𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐒

file 002 | chance meeting at the beach

episodes 881—882 — the magician of the waves

Now seven years old, both Suzume and Ran were taken on a trip to Atsuhama Beach by Yukiko and Yusaku, the latter staying at the hotel to work on his latest book. Suzume wore dark purple swim shorts and tank top while Ran wore a baby pink one-piece swimsuit and was carrying around a floral pool donut. The two kids had somehow managed to get out of Yukiko's sight and had wandered off on their own.

Yukiko was currently wandering the beach in search of the two girls when she came across a mother scolding her daughter about chips. "Ara. Is that a popular joke in England?" she asked, gaining their attention. "You're from England, aren't you?"

The woman narrowed her eyes slightly, not saying anything.

"In Japan, we call sliced and fried potatoes covered in salt fried potatoes," Yukiko continued informatively. "In America, they call them french fries. Since you called them chips, I thought you were from England, the land of fish and chips." She smiled nervously as the woman continued her silence. "Anyway, have you seen my daughter? She's wearing dark purple swim shorts and a tank top of the same color. She should be with another girl around her age."

"No," the woman finally said.

Yukiko's shoulders slumped. "I see." She straightened her back. "Sheesh. Where did that kid go? Sorry for bothering you."

"It's fine."

Yukiko sighed before beginning her search again. "At least she has her phone... Suzu-chan, where are you?"

The woman stared after the actress until she heard a chuckle. She turned to look at her eldest son, who was reclined in a lounge chair with his arms behind his head.

"Safe country indeed," he mocked her earlier words. "Even an ordinary person like her can tell where we're from just by the way we speak." He glanced at her. "There's no such thing as a safe country, Mom." She narrowed her eyes at him and he looked back up at the umbrella. "Don't worry. Before the men who killed Father discover who I am, I'll send every last one of them to hell.

"It's totally obvious," a young female voice spoke up.

They turned to look at the girl who spoke up in shock and wariness.

"That you're a pierrot," she continued, and he wanted to burst into laughter at the wild accusation when he saw the corner of her mouth twitch upwards.

Ah, she's pulling our legs, huh?

"I was listening to your conversation. I apologize about that, by the way. You do a lot of traveling to other countries, right? As far as I know, the only people who do that are circus workers."

And she wasn't done, he noticed as she took another breath. He was quite amused by this point.

"And when I saw your left hand, I knew what you were. I noticed the mark on the back of your wrist."

He took a quick look at it as she said this.

"It's common for those who play the accordion. Papa told me that since they press the buttons while inflating and deflating the instrument, the belt leaves that mark behind."

He sat up while still giving her his attention.

"Clowns play the accordion during the circus all the time during shows. And there are all kinds of clowns at the circus, but the only ones among them that wear tear makeup are pierrots. You still have some makeup under your left eye."

He blinked. Oh, the imagination of a child...

"You probably forgot to wipe it off since you were in a hurry to come to the beach, but you don't fool me, mister." She pointed at him. "You're a pierrot! Am I wrong?"