throat with water and tea, but he couldn’t stop sniffling. Over the breakfast miso, Maekawa pressed the back of his hand to Koshijiro’s forehead.

“Ouch, I think you’ve burned me. You definitely shouldn’t go with us.” They were scheduled to be at the Miyagi Shin dojo for a friendly competition.

“I can get through today.” He insisted but was undermined by a spasm of coughs.

“Coughing on your opponent doesn’t win you a match point.” Hayashi refilled his teacup. “And they’d probably hit you harder for such a thing anyway.”

Despite his protests, he was bundled into his futon, and Kikuhara propped a fresh pillow under his head. “We’ll tell you everything, Kamiya. Please rest, so you can join us soon.”

Motomiya-sensei and the others said their goodbyes from the other side of the rice paper door. Then, they departed. Koshijiro surrendered to the fatigue and fell asleep. The house was quiet, save for the footsteps of the women. When he woke, those sounds were absent. He kicked himself free of the oppressive blankets and walked to the kitchen. On the table, there was a covered bowl of soup and a note from Osue, explaining that she and Shio-san were running errands in town. They hadn’t returned when he finished eating; he had set his dishes with the ones from breakfast, when he heard a faint creak. From outside.

He did his best to silently approach the front, opening the door painstakingly. The gate was slightly open, and the reason was a girl. Her long dark hair was bound in two plaits, and her light blue kimono had an overlying pattern of scarlet-crowned cranes. A pale hand held the gate’s edge as she peered outside, and one geta hesitantly shifted forward.

“Hello?” Koshijiro thought his voice wasn’t too loud, but she jolted and spun around.

A bright red flush adorned her cheekbones, and her wide eyes were a darker hue than Shio-san’s. She looked young, fifteen or sixteen if he had to guess. “Who are you?”

“I’m Kamiya, one of the new students. I have a cold, so I stayed behind. Are you Motomiya-sensei’s daughter?”

Her nervousness dissipated as she straightened and lifted her chin. “Yes. I was just getting some fresh air. I just opened the gate…for a little more.”

“Oh. Are you feeling better?”

“Today, I am. I would like to take a walk.” She looked over her shoulder, at the gap leading to the road.

“Would you like me to help you? From a distance?”

For some reason, she smiled. “Well…do you know when they’ll be back?”

“I’m not sure, but they would be glad to see you are feeling better.”

“For today.” She emphasized and pursed her lips in thought. “Ah! It can’t be helped that I’ll stay in the yard, so could you watch the gate? I don’t want them to make a fuss or think I’m overexerting myself. Please, let me know if you see anyone heading home.”

“I can do that.” He nodded.

“Thank you.”

She paced around the courtyard, the smile lingering on her face. Occasionally, she stopped and was so still he wondered if she wasn’t as fine as she claimed. But each time, she placed one foot before the other and continued. She trailed her fingertips against the wall, carefully avoided the short eggplant stems. With great deliberation, she bent her head over the blooming jasmine.

He turned away to cough and took the opportunity to open the gate a fraction wider. No one was in sight yet. The wind sent pebbles skittering to his feet, and her giggling brought his attention. Arms outstretched, she spun around. Then, she caught his gaze and smoothed her braids into place.

“Sorry.” The blush darkened. “It’s just that it’s been some time since I’ve enjoyed the outdoors.”

“Your illness?”

“Mine is not contagious, so don’t worry. It’s…complicated.” She pointed up to the sky. “If it’s cloudy like today, I can be out. But my mother says it’s more proper to stay inside.”

“I know someone who would disagree.”

“Who?”

“My mother.”

Tension lifted from her shoulders. “She sounds nice. Do you live around here?”

“No, I’m from Oyumi. I studied under Motomiya-sensei while he was there.”

“Oh, I see.” The conversation came to a lull, and he decided to leave her be.

As the minutes passed, he maintained visual on the slight gap. The familiar figures of Osue and Shio-san, carrying groceries and talking to each other, crested a natural elevation in the road. Confident he was unseen, he quietly closed the gate and approached the girl near the wall.

“Motomiya-san.”

She glanced around, before realizing he was addressing her. “Alright, I’ll head back inside. It was a pretty day.” She wistfully stared up at the sky and then, she shuffled to the front door. He stayed a few steps behind as they entered the house, but she spoke to him again just outside the women’s corridor. “I’m grateful for your help.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Will I confuse you with another Kamiya-kun?”

He was uncertain if there was more than one Kamiya, but he told her, with the kanji. “Kamiya Koshijiro.”

She traced the characters upon her palm, two times to be sure. She beamed at him. “I’ll remember. And you don’t have to know, but I’m Kyoko. It’s written as ‘mirror’ and ‘child’. I was born when they rang in the new year.”

“Then, I do know and I won’t forget.”

Her blue eyes widened, her mouth parting in surprise. Then, her mother and housekeeper called out their return, and she lowered her voice. “I hope you get better soon.”

“You as well.”

She ducked her head and walked into the nearest room. She was pleasant, he thought, and he hoped her recovery was smooth.

However, he didn’t meet her again until one summer night. He was staying up late, composing a letter to home. Maekawa was snoring in his corner and Kikuhara was buried beneath the covers as well.

“I’m going to sleep.” Hayashi yawned as he pulled a blanket over himself.

“Ah, I’ll blow out the candle.”

“Thanks. If you need to keep writing, the moon’s full.”

“That’s a good idea. Good night.” Koshijiro placed his letter, brush, and ink on a tray, before quietly walking out. He took a seat on the empty, illuminated porch. As he was writing his signature, a soft sound reached his ears. Thinking it was the wind, he glanced at the courtyard, but none of the leaves rustled.

It’s someone whispering. He realized. There was a soft laugh, and he recognized it. After rolling up the letter, he grabbed his shoes from the front and crept closer to the whispering. He saw her hands first, barely peeking out of an open sliding door and clasping a book. She was reading aloud, albeit at a low volume.

He tried not to startle her. “Kyoko-san?”

She gasped and the book snapped shut. The sliding door creaked from her fumbling to close it.

Damn it, he had messed up. Cringing, he motioned for her to wait. “It’s Kamiya, I apologize for disturbing you.”

The creaking stopped. “Kamiya-kun?” Momentarily, she peered out. A pink robe was draped over her shoulders, matching the color in her face. Her two plaits had been traded for a looser one draped over her collarbone. “What are you doing here?”

“I was making use of the moonlight.” He showed her the paper. “This is for my family.”

She relaxed, drawing the robe tighter around herself, and she gave a little smile. “Is it full of good things?”

“Of course. I don’t think either of my parents have been here before.”

“So it’s just to your parents?”

“Yes. And again, I’m sorry I interrupted your reading.”

“It’s alright. I know the story, I was just trying to recall what it was like with my cousin.” She opened the book. “We used to spend evenings like this, reading to each other.”

“It sounds like you miss your cousin.”

“It wasn’t so lonely with her. She’s married now, and I haven’t received any letters. I know she must be busy, but I feel like I was left behind with the books we borrowed.”

A surge of sympathy coursed through him. “Would you like new ones? I will be sending this tomorrow; it’s no issue to visit a book lender while I’m in town.”

“Could you really?” She looked so earnest. “I can repay you.”

“I couldn’t accept payment from my teacher’s daughter.” At that, her eyebrows pinched together, but he was already asking. “What would you like to read?”

“Oh, I’m not picky.” Kyoko paused. “I always like happy endings.”

“Then, I’ll do my best to look for those.”

“Thank you!” If she was this happy at such a promise, she would be ecstatic when he gave her the books. “I’m not going anywhere, so you can meet me here tomorrow night.”

“I will, and good night.”

“Good night.” She was still smiling as she closed the door.

The following afternoon, he finished lessons and left for town. Kikuhara, Hayashi, and Maekawa tagged along, citing errands of their own. After ensuring his letter was on its way to Oyumi, Koshijiro stopped by the nearest book lender. The man eyed him with suspicion as he skimmed through the last pages of each volume.

Maekawa leaned over Koshijiro’s shoulder. “Looking for something in particular?”

“…A happy ending?”

“You can find out when you rent it.” The bookseller flatly said.

“Give us five minutes.” Hayashi tossed over a dull copper coin, as Kikuhara began looking through as well. They found three that Koshijiro believed to be appropriate, and after paying, he was glad to leave.

“Didn’t know you were a reader, Kamiya-kun.” Maekawa remarked.

“It’s been some time since I was motivated to hunt for books.” He was being honest. Kikuhara glanced at him but didn’t say anything.

An hour after dusk, he stuffed his rentals in a small bag and traversed the same path to Kyoko’s room. The door was ajar, and she had not changed for bed, obviously anticipating his visit. She immediately perked up when he came into view.

“Good evening!”

“Good evening. I hope these will do.” Untying the bag, he handed her the books, one by one. She eagerly flipped through them, the color rising in her face. Her behavior was like an energetic student’s, and he smiled. “Have you read any of them before?”

“No…I recognize the author of this one, but these are all new to me. Do you have a favorite of these?”

He blinked. “Um, I haven’t read any of them. But I checked that they fit your requirement.”

“Would you like to take one? I can’t read three at once.” She offered.

“I’m afraid I don’t have the time. Please, enjoy them.”

She hesitated but nodded. “I can’t thank you enough.” She placed the books in a drawer, carefully tucking them under folded kimonos. He was waiting to wish her goodbye, when the door behind her abruptly opened.

“Okaa-san!” Kyoko was about to go to her, but her mother gestured for her to stay where she was. Shio-san then looked to Koshijiro, and she regarded him with clear trepidation.

“You are a student of my husband.”

“Yes, I’m Kamiya. I was-”

“I had the door open because it was too warm. He was walking by and said hello.” From where he was standing, he was unable to see her face although her shoulders were tense.

Koshijiro played along. “That’s right.”

“Oh.” Some of the doubt fled her face, and she stood next to her daughter, stroking her hair. “Have a good evening.”

That was his cue to leave, and he bowed to them. As soon as he turned the corner, he heard the door slam shut. It was not his place to intrude on their family dynamic, he told himself. However, he resolved to find more books the next time he was in town.

In the meantime, he enjoyed his new responsibilities. For half of the day, each senior student was permitted to lead the class. Motomiya-sensei did not interfere, although he was always nearby if anyone had a question. Koshijiro’s adrenaline spiked during his turn, his senses alert and his mind juggling the various tasks and requests sent his way. The anxiety subsided as he became more comfortable, and he readily walked among the students, seeing how he could help. It was during a lull when the class was running smoothly and he had a moment to breathe, that he gazed around and could envision a school of his own. A fierce, visceral longing swept over him, along with a solemn realization.

As much as he missed home, he could only achieve his new dream here.

Summer came to a close. His father wrote of recent events, including the acquisition of a rowdy colt. Otherwise, Koshijiro had missed nothing out of the ordinary. Motomiya-sensei worked on a new kata, which was tricky to learn but elegant to perform. The class was witness to its evolution, and Koshijiro wasn’t the only one impressed by how innovative it was.

Tanabata was celebrated with a festival in town, and Maekawa was eager to attend. “Let’s have a night to ourselves! After all, we have a cowherd right here.” He delivered a friendly smack to Hayashi’s shoulder.

“I just want a drink.” Hayashi shrugged. “Kikuhara, Kamiya, care to join?”

“Sure. I always like the fireworks.” Kikuhara smiled, and Koshijiro agreed.

The night was raucous, full of noise and laughter. The four of them had walked through town, led by Hayashi who was hunting for good sake. They were fortunate to admire the fireworks display from one of the bridges, and cheered on the grand finale of explosive color. After getting past the crowd, they strolled back. Maekawa jauntily sang a tune played at the festival, and Hayashi provided tipsy accompaniment in the form of snapping off time. Kikuhara and Koshijiro trailed behind them, watching with amusement.

“This was fun.” Kikuhara remarked.

“It was. We haven’t been out in a while.”

“That’s right, the last time we were all together was in spring. Speaking of which, how are your books?”

“Oh. Well, they weren’t for me. I gave them to a friend.” Come to think of it, he had not seen Kyoko since that night. How ill was she?

“Your friend must be grateful.”

Then, an irritable Osue opened the gate, telling them to hurry up. Nobody spoke after that, trying to be as quiet as possible and leave their hosts to sleep.

Koshijiro managed to find some respite, but he was restless. Unable to sleep, he quietly exited the room to wash his face. Heavy fog enveloped the outside of the house, and he shook the water off his hands. The slight sound of the drops against the basin echoed. Far off, a bird gave a mournful two-note cry. Overhead, the sky was beginning to lighten with each passing second. And a familiar whispering floated towards him. He couldn’t help feeling relieved as he headed directly for Kyoko’s room. Her silhouette came into view, leaning against her door. She paused in her reading, and her broad smile greeted him once he emerged from the mist.

“Kamiya-kun, it’s been a while.”

“It has. How are you?”

“My joints ache, but I can bear it.”

“Is it too cold now?” Koshijiro thought it wasn’t, but her face was pink.

“It will be later. I want to enjoy the fresh air while I can, without the sun making me itch. At this rate, I’ll only be free in spring and autumn.” She sighed.

“I’ve never heard of such an illness before.”

“It’s rare, from what the doctors told me. I’ve always been easily sick, but this began in winter. They could tell what it was because of this rash in the shape of a butterfly.” She pointed to her cheeks. “And now, my joints are like a grandmother’s. I was told the pain should wane, and it’s hard not knowing exactly when.”

He wryly smiled at her impatience. “Until it does, I can bring you more books. Unless I chose poorly last time.”

“You didn’t! There was something to like in each. Osue already returned them with the others I had, she didn’t suspect. Would you like to hear this new one she found?” She sat down, setting the book in her lap. She had lit up, and it was a welcome change from her earlier frustration.

“If it’s no trouble. You don’t have to start over.”

“Then, I’ll try to summarize.” The plot regarded a Heian prince who had fallen in love with a mysterious woman, to his advisors’ displeasure. Then, Kyoko resumed the story and she gave a different intonation to each character. The minister of the left had a lower pitch than the prince’s huskier cadence, and the noblewoman spoke softly and carefully as befitting her station. Kyoko’s regular voice was reserved for the narration, and though it was a simple tale, Koshijiro liked it. He also liked her acting, that she could bring forth different people with subtle head turns and gestures.

Once she finished the chapter, she paused. “My mother should have completed her morning prayers.”

He had to leave. “I know that the book ends happily.”

“Yes, but it’s not the ending, it’s how the story unfolds.”

“And you portrayed it very well. It was like I was there in court, hundreds of years ago.”

“Thank you.” She smiled.

“Would you continue with the next part if I’m here tomorrow?” He didn’t mind rising early, and this activity obviously restored Kyoko’s spirits. If she could forget her symptoms for a little while, it was worth it.

“Oh, definitely.”

“Then, I’ll see you.”

“See you.” She echoed, and she looked much happier.

Unexpectedly, he saw her that afternoon. She was present at dinner, to serve her father tea. The other students stole glances at her, although Koshijiro felt her eyes on him. Motomiya-sensei drank from the cup without looking at her. “You seem well enough today.”

“I am doing my best to endure.” Kyoko replied, strangely dispassionate.

“Tell your mother you should continue doing this. Work will make you stronger.”

“I have been assisting Osue in the kitchen.”

“She isn’t pushing you hard enough.” Motomiya-sensei clacked his chopsticks together. “You are a young woman now, and you will be someone’s wife in the future. In order to provide for your husband, you need to overcome whatever fresh illness this is.”

“Yes, Otou-san.” Kyoko bowed, excusing herself. She maintained a neutral façade, which cracked when she slowly stood. A brief grimace contorted her features, but she lowered her head and shuffled out of the room.

The scene lingered in his mind, and admittedly, his admiration of his teacher cooled. Motomiya-sensei was undeniably intelligent and the students were drawn to such expertise, but wasn’t that respect superficial? For Koshijiro, he would eventually conclude that knowledge was good, but kindness was better. Motomiya-sensei’s brilliance and dedication came at the cost of terse, strained relationships with his wife and daughter. And out of all the things he learned at the Motomiya Shin dojo, Koshijiro believed that was the most valuable lesson.

***

Two years fled by. At twenty-one, Koshijiro was slightly taller than his father, though Okaa-san remarked she couldn’t tell their broad figures apart when they faced away from her. Although she returned to Sakura without fail, her visits were a little longer each time and she brought some of her pieces to sell. Otou-san tagged along with his own artwork, and the pair strolled through the marketplace, amiably talking. Whatever was between them now, Koshijiro had grown accustomed to it. The comfort of his childhood house became a fond memory, and he was truly at peace with the present.

Homesickness began to accompany him to the dojo, but it faded when he saw the grinning faces of his friends. Wood and bamboo had remained their primary tools, though their use of real blades increased. Years of training had ensured his skill, but the sharp edge usually awoke a sense of caution. He did not prefer steel, but he could use it if necessary. Only Kikuhara outmatched him in dislike for bloodshed; Maekawa and Hayashi believed similar weaponry made for the best defense. The four of them were promoted to assistant instructors, the succession technique a one-handed overhead block. The maneuver’s strength and precision necessitated many hours of practice. They often collapsed in the grass, sprawled out and poking fun at each other’s mistakes.

He should have been tired all the time, but he never was when listening to Kyoko. Chapter by chapter, volume by volume, they had continued their book exchange. She did like happy endings, but with time, her tastes ventured bittersweet and the plots became more complicated. After Kyoko found a place to stop reading, they typically spent a few minutes to discuss. He leaned against the house’s exterior, out of the scope of her vision yet still close enough to converse, and she paced the length of her room.

“I like the story so far, but I feel like there’s something foreboding. I’m not sure if I trust Lady Beni.” She referred to the heroine’s aunt.

“She was very rattled when she lost sight of her niece for an hour. I keep remembering that; it was like we saw her true colors for a moment.”

“Yes, I thought it was odd. I wonder if she has an ulterior motive.”

“Money is my guess. Her late husband was in debt, the main family branch is wealthy, and there is only one heir who is conveniently unmarried.”

“Mm, that makes sense.”

“What do you think?”

She brought her thumb to her mouth, rubbing her bottom lip. “I’d like to look back. Maybe, I can find a hint in an earlier chapter. Although…I have the feeling she’s envious. What she’ll do about it, I’m not sure. Nothing too sinister, I hope.”

“We will have to see as the story continues.”

“Of course.” Then, she slipped on her shoes and walked onto the grass. “I’m going to take a walk.”

He stepped aside to let her through. Recently, she had been well enough to stroll around the house with a parasol. During practice, she would greet the students in the presence of Motomiya-sensei and Shio-san. When she came to Koshijiro, they could address each other properly. As with any other student, her voice was gentle yet unwavering. He was polite in turn, giving her due respect as his master’s daughter.

Now, he followed an arm’s length behind her. She glanced at him, her expression mystified. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then, why are you so far away?”

“It wouldn’t be appropriate to walk with you.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. Then, she deliberately stepped towards him.

He moved back a similar distance, but for every step of his, she took two to catch up to him. It was his turn to be perplexed. “Um, Kyoko-san?”

“If I’m going to talk to you, I’d rather do it face to face.” She said. “Otherwise, how can my words reach you? Aren’t we friends? Or did that change, now that my parents aren’t around?”

“…No, you’re right. We speak face to face around your parents.” Embarrassed, he walked beside her. “For me, a friend was usually another student. Not that I didn’t think of you as a friend, but our meetings have always been different. I suppose I’m not used to a change in routine.”

“A friend is a friend, Kamiya-kun. I didn’t ask you to move in the past, because I thought you were comfortable next to the door. But now that I’m feeling better, I don’t want you to treat me any different when it’s just us.”

“Then, should I talk about kenjutsu?”

She laughed. “Talk about whatever you want. I’ll listen, like you have with me.”

He didn’t talk about kenjutsu, not directly at least. A plaintive dog’s howl reminded him of the earliest days of his childhood, and his tongue freed the quaint memories. Kyoko was quietly attentive, occasionally giggling or humming in sympathy. The move to his father’s house remained unspoken, as the rising sun signaled an end to their outing.

“I never knew you grew up in the country. And your parents truly care for you. They’re kind. Have you ever thought of writing these memories down?”

“I have, but time is the limiting factor. I don’t know if I have the talent to write eloquently either.”

“It doesn’t have to be eloquent. It’s your story, so that means it’s you. Even if no one else reads it, I would.” She had the most beautiful smile. Had it always been so?

“R-right.” He coughed. “I should go. Have a good day.” Her response washed over him, as he hurried to the dojo. His ears burned, and he stumbled over a jutting tree root.

He was probably getting sick again.

Oddly, the feeling ebbed during practice and he wasn’t feverish at all. That summer, they hosted a group from another school. Kyoko appeared in the middle of a water break, setting down a basket of senbei. The students crowded around, grabbing the seasoned rice crackers. Koshijiro had allowed the younger boys to go ahead of him, so he was among the last. As he approached, he spotted an unfamiliar teenager grinning next to Kyoko. He was rather excitable, his gestures wide and almost hitting her. She smiled but glanced at her father, who was in deep conversation with the visiting head instructor.

Koshijiro was nudged, and Maekawa said. “Hey, do you want your share?” As he offered a cracker, the teachers came over. The student was introduced to both Maekawa and Koshijiro, and his sparring ability was praised before the other instructor turned to Kyoko.

“And this is your daughter, Motomiya-sensei? She’s quite the young lady! Thank you for the senbei.”

“You’re welcome. I hope everyone enjoys them and that the rest of practice goes well.” She bowed and excused herself, the teenager’s eyes obviously following her as she exited. And Koshijiro was very irked.

They had matches in the afternoon, meant to be friendly but soon became competitive among the older students. Koshijiro hadn’t participated yet, deferring to his classmates. The number of remaining contestants whittled down, until the teenager stepped up. No one from the Motomiya Shin dojo was responding; Koshijiro attempted to remember who else was left on their side of the room. He registered Maekawa’s murmur. “Here’s your chance!” And he was thrust into the middle of the floor. Flashing a disgruntled look at his merry friend, he rolled his shoulders and readied his shinai.

To put it bluntly, it was a sound thrashing. For all of the earlier praise, his opponent was disturbingly simple to beat. Or maybe, Koshijiro was just particularly motivated. After the match was called in his favor, he was glad to curtly bow and disappear in the crowd of his class. He won, but he was still irritated when he remembered that face beside Kyoko’s.

What was wrong with him? He had no right to be so possessive of their friendship. He needed advice, and he didn’t want to ask anyone who already knew Kyoko. So, he wrote a letter to Otou-san, explaining what happened. Something in him sought guidance, and Otou-san’s strength was in social charisma. The reply was swift.

Koshijiro, what you are experiencing is love.

He immediately crumpled the letter. After a second, he undid his work and read it again.

I have a hunch that you’re like your mother when it comes to this, so my advice is to stay calm and not push her away. I know you always err on the side of propriety, but if you bring up too many walls, you will shut her out. Remember your father can help you, should you be confused.

He fed the message to a lantern, though the words had already been seared into his mind. He decided that he would behave like he always had. Regardless of his emotions, they were still friends.

And friends did not dream of kissing each other. Pink mouth, long lashes, pale throat. Hands tracing through his hair, upon his jawline and shoulders. Koshijiro woke to extreme discomfort, appalled at what his imagination had created and mortified that he hadn’t hated it. Over the wash basin, he repeatedly slapped his cheeks. Surely, he looked a mess when he walked to Kyoko’s door. He had briefly considered not going, but the thought of disappointing her outweighed his shame. Returning her greeting and taking a position under the shade of an oak tree, he tried to bury the memory in the deep recesses of his mind.

It was a losing battle. She was acting out the heroine, who she especially liked because the character’s personality was close to her own. In this chapter, the heroine was fussing over a poem from her beloved. With every languid smile and glint of inspiration, the dream resurfaced. He knew he was averting direct eye contact, yet he couldn’t stop himself. He broke out into a sweat and he used his threadbare handkerchief to wipe his face. No wonder he had mistaken love for a sickness. Kyoko noticed his fidgeting and broke off mid-sentence.

“It’s the heat, isn’t it? I can bring you some water.” Before he could protest, she was already heading out. He wrung the damp cloth in his hands, ashamed of how self-destructive he was, until she returned. “Here you are.”

The cup was brimming, drops of water trailing down the lacquered surface. Very carefully, he accepted it and she brushed his knuckles. Her touch was like lightning and it took all of his effort not to flinch. She sat next to him, her presence emanating the faint scent of the peonies growing by the kitchen. And worry. It couldn’t continue like this.

Don’t shut her out.

He grasped that knowledge and held on. He inhaled. One, two. Three. The internal turmoil receded, and he was able to meet her gaze. “Sorry. I wasn’t feeling like myself, but…I’m better now. Thank you.”

She blinked, still concerned. “You’re welcome, Kamiya-kun. If you ever feel that way again, let me know and I’ll do my best to help you. I’m not going anywhere.” Her remark turned out to be true, but he could not say the same.

Four black ships sailed into Edo Bay, and the reaction was of terror and suspicion. A foreign incursion seemed imminent, and after multiple demanding letters to the dojo, every student was to be sent home. Motomiya-sensei solemnly addressed them as he closed out their last class.

“Whether you’ve been learning in this dojo for ten days or ten years, you are all students of Motomiya Shin. My part in your journey ends here; it is up to you to refine your knowledge and make full use of your potential. I wish you all safe travels, and that you will live well regardless of what happens.”

Admittedly, Koshijiro’s throat closed as he was overcome with emotion. He still respected Motomiya-sensei as his teacher, and he was incredibly grateful for the experience he had gained. When, the class bowed as one, it felt final.

Motomiya-sensei later spoke to each student individually. To Koshijiro, he said. “If there is a time of peace, see if you can return. I would not want to tear you away from a better opportunity in your hometown, but if you are willing, plenty of students would gladly seek you as their teacher in a new dojo.”

In other words, Motomiya-sensei’s offer was to start a school. It was a dream tantalizingly out of reach. Koshijiro resented the current instability. “I will definitely consider your offer, it’s what I was hoping for. Your generosity means a great deal, and I won’t easily forget. Goodbye, Motomiya-sensei.”

“Goodbye, Kamiya-kun.”

He had one last dinner with Maekawa, Hayashi, and Kikuhara. The flow of alcohol was conservative this time, for Kikuhara did not want to travel with a hangover.

“What are you going to do in Echigo?” Hayashi mixed seven spice powder into the remainder of his soba noodles.

“I’m thinking of starting my own school, based on my previous experience and what I have attained from Motomiya Shin. My family has a small building that I am allowed to use. If any of you want to join me, you can.”

Maekawa shook his head. “I have to decline. I’m thinking of getting married.”

“Huh?!” Their jaws collectively dropped.

“It’s about time, and I have my eye on someone. Wish me luck!” He raised his cup and drained it. “As for kenjutsu, I’ll continue teaching in my father’s school of Chuuetsu. But I want to add my own style. I prefer using shinai and bokken; there’s no point in getting hurt during practice.”

“I’m going to start my own school. Give me four walls and I can make it happen.” His confidence was enviable. They then turned to Koshijiro.

“That’s what I want as well. I may help out in the dojos in my hometown first, to save up. Hopefully, that will be within the next ten years.” He set down his chopsticks. He would have to trust in hard work and commitment.

“Definitely before then. The same goes for the rest of us.”

“If that’s so, let’s become full-fledged head instructors together.” Kikuhara smiled.

“Sounds like a promise!” Maekawa split the leftover sake into their cups.

The clink of porcelain accompanied their hearty toast. “Cheers!”

On the morning of his departure, he maintained his routine and went to Kyoko’s doorway. She was already up, absent-mindedly turning pages of the book they had been reading together. When he waved, she looked ready to applaud. “I didn’t know if you wouldn’t come today.”

“Well, we can’t leave this story unfinished.”

Kyoko was radiant. “Let’s skim through.”

They sat on the threshold and rushed through the last three chapters, figuring out the general fates of the characters. Koshijiro believed the author had done a satisfactory job, and he was about to say so when Kyoko abruptly made for her wooden chest. She brought out a handkerchief, and smiling, she pressed it into his hands.

“Uh…this is for me?” How articulate. Damn it.

“Yes, I finished it in time today.” The cloth was dark blue and white cross stitches were sewn throughout in an irregular pattern. “It’s the night sky over Takaoka. At least, when I thought of the idea. Is it too big?”

“No, it’s perfect. I can take a part of your home with me. Thank you.” He neatly folded the handkerchief and tucked the square into his gi. “I will take good care of it.”

“Please take care of yourself too.” She tucked her braids behind her ears, her voice sorrowful. “I really enjoyed reading to you.”

Kyoko’s sadness made his own heart ache. A hero from books would have cupped her cheek, telling her not to cry. But he wasn’t a hero, just an awkward man who couldn’t even endure a glance from her. He cleared his throat. “I enjoyed listening to you. And meeting you. It was fun.”

“I wish…” She clamped her lips together. “Never mind. I don’t want to make you late.” She turned away to step back into her room, but she stumbled. Koshijiro acted on reflex, catching her wrist. The rational part of him said it was a mistake, the irrational part said absolutely not. The nerves in his arm were alight, and he almost missed her holding the door’s edge.

“Are you alright?”

“Y-yes.” At her answer, he let go. He hoped he hadn’t caressed her. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” And with a leaden tongue, he added. “Goodbye, Kyoko-san.”

“Goodbye, Kamiya-kun. Travel safely.” She ducked inside, giving him a brilliant smile before gently closing the door. He lingered, a little dazed, before trudging towards the gate.

Shio-san emerged from around the corner. She’d obviously been listening, and Koshijiro’s gut plunged. She did not speak at first. Her assessment was deliberate, pale eyes scouring him from head to toe. At last, her lips drew tight and Koshijiro was nervous, before she sighed. “I was wrong. You are kind to my daughter. Thank you.” Shio-san gave a nod, and steering clear of him, she retreated into the house. He wondered how much she had known of his and Kyoko’s friendship. Had she noticed his growing affection for Kyoko?

***

Koshijiro was welcomed home by his father and the rest of the household. While traveling, he had purchased gifts and distributed them accordingly. For the retainers, fresh whetstones. For the maids, mortars and pestles. For Otou-san, a set of higher-quality brushes. For Oichi, a new pan and ohagi. She smiled at the sweet treat and pointed to the top of his head, indicating he had grown taller. Sheepishly, he also gave her a scarf for his old teacher and a promise to showcase what he’d learned.

With the increasing militarization, it was safer for Koshijiro and Otou-san to travel to his mother instead. Okaa-san was pleasantly surprised, and she hurriedly cleared space for them. Nevertheless, her lodgings were noticeably more cramped with three people. While Otou-san sketched and Okaa-san worked at her loom, he dried his forehead and neck.

“That’s a fancy handkerchief.” Okaa-san commented.

He almost jumped in realization, as a section of the Takaoka night sky was in his hand. “It was a gift from Motomiya-sensei’s daughter.”

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows. “You’ve only mentioned her a few times, so I thought she was a little girl. The handiwork makes me think otherwise.”

“She’s seventeen.”

“Hmm. What did you get her?”

“What do you mean?”

Okaa-san’s expression was of utter disappointment. “When you receive an item, especially from a young lady, you give a gift in return.”

Damn it, he really was terrible. “I should have. I’ll think of something, if things settle down and I see her again.”

Quiet fell over them. None of them embraced the prospect of war. The leader of the Americans had sworn they would return, and fortifications were in development. The rumor was that Edo would soon have cannons and warships. If the shogun didn’t open the borders to trade, they would have to defend.

“I like her.” Okaa-san suddenly said.

“Huh?”

“I can tell she’s a very careful and creative person.”

“You’re only saying that because of her embroidery.” He muttered. He was fervently trying not to look at his father.

“You can tell a lot about someone from their craft.” Her retort was indignant. “Don’t you feel the same about your kenjutsu?”

“…That’s fair.”

Adding a smooth ink stroke to the paper, Otou-san chuckled. “It holds true for painting as well.”

Koshijiro nodded, while his mother said. “I agree. I also heard that from the artists in Nakajima.” This caused them to look at her, so she clarified. “I was born there. Another forgotten child, left on the streets. Then, I hopped on a cart, traveling to a little town not far from Edo…and well, the rest is known.”

“I never knew.” Otou-san’s tone was gentle. “You never spoke of your life before we met.”

She shrugged. “If I had family there, I wouldn’t know. But I have the two of you. That’s all I need.”

They made the most of their visit, enjoying the autumn weather. Koshijiro purchased a cheap kite and had fun in flying it, though his father was the best at tricky maneuvers. The bright red paper spun and whirled, as nimble as a phoenix. Okaa-san’s encouraging laughter was like its song. Afterwards, Otou-san went to the market to buy materials and escort Okaa-san to a midwife requesting her help. Believing he was alone, Koshijiro cleaned his swords. However, his mother returned early and she stared for a moment at the gleaming metal. But she didn’t flinch.

He apologized anyway, sheathing the blades. “Sorry, Okaa-san.”

“It’s fine.” She blew out a breath. “I’ve made my peace with it, because it’s what makes you content and secure. I trust you. And didn’t I tell you I wanted you to live well?” Her mouth quirked. “Anyway, what’s the name of the young lady?”

“You’re not very subtle.” That made her laugh. “Kyoko-san. She thinks you’re kind.”

“You told her about me? Well, I would like to meet her someday. If possible.” She added. Koshijiro hoped so too.

It was always sad to part, but this time, it was accompanied with uncertainty. No one was eager to say goodbye first.

“Please look after yourself, Okaa-san.” Koshijiro thought she looked small, the gray in her hair more prominent. “And we’ll write.”

“Don’t hesitate to contact us. We can rush over if there is trouble.” Otou-san was completely serious.

She sighed, but her wry smile gave her away. “I know you would. I’ll be thinking of you both.” She embraced Koshijiro, and her frame was warm. Then, she turned to Otou-san and did the same. He gingerly touched her shoulder, before holding her. The moment of open tenderness was like a sunbeam. When Okaa-san extracted herself, they were red-faced but Koshijiro pretended he hadn’t noticed. As they headed off in the cart, she even offered a little wave. They returned the gesture, watching her disappear.

But all good things ended. The Ansei era began that month, and shortly after, so did the disasters.

***

The first earthquake caused the ocean to rise along the coastline. Their house was further inland, but the destruction shocked Koshijiro. Houses reduced to splinters, boats crushed, and the urgent, despairing shouts of the citizens. He and Otou-san assisted in the seemingly infinite repairs. Wherever they worked, salt hung in the air. He was so busy, he wasn’t aware there was a second until months later. Then, the third struck Edo and the reverberations hit them as well. His memory of it was fragmented. Otou-san, urging everyone out of the house and into the yard. The ground violently rolling underneath him, tiles sliding off the roof and shattering. The needling thought, that they might not survive. But they did, despite the ruin and fire and ensuing panic.

Then, cholera spread. Koshijiro contracted the illness and decades later, his memories of that time were hazy. It was probably for the best. The aftermath was what mattered.

His father was frail but alive. Most of their servants made a full recovery, with a handful in a similar condition as Otou-san. Oichi was among the unaffected, and though she nursed the household, she visited her father every day. However, it wasn’t enough. The day after Koshijiro was free from his sickbed, there was a note waiting for him. Oichi’s handwriting was blotchy.

Going to burn the house.

By the time he arrived, the place was already smoldering timber and ash. The smoke prevented him from getting any closer and stung his eyes. And the smell…

“Sensei! Oichi-san!” He was adrift in eerie silence. Unable to tolerate the cremation any longer, he traced his steps back home. There, he waited for Oichi, but she never showed. The healthiest individuals were ordered to look for her, in case she had run into trouble. Strangely, nobody could find her. The search continued; ultimately, they were left to a grim conclusion. She had simply vanished, like so many people had in this chaos. But they had not found her dead and that was some comfort. Whenever she resurfaced, Koshijiro would welcome her back and honor the kindness she and her father had shown him.

I will make you proud, Sensei. Everything you taught me, I will pass on to my students because I am your legacy. Right? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything now, of who would live or die. And his first teacher wasn’t even given a proper burial, only fire. Fire.

Okaa-san’s letters throughout his childhood were in Sensei’s house. Now, they were sparks in the wind.

Okaa-san.

Koshijiro scrambled to his feet, grabbing his swords and steering his horse to the road. Had Sakura been affected? It was already a year since they visited her, the disaster recovery impeding travel and increasing work on both sides. Even her recent letter was perfunctory, that the group had a big project and she couldn’t wait to share the details with him and Otou-san. He spoke to the closest servant. “Tell my father I’m going to Sakura.” The dust swirled in his wake.

He felt like he was half conscious and half not. Sound and sensation were dull, yet he was hyperaware of his pulse in his ears. The heartbeat swelled to a roar as he spotted the boarded buildings of the street where Okaa-san lived. He stopped at hers and through the cracks, it was apparently dark and vacant. He dismounted, heard his voice repeating. “No. No. No.”

A flicker of movement appeared in his peripheral vision, and he turned to see a gaunt girl. She was standing across the street, clutching a shawl around her shoulders. She averted eye contact but he called out.

“There’s a woman who lives here. Her name is Miyo and I am her son. Can you tell me where she is?” Once he asked, he read the answer in her face.

His mother was no longer in this world.

“She was the first in our group to get sick. We would have taken care of her…but it was already too late. She told us that if her family came, she wanted them to know she loves them and she wished she could see you again.”

Koshijiro had too many questions, and his voice failed him multiple times, before he finally forced out a single one. “Did she suffer?”

“Not for long. I’m sorry.” A nervous bow, and she scurried off.

Somehow, he rode to the temple where they had reunited seven years ago. They did have an urn of her remains, and it was cold in his hands. As if on puppet strings, his tongue moved to express gratitude and his fingers lit a stick of incense in offering before he left Sakura for good. He numbly held the reins and his face was raw from the speed of travel, but he barely registered anything. His surroundings blurred together, until his father materialized before him. Otou-san took one look at him and fell to his knees.

They buried the urn in a simple grave, the marker bearing the two characters of her name. She deserved far more. Afterwards, grief consumed him. He hadn’t been there for her, she had died alone. He should have gone to Sakura earlier. What kind of son was he? All that was left of his willful mother was ash…and himself. That must be why Otou-san had locked himself away in his room. Koshijiro had no strength to break the barrier. Maybe she was the bridge that kept their family together. Maybe Otou-san couldn’t bear to look at the child who reminded him of the woman he loved. Maybe Koshijiro had renewed his resentment for his father, for not making her stay last year, seventeen years, twenty-two years ago.

The longest week of their lives passed. Otou-san emerged, ragged and weary. Koshijiro believed he appeared the same way. Silently, they burned incense at Okaa-san’s grave and prayed for her soul. His father spoke first.

“I spoke to my superiors; I am going to check on your siblings. I haven’t heard from them at all.” Now that leadership had capitulated, foreign trade was permitted, and the threat of war had fizzled. Otou-san looked at him. “Will you be joining me?”

“No.” They could have written, and it wasn’t his responsibility to look after their well-being, he darkly thought.

“Then what will you do?”

“I’m allowed a week off. I’m going to Takaoka.” Motomiya-sensei hadn’t written either. He was worried about Kyoko; she would be vulnerable to the ravages of cholera.

“I understand, you should go. Koshijiro.” His father’s hand clasped his shoulder, and Koshijiro saw the desperation in his gaze. “Be careful. Please.”

He swallowed the emotion rising in his throat. “Be careful too, Otou-san.”

Those were the last words they’d exchange in person for a number of years. He would learn that contact had been lost with Otsuna, and Kinutake’s work necessitated guidance, but neither he nor his father expected to be apart for such a long time. They might have tried to speak longer if they had.

When Koshijiro returned to the Motomiya Shin dojo, he noticed it was unusually quiet for midday. The surrounding greenery had shriveled into brown stalks, and dead branches crackled underfoot as he approached the gate. He knocked. “It’s Kamiya Koshijiro. I’m here to check in. Is anyone home?”

No answer. He considered calling out again, when the faint sliding noise of the bolt reached his ears. The gate opened, and he stilled, pulse pounding.

Kyoko had lost weight, her cheekbones prominent and the rash even more so. Thin fingers clutched unbound hair. Eyes wide, she inhaled sharply. “You’re here. You’re really here.”

“I am.” He was terribly concerned; she looked worn out. “Do you need help?”

“Oh. Oh, yes. I…it’s been hard.”

He hadn’t heard any other voices, and he looked around as he entered the courtyard. It was in no better state than outside. “Kyoko-san, were you home alone?”

A sob immediately pulled him back to her. “They’re gone. Both of them.” Kyoko dropped her face into her palms, and her shoulders trembled. “Otou-san was heading out to teach, Okaa-san wanted to buy something in town. Then, the earthquake…I caught up to them. I saw them on the side of the road. There was a tree…” She stopped talking.

Motomiya-sensei was dead. Shio-san was dead.

Koshijiro reached out to her, caught himself, and dropped his hand. “You don’t have to say any more. What about Osue?”

“She just stepped out. She should be home soon.” Her choked voice was muffled. “They were holding on to each other. I still can’t believe it…”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He forced out the next words. “My mother died from cholera.”

“I’m sorry too.” The wind picked up, making her shiver, and they went inside.

He lit incense at the little altar Kyoko had set up. For Shio-san, mysterious to the end. For Motomiya-sensei, who still elicited a conflicting opinion from Koshijiro. He felt numb. Too many lives had been taken in a short period, without time to process. Kyoko surely felt the same way. The rooms were disorganized, uprooted for the funerals and left alone since.

“My father’s cousin inherited the house. He’s allowing me to stay until the one hundred days are over.” She rubbed at her eyes. “I don’t know what to do…and I’m not feeling well again.”

“Then, I am glad I stopped by. If there is anything you need help with, let me know. We can take it step by step, and you can decide when you’re feeling better.”

“Yes.” Kyoko seemed to remember herself, quickly shaking her head. “You came all this way, I can’t let you leave empty-handed.” She squared her shoulders, prepared to rummage through the clutter.

He declined, reassuring her. “You don’t have to. I’ll return on my days off, for as long as I am able.” His honesty sent her on a fresh wave of emotion, and she could only nod.

In the following weeks, he focused on providing assistance. He was an old hand, greatly relieving Osue. And the labor gave him time to reflect. There would always be a sore spot in his heart where his mother used to be, but she had always wanted him to live well. As her son and even though he would miss her, he could honor her memory best by remembering her words and acting in ways she’d be proud of. Some days, he truly believed this; other days, he was wracked with sorrow. But he continued to put one foot in front of the other and keep moving. Slowly, the latter days decreased in number and the pressure of grief relented.

Kyoko was worse off. Stress had caused her illness to flare. Her chest pain was new, and it was so severe that she couldn’t take a deep breath. Talking was limited, which mentally wounded her as well. Osue was chattier than usual, but it wasn’t enough.

After the housekeeper exited Kyoko’s room, Koshijiro was waiting. He sat across from the door, book in his hands, and read aloud to her. He had none of Kyoko’s talent, each character indistinguishable from the next and he sometimes had to break for air in the middle of a good paragraph. He was definitely not entertaining at all, which was why he maintained focus on the pages. Halfway through the chapter, he gathered the courage to glance up at her. Kyoko had her hands pressed to her mouth, and she looked at him as if every word he spoke was a jewel.

Gradually, she recovered and insisted on working by Osue’s side. She knew her limits, but she marked her improvement, and if she hadn’t, she swore ‘tomorrow will be better’. It was at the end of one taxing day that she unraveled the knot of her distress.

“There were things left unfinished. Once, my parents were close. From what my mother said, she was in a group of people shipped from Ezo, and he bought all of their freedom. She stayed, they married. But the dojo grew and Okaa-san’s babies weren’t carried to term until me. Along the way, they stopped talking. I thought it was Otou-san’s fault at first, but I’m not so sure anymore. He was trying to protect Okaa-san in his last moments, and I don’t know what to think. And I blame myself too. If I was well, they could have talked without snapping at each other.”

“You shouldn’t blame yourself.” He automatically said. “Your condition is something even the doctors can’t decipher. Nevertheless, I’ve seen you persevere, how much you strive for your goals. That’s admirable.”

“Thank you.” She whispered.

Her gratitude flustered him, but he continued. “As for your parents, I may understand.” And he told her everything. His siblings, his introduction to kenjutsu, his search for his mother. The reconciliation, the short wonderful times as a family again. Kyoko listened to his past, and when he finally ran out of breath, she reached out to touch his sleeve.

“You trust me with your story?”

“I do, although I don’t know if I’ve told you all of it.”

“I don’t mind. There are some parts of a story that aren’t written. But in yours, your mother lives on.”

“And your parents live on in your own.”

“That’s true.” Her smile was bittersweet, yet still beautiful.

The sun warmed the earth, the plants sprouted, and life returned to the house. A few of the nearby students visited, praying for the deceased. Kikuhara did as well, confiding he needed to get away from Echigo.

That worried Koshijiro. “Did something happen?”

“It’s not serious. That person needs to continue his family line. I just need time for my heart to catch up.” Kikuhara’s mouth was a taut line, and Koshijiro awkwardly clapped his shoulder.

“I’ll listen if you need to vent.”

“There won’t be much of that. It’s kind of you to offer.” Kikuhara seemed down for a while, but Koshijiro provided distraction through practice rounds and discussions of kenjutsu. It was reminiscent of their days as students. And Kikuhara began to smile again.

During a rainy afternoon, an unfamiliar, middle-aged man arrived. Kyoko welcomed him with familiarity. From the snatches of conversation he overheard, Koshijiro presumed it was the cousin who had once taken care of the house during Motomiya-sensei’s stint in Oyumi. They spoke privately, before he left a contemplative Kyoko.

Koshijiro would have asked if she was alright, but he faltered. If he spoke to her, he would have to mention the news he’d received. Due to an unfortunate accidental death, he was being promoted, to a position equal to his father’s. With an increase in salary, his duties would expand, and he could no longer spend every weekend away. His time was running out. After the dishes were cleared, he was in the old guest room and staring at a blank piece of paper when Kikuhara came in.

“Having trouble writing a response?”

“It is hard to pretend that I’m not reluctant to leave.”

Kikuhara folded his arms. “Are you planning on bringing Kyoko-san with you?”

He cringed. “Was it obvious?”

“Well, I suspected ever since you borrowed the first book. That’s not to say I disapprove, though a life with her wouldn’t be an easy one.” Kikuhara slowly said. “But I know you, Kamiya-kun. You would never abandon anyone, especially not the beloved daughter of the teacher we studied under for years.”

A new voice joined the conversation. “And those years now seem so short.” Hayashi entered, travel-worn and smirking as he moved to the other side of Koshijiro. He was fresh out of his hometown, here to pay respects.

“Is everyone in your household well?” Koshijiro inquired.

“Everyone who’s still there. I’m no longer married. She requested to return to her family and care for them, but she decided to stay there. There’s no point in making her stay if she doesn’t want to and my mother was very overbearing towards her.” Hayashi conceded. He rarely spoke of his parents, but Koshijiro had the impression that they were quite controlling. It probably factored into why Hayashi was unbothered by the lack of any children.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Hayashi shrugged. “What’s done is done. Anyway, what’s with you and Kyoko-san?” He must have been eavesdropping before barging in.

“Nothing official.” Koshijiro hastily replied. “My only desire is for her to be happy.”

Exasperation crossed Hayashi’s features. “You make her happy. And happiness isn’t a prerequisite for marriage. So, what are you waiting for?”

“We’ve both lost family. It’s better with every month, but I want to be sure that Kyoko is ready.”

“You have a point.” Kikuhara agreed. “But the longer Kyoko-san stays in this house with only her housekeeper and male students, that wouldn’t be proper. It could cause her further anguish.”

Koshijiro wrestled with the conflicting choices, before he stopped himself. He was considering what to do when he hadn’t even spoken to Kyoko yet. And the decision was rightfully hers. He stood. “Thank you, Kikuhara-kun, Hayashi-kun.” He heard them laughing as he walked away, to meet Kyoko.

She wasn’t in her room, the dining room, or the kitchen. He peeked into the courtyard, and there she was, looking contemplative by the jasmine. She was spinning a fallen blossom between her fingertips. They exchanged pleasantries, before he conveyed his promotion.

She breached the question. “Will you be leaving soon?”

“I have to.” He paused, steadying himself.

However, Kyoko spoke first. “I was going to announce it at dinner, but I was too nervous. I’ll tell you now. I made a deal with my relative to sell the estate and the dojo. It’s better for another teacher to use the latter, and he could have the rooms for his family.”

He blinked in surprise. “What about you? Where will you go?”

“I plan to help my cousin with her family. It took some convincing.” She rubbed her swollen knuckles. “I don’t want to be a burden; I could earn my keep.”

“Is that your only option?”

“Join a sisterhood of nuns?” She wryly smiled before ducking her head. “What I really want probably won’t happen.”

“Could you tell me? I won’t laugh.”

After a few seconds, she murmured. “A house filled with love.”

“Wherever you are, it will happen.”

“You sound so sure.”

“Because you are easy to love.” At that, she looked up at him, surprised and hopeful. He took a deep breath, prepared to leap. “I’m not very good at this and I don’t have much to offer, but I’ll do my best to give you the happiness you deserve. Kyoko-san, do you want to see the cherry blossoms in Oyumi?”

“This year?”

“This year, and every year after.”

She drew a sharp breath in realization, and then to his surprise, she began to cry. Fat tears welled up from her gaze, brushed away by her sleeve. His stomach dropped and he felt terrible at how he must have upset her, until her hand shoved against his shoulder. “Kamiya-kun…I’ve been waiting forever to hear that!”

“So...you’re not upset?”

“Of course not!” She laughed, despite her tears. “I’ve always thought about you from the start. But you know about my health. Is it really alright if it’s me?”

“It can’t be anyone else but you.” He said honestly.

Her smile grew even wider, and then, she surprised him, with a quick peck on the lips. Her mouth was soft, and the thrill of sensation caused his face to instantly burn. Hand in hand, they returned to the house and joyously shared the news.

The Kamiya house became their new home, and they married in autumn. The wedding was a reserved affair, with only close friends in attendance. Maekawa brought his quiet new bride; Hayashi and Kikuhara insisted on arranging the food and drink. His father sent a painting of the full moon over maple branches, which Koshijiro grudgingly admitted was beautiful. Osue shed many tears, promising to help the newlyweds settle in. He remembered the firm claps on his shoulders and back, the hearty toasts to the couple. During the reception, the rest of the men kept refilling his sake cup, but he kept glancing towards Kyoko. Her white hood shone in the midst of varyingly hued kimonos. He wondered what the women were whispering to her, their voices too soft to make out. Every so often, a ripple of laughter would run through them.

Finally, he couldn’t endure the separation any longer. He went over to the group and the women quieted, as he offered his hand to Kyoko. She readily took it, and a collective cheer ushered them out. Koshijiro was embarrassed, and he did his best to ignore the uproar. Glancing at Kyoko, he noticed her blush had deepened as well.

“Let’s sit outside for a while.” He suggested, and she quickly agreed.

“Yes, that would be nice.”

He strode past the futon in their room, instead opening the sliding door to the porch. Kyoko removed her hood and the pins in her hair before joining him. The muffled noise of their wedding party broke the relative silence.

“It’s been a long day.” Koshijiro attempted to make conversation.

“It has.” She smiled. “Unforgettable too. I’m happy to be your wife.”

His chest squeezed, and the feeling was sweet. “And I’m honored to be your husband.” They sat on the porch in content silence, watching the red leaves fall.

***

They settled into a new routine, learning to live together. True to her word, Osue stayed to assist Kyoko, who was appreciative of the aid and the comfort of her company. The elderly woman also ensured the quality of Koshijiro’s household tasks. Kyoko had tried to stop him from washing dishes, but he insisted that it was only fair because she cooked most of the time. They walked to the marketplace together, with a parasol to shield her from the sun, and blissfully conversed about mundane details. He instructed at the Motomiya Shin branch, and from teaching and police work, he was able to build a little bathhouse for her. In return, she showed him a book, most of the pages empty. Towards the beginning, she had written what he’d told her of his past, and was starting on her own. It was their story, and the last half would be saved for their life together.

After a year, they decided to try for a child. However, by their third year of marriage, there was no luck. They heard suggestions ranging from drinking fertility concoctions to making offerings to the temple to divorce. Koshijiro blew up at the doctor who suggested the last, that if he had nothing useful to offer, he should have stayed silent, and that he was lower than a ronin, who at least retained some loyalty. He remembered towering over the man, the heat in his own face, and how raw his throat felt. Kyoko had grabbed his arm, tugging him out of the clinic and imploring him to stop.

When his breathing evened, he found a worried Kyoko sitting across from him. She placed a cup of water in his hands, which he immediately drained, and she waited for him to speak first.

“I have a temper. I knew it was wrong to yell, and I shouldn’t have.”

“Any wife would be happy that her husband defends her, but you did scare me. If we had a child, would you ever yell like that?”

He flinched, as if he had been struck. “I would never! You know what happened to me when I was a child.”

“I didn’t mean you would do it on purpose.” She quickly said. “But I’ve never seen you like that before. You looked so furious, not like the man I know. I want to have your child, I really do. But if the gods do not intend that for us, we can follow the Maekawas’ example.”

“I don’t expect any distant Kamiya relative to offer any child to us.” The words were bitter, despite himself.

“Then, we can ask someone else. Even if we only have students, we can treat them like our own.”

She was right. He reached over the table and clasped her hand. Meeting her gaze, he apologized. “I’m sorry I scared you. It won’t happen again; I swear on my life. Can you forgive me?”

She smiled, and she was beautiful. “I forgive you.”

Their relationship was all the stronger, and around their fourth anniversary, Kyoko quietly told him that she had missed her bleeding. He had immediately embraced her, both breathless with anticipation.

Kyoko spoke first. “It’s still early. Fertile women usually have fertile daughters. The opposite could be true, in my case. But I’m hoping. I hope this is a child that will live.”

He lifted one hand to cup her cheek. He could see the veins under her skin, the blue lines stark, and he held her a little tighter.

Upon hearing the news, Osue excitedly doled out advice on how to care for a newborn, and it was enough that Koshijiro transcribed her words, for fear that he’d miss something important. His days were spent teaching, but once the dojo was closed, all of his attention belonged to Kyoko. She sewed tiny garments for the baby and at night, she read aloud folk tales. The brave samurai’s daughter, the boy born from a peach, a mischievous tanuki. “The baby calms down when I read.” She admitted with a laugh. She had felt the little one stirring, and though she found the sensation peculiar, she was delighted that it was so energetic.

Koshijiro listened along, the stress and worry melting with his wife’s performance of each story. He kept an arm around her shoulders and a blanket in her lap to keep her and the baby warm. As he adjusted the blanket one night, his hand brushed against her round belly and the response was a distinct light pressure.

“I can feel it.” He said aloud, surprised.

“You can? That’s wonderful!” Kyoko beamed and caressed the area, searching. “Come back, Otou-san would like-ouch. That wasn’t nice, was it? The little one just kicked my insides.”

“Is that so?” He hesitated before lowering his voice. “Behave. Your mother needs her rest.”

After a minute, she nodded. “It’s a good child, it listened to you.”

“Ah, well. If it’s your child, it will naturally be good.” He was flustered but pleased, and so was Kyoko.

Later, under the cherry blossoms, she brought up the subject of names. “I like Kaoru. Kamiya Kaoru works for a boy or a girl.”

“Written as fragrance?”

“Yes. Fragrance lingers in your memory; our child should be someone who won’t be easily forgotten. What do you think?”

“Your interpretation is elegant and it’s a beautiful name.” He approved. “And you chose an appropriate time too.”

“Well, I’m following your lead. Didn’t you ask me to see the cherry blossoms with you every year?” She laughed at his reddening face, and her expression was satisfied as she leaned into him. “Kaoru will be here next spring to see them with us.”

“Indeed.” He hoped with fervor that such a prediction would come true. He had refrained from writing to his father about the child, wanting to wait until its safe entrance into the world.

It was almost midsummer when the fated day arrived. Kyoko’s ankles had swelled and she had noticed the baby’s movements slowing. They were expecting the baby at any moment, yet it was still a surprise.

He usually rose at dawn, but as he was about to leave their futon, Kyoko grabbed his wrist. “It’s starting to hurt.”

Koshijiro was now fully awake. “I’ll get the midwife. Will you be alright?”

“I will. Hurry!” Her eyes squeezed shut at the last syllable, in a spasm of pain.

He did, running at full speed to the midwife and her assistants. They mobilized as soon as they crossed the threshold, taking over the kitchen to boil water and rushing in and out of the bedroom with fresh cloths. Koshijiro remained at his wife’s side until he was explicitly told to leave. Even then, he was reluctant. She’d been gripping his shoulder through the contractions, and the current pause would not last. When Kyoko released him, he met her gaze.

“Kyoko…”

She cupped the base of his skull, and pressed her forehead to his. “I don’t want you to see me weak. Not more than I usually am. I remember what Osue said about labor, and I’m ready. I’m this child’s mother. And you are the father, so please wait a little longer and we’ll greet you soon.”

“If you need me, only call out and I’ll be here.” He didn’t know what to say. “If I could transfer even a handful of strength to you, I would.”

“You already have. You’re always here.” She moved her hand to her heart and gave a brave smile. He did his best to mirror her, to convey he thought the same about her.

Never taking his eyes off her, he made his retreat. He would respect her wish and that kept him moving. He had to believe in the preparation over the past months and the team with her now.

Gods, what if this was the last time he would see Kyoko alive?

In a moment of desperation, he tried to reach out to her, but then, the midwife pushed him out and the door prevented his entry. He stood in the hallway, paralyzed, before he could no longer bear being helpless and decided to do anything and everything useful.

He chopped firewood, washed the dishes, and swept the yard. He beat the laundry on the clothesline, he scrubbed the bathhouse and dojo until the floorboards squeaked. He even found an old piece of fabric to sew in half, undoing the messy stitches and practicing again. After poking himself with the needle too many times, he resorted to a half-hearted meditation. The relentless sun was nearing its summit. He couldn’t hear anything. Was Kyoko alright? Was there any trouble with the baby?

The back of his neck prickled. There was a resounding, piercing wail.

He rushed inside. “Kyoko?!” He was a few paces away from the bedroom before he nearly collided into the midwife, who grabbed his arms and stopped him. “Was that her?”

“No, no, Kamiya-san. We’ve finished cleaning up, your wife needs to rest. She hasn’t lost too much blood, but that wasn’t her, her strength hasn’t returned yet. What you heard was the baby.” The ongoing sound faltered in intensity, there was a presumable break for air and then-

“Let him in, please.” Kyoko’s weak voice was the only permission he needed and he stepped within their room. It was insanely hot, the heat and crying nearly bowling him over. Surrounded by pillows, Kyoko was plastered with sweat, her loose hair clinging to her forehead and cheeks. Her breathing was heavy and labored, but she held a swaddled bundle close to her breast.

“Kyoko, how are you?” He knelt next to his wife, wiping away a drenched lock from her eyes.

“I feel so tired. So tired, but it was all worth it. For our girl.” She wept, but she wasn’t disappointed at all. Through her tears, she smiled. “Look, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

And she really was. Kyoko handed the baby to him, and he had his first look at his daughter. She was screaming, bright red and damp from her ordeal. Her little face was soft to the touch, her dark hair sticking up in all directions. Koshijiro caught one of her flailing fists, marveling at how tiny her fingernails were. Her eyes narrowed at him, exactly as Kyoko’s did, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Good morning, Kaoru.”

#at arm's length #rurouni kenshin #fanfic #kamiya koshijiro

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