The young asian trudged down the sodden Tokyo sidewalk, his eyes downcast and uncaring about what he stumbled into. His perpetually-messy raven hair was plastered all about his head, the drenching onslaught of rain pouring drearily all about him. He had just left a sake shop, his head all abuzz with liquor. The boy wasn't even old enough to be drinking, a few months shy of the legal age of 20.
That didn't matter to him, though, especially at the moment. His girlfriend, Kikyou, broke off their nearly two-year relationship on dubious grounds. She had berated him, telling him he was simply too nice to her and that he should have acted angry instead of keeping his emotions to himself. Kikyou questioned why he didn't confront her when he found out she was seeing someone else. She wanted to know why her actions didn't upset or anger him, why she couldn't get through to him.
He had been confused. 'Does she want to cause issues between us?' he thought. 'Does she intentionally try to anger me?'
She went on and on, her Japanese fluent and passionate, emphasizing her anger with him for his lack of anger. "Why are you distancing yourself from me?" she had screamed. "Why don't you just be angry when you're angry!?"
"Because I love you," he had said. He was rewarded with a slap, tears breaking free and rolling down her face, and harsh, bitter words that haunted him ever since.
"You're a fool, Kyoji," she had spat, "An utter fool. How can you love me? Love does not exist. I used to think it did, but time taught me a far more harsh lesson that I had thought possible. Love isn't real. Don't fool yourself into thinking otherwise, Kyoji, before you hurt more than you should."
She had left him then, left him in his confusion and hurt, and he could only think over what she had said, almost obsessively.
Love does not exist.
That had been half a day ago. Kyoji had wondered what to do with himself since, trying to distract himself. Each endeavour proved fruitless, ultimately reminding him of her and the time they had spent together. In hindsight, it had been a rather foolish idea to partake together in every activity the city had to offer them. When all was said and done, everything would remind him of this. He hadn't prepared for that, though. He hadn't ever expected them to go their separate ways.
"I'll love you forever," she had said once, lying against his chest, her voice barely a whisper. "I always will."
At the time, he thought nothing of it. He knew that she loved him. He loved her as well. No, he still loved her. Stroking her hair then, he has said he loved her too, and that their love was as beautiful and selfless as that of the sun and the moon's. She had smiled at that, a small, comforting smile, and he had felt himself return it without hesitation.
Kyoji shook his head. Love does not exist. She hadn't meant it. His heart ached, and for what he didn't know. Was it because he hated her? Or did he love her regardless of what she had done? He felt as though he should hate her, as though she were the most undesirable concept he could have dreamt up. Even now, in his anger and sorrow, he couldn't bring himself to associate her with feelings like disgust and hatred.
No, those emotions he saved for himself.
'How could you be so stupid, Kyoji?' he had mentally berated himself. 'How could you be so blind? She is beautiful and smart and kind and caring. The fact that she was all this and more should have set off alarms!' Kyoji's mother had always told him stories as a young boy about powerful creatures, cruel and devastatingly clever, that disguised themselves as beautiful women to get close to men before ruining their lives. 'Kitsune', his mother had warned, 'beautiful but deadly. Do not fall for looks alone, my sweet child, lest you be ensnared by wicked temptation.'
'She was just a kitsune,' he thought wearily, still trudging down the sodden streetwalk he had been walking on for the past few hours. 'A beautiful and dangerous woman. Mother was right. Just a kitsune.'
A disconcerting feeling nagged at the back of his cloudy mind, the alcoholic intoxicant still coursing through his system. He struggled to recall what was so urgent, what wouldn't leave his consciousness to its misery, what was so annoyingly persistent in its relevance. Slow as his mental processes were at the moment, it finally clicked: his keys.
Kyoji sighed. The owner of the sake shop had taken one look at him, and felt sympathetic. No doubt the bartender had seen her own fair share of heartbreak during her tenure as a barkeep, perhaps countless young adults and teenagers with their hearts broken, looking to temporarily do the same to their minds. While the woman had been sympathetic to his situation and waved him in, she hadn't been completely irresponsible. She had refused to serve him alcohol while he was still in possession of his keys; she'd also seen her fair share of the youth attempt to drive away after drinking heavily, and she had no wish to see it happen any longer.
He had reluctantly complied, and drank himself into a stupor. All the while, he slurred his story to the floral pattern, kimono-clad woman, who lent an unbiased and nonjudgmental ear. He spoke in English, since even Japanese reminded him of her; the woman responded to him in fluent english as well. Takamura, as he found out her name was, had had her own share of troubles and seemed experienced beyond her appearance of a mere 35 years. He pointed out his admiration of her wisdom, but she dismissed that idea with a wave, replying "I simply overhear a lot of things I probably have no business knowing while tending to my sake shop. I do know this, however: this place is a gold mine for information. A drunk tongue is an honest one."
He had left bills behind, more than enough to cover the bill (it had been his way of thanking her for her generosity and kind heart), and stumbled out the store while she was busy tending to things in the backroom. He had left without his keys, and only a significant time after had he bothered to remember it.
Turning around to make his way back to the sake shop, he broke into a run, dashing along the Tokyo sidewalk with reckless abandonment. His vision was blurring even more so than because of the alcohol, due to the thick downpour of rain that did not seem to be likely to let up anytime soon. He had blinked but once while running and that was all it took for him to lose his coordination and overall balance, stumbling and heading right for the floor. Kyoji screwed up his eyes, his hands clumsily attempting to protect his face as he fell.
A pair of firm hands appeared before him, catching him around the waist with another on his chest. His momentum caused him and his saviour to lower, though not enough to hit the ground, before being righted back up into a standing position. Kyoji opened his eyes.
A woman was staring back at him, an admonishing look on her face.
"How can you expect to make it home if you're running recklessly, stumbling through the streets drunk? Be more careful," she scolded, her hands still about his waist and chest. It took him a moment to realize it, but his face seemed to be flushed moreso than the alcohol would justify, and his heart was beating rapidly. Moments later, he took note of the hand on his chest, right over his heart.
Kyoji's eyes widened, and he took a step back, away from her hands. He had been gazing at her for a few moments, and yet her fierce look was already emblazoned in his memory, despite his inebriated state. Her reflective, dark eyes, her petite nose, her creamy skin, her red lips...even with her hair slick with rain and all about her face...this woman is beautiful.
It was then that he remembered his mother's warnings, those that he had ignored so recklessly before. Do not fall for looks alone, my sweet child, lest you be ensnared by wicked temptation.
"AAArigatō," he whispered slurrily, bowing as deeply as his drunken state would let him. "Y-you have s-sssaved me f-from an unpleasssant ssstate."
"A fate that you could've all too well avoided yourself, if you had taken care not to get so mind-numbingly drunk," she rebuked, but her harsh words were softened when she followed them with a smile. "And where were you off to in such a rush...?"
He realized she was waiting for him to say his name. "K-Kyoji," he stuttered, tongue way too loose for his liking. He had just met this woman, and he already seemed to be making a fool of himself. "I was just h-h-heading back to Taka-Takamura's sssake ssshop. I forgot my keys."
"Perhaps the gods were looking down on you, and made sure you did. Otherwise, I'm sure your driving would have resulted in a fate much worse than falling to the ground." Her quizzical eyes summed him up as she brushed back wet strands of hair from her face, pausing before she returned the polite gesture. "I am called Hatsumomo."
'First peach,' he thought. Looking over her features, he saw how her face was small and delicate, her cheeks slightly rosy, and her lips red and luscious. 'Fitting.'
"I-It is a pleasure to meet you, H-Hatsumomo-san."
"You as well, Kyoji-kun. I happen to know Takamura-san, would you like to go back together?" She smiled politely, but even Kyoji could tell she had a mischievous quality to her.
"S-Sure," Kyoji said. "Let us be on our way."
They made their way back to Takamura's sake shop, Hatsumomo holding Kyoji by the arm so as to steady him and prevent him from falling again. It wasn't long before the large sign in kanji came into view, reading Takamura's Sake Shop - Drown Your Sorrows To Death. They entered the shop, sopping wet and dripping on her carpet, a fact that did not escape Takamura's notice.
"Oi! Anata no wa nani o shite iru to omoimasu ka? What do you think you are doing?? Get over here, stop dripping on my carpet, and stand by the fire!"
She gestured towards the blazing fireplace, and Hatsumomo murmured an apology to Takamura while dragging Kyoji to the chairs near the fire. Takamura kept a sharp eye on the couple, a rather unamused expression on her face. She did not appreciate having her ornate, hand-woven chinese carpet ruined.
Belatedly, after hearing Takamura speak part of her sentence in english (apparently the only part that wasn't shouted angrily at them), Kyoji realized that Hatsumomo had also spoken english as well. "Be more careful," she had said. Kyoji blinked in surprise.
"Where did you learn English?" he questioned in the tongue, impressed. He hadn't met many people fluent in English.
"Online," she responded in English, not bothering to elaborate further. "Takamura also entertains my language preference; not as many people understand it here, so it's easier to speak freely." She had a cryptic smile about her, and it only served to confuse Kyoji even more.
"Oi, Hatsumomo! Long time no see, eh? How have you kept yourself?" Takamura joined the conversation from behind her bar, leaning on her forearms, gazing at them both. She produced a kiseru, a japanese smoking pipe, from her dark hair which subsequently tumbled down from its bun, cascading down her back; Kyoji realized she had been using the kiseru to keep her hair in place. She lit it and puffed languidly on it, exhaling copious clouds of smoke. "How's your sister?"
"She's alive and well, Takamura, though as isolated as ever. It's as though she doesn't care to acknowledge her only sibling, especially after we lost our parents several years ago." She gazed downward as she reflected, speaking as though almost to herself. "It's been seven years, Takamura, and still the pain does not lessen. I imagine I'd have to live with this for the rest of my life, Sayuri too. And yet, she does not reach out to her sister as I do to her. Why is that?" She ended her question with a sorrowful tone, one that made Kyoji feel bad for her.
Takamura inhaled, exhaling smoke lazily through her fine nostrils. She gazed at Hatsumomo sagely. "Because different people handle the same problem differently. Some latch onto others more fiercely, others distance themselves. As alike as you are, you two are also equally different. You've reached out to her, attempting to strengthen your bond. She shies away, because she is not willing to lose anyone else she loves. Even if she has to lose you in the process to do it. She is feeling her own pain over this, so I'd leave her be if I were you. Should it be ordained that you two reconcile, it shall come to be. Trust in no more than that."
"You always know what to say, Takamura." Hatsumomo smiled her gentle smile, one that Takamura returned. "Are you sure you're not a benevolent Kitsune?"
Takamura scoffed. "Flattery will get you nowhere with me, Hatsumomo. I still expect you to pay for sogging up my carpet and dripping over my premises." She waggled the kiseru threateningly. Hatsumomo knew better than to argue.
"Would I cheat you, Takamura-san?" Hatsumomo smiled innocently. Takamura snorted in response.
"You may feel that you're clever enough to get your way, Hatsumomo-chan, but I know you only use honourifics with me when you want something. Don't even try it. Not to mention you've got a tab to pay."
Hatsumomo frowned. Takamura was a tough lady, and one with an unbending will. There was no point in trying to convince her. And that tab was enormous...it would take forever to pay off.
"I'll pay it."
Hatsumomo turned to Kyoji in surprise, her face one of pure shock. Who was he to pay her tab? He didn't even know her that well, and he was already doing her this kindness?
Takamura narrowed her eyes but said nothing. Kyoji got up and pulled out his wallet, bringing several bills out of it. He placed them on the table, and Takamura swatted it away without batting an eye.
"I don't want your money." She waved him away dismissively, and he just stared at her bewildered. "I want hers."
"But-"
"Don't bother, Kyoji," Hatsumomo interjected. "I know Takamura very well. She believes that people should pay their own things, take care of their own affairs, and settle their own debts. Self-sufficient to a fault, she's foreign to outside help and expects the same from her patrons." She chuckled. "Admirable, but old-fashioned."
"This is her debt to settle, boy," Takamura said bluntly, pointing her kiseru at him. "Hers and hers alone."
"But I paid you extra when I came here earlier and you said nothing about that!"
"That was for the advice and the lending of an ear. I've only got two, you know."
Hatsumomo laughed brightly. "That's Takamura for you, an opportunistic woman if there ever was one."
The barkeep ignored that jab. "Where are you staying, Kyoji?"
"With my older brother Kenji, he's out of town at the moment."
"Go upstairs and take the third room on the right. My bar also happens to be the bottom floor of my inn."
Kyoji's eyes widened. "B-but why? I'm perfectly fine going home by mysel--"
"Not in this state, you're not. You may appear sober, but I know a drunk when I see one. Besides, you came back for your car keys, right?" She produced the keys from within the folds of her kimono sleeve. "You shan't be getting them until sunrise. Now go." And with that, she tossed the keys back up her sleeve as she brought her hands together, out of sight once more.
Kyoji could do nothing but as she asked. Well, not necessarily asked, moreso dictated. He was quickly getting to know what Hatsumomo meant by "typical Takamura."
Up the stairs he stumbled, unaware of the presence behind him. It wasn't until he reached the top and turned to open the door did he realize that Hatsumomo had followed him, and strode into his room, turning on the light as she did so.
"W-what're you doing?" Kyoji stuttered, perplexed by her boldness. Wasn't it inappropriate for men and women to share the same room to sleep?
"I'm staying the night as well. There's room for two."
"But it's not right for men and women to share the same roo-"
"Oh, lighten up. It's not like we're a married couple, right? It's not like we're obligated to do anything. What're you scared of?"
At the mention of a married couple, Kyoji reddened immensely. 'What is she saying? Why is she taking this so lightly??'
The blush didn't escape her notice. "Oooh, is Kyoji embarrassed?" She chuckled at that, a playful sort of mirth exuding from her. "What's there to be embarrassed about? Listen, Kyoji. Things are only as awkward as you make them. Don't go showing those lovely red cheeks of yours to every situation you encounter."
"I'm not embarrassed!" He avoided her gaze, his eyes darting around the room to distract him from the situation. He wasn't at his best right now, she was making a fool of him. He didn't like that.
Looking around, he noticed a wall piece above the fireplace mantle. Two hooks stood out, and perched on them was a long, elegant sword. The pitch black sheath was elaborately designed, images of fantastically drawn, blood-red dragons sword along unto the tip. The handle was wrought with what appeared to be gold, ornately crafted and gave forth a presence of great power and delicate appearance, a precarious yet masterful balance. Kyoji stood there, almost transfixed by the sword. Hatsumomo followed his gaze, and seemed to feel the same way, letting out an awed gasp as she stared on. Silently, they began to approach him, hands stretched out to touch the handle. It had sharp ridges, which paradoxically made it seem hostile yet gave one ease of grip. Kyoji's hand hesitantly neared the handle.
"Yamate!"
Kyoji's hands stopped short of the blade, his head whipping around to face the owner of the voice. Hatsumomo did the same, and both cringed as a sharp, flickering light was cast upon them. The room was dark except for this light; Kyoji realized somebody must've turned off the light. He figured Takamura did, with some sort of frugal attempt to save money in mind. He and Hatsumomo raised hands to their eyes, attempting to block out the flickering blaze in the oil lantern Takamura carried.
"What do you think you are doing?" Takamura's words were sharp, though not so much as her gaze. While her attractive face kept calm, Kyoji could tell in the way that her eyebrows slanted and her tone that she was none too pleased.
"We were just looking at the sword. It's really interesting, I feel drawn to it. I was wondering if I could hav--"
"No. Go to bed."
"But I'll pay you a lot for it, I really need this swor--"
"It is not for sale. Go to bed."
Kyoji realized his defeat. By the light of the lantern, he was able to find his way to the bed, Hatsumomo taking the bed across from his. Takamura's watchful eyes never left them for a moment until they were in bed. It was then she strode over to the sword hitched on the wall above the mantlepiece and removed it from its place holder, slinging it across her back. She made to leave the room, looking back once more at them and leaving some lingering words.
"It's for the best if you do not touch this sword, Kyoji. It is said that it was forged by a most cruel and vicious ancient demon spirit, and whosoever unsheathes it will succumb to its power and be doomed to slaughter all, strangers and loved ones alike, as punishment for daring to wield this demonic blade." She gave him an appraising look once more, her beautiful face impassive. "And it seems to me you've lost loved ones enough."
With that, she strode from the room, taking the light with her and leaving Kyoji to the darkness and his thoughts.