Chapter Text
There was a page missing after the passage from before. It was cleanly cut – compared to the past pages – and there was a small writing squeezed into the remnants of the full page.
‘The descend down to the mountain with Makomo and Sabito is one that I can’t recall accurately – for it was full of ‘anecdotes’ thrown in the air that I thought I shouldn’t care.’
You turned the page and noticed a ‘continuation’;
‘I realized that I do care after I realized that it was not a dream… If only--‘
There was no more space or the author to continue their musing.
You wanted to read more of what happened, but you find that whatever story they’ve written, would’ve be explain sooner or later.
Sadly, it wasn’t.
The next page is clean, except for one passage - still full of ‘mistakes’ from the author, but filled with a story different to what you want.
I have suspicions that sensei would use my promise against me and take advantage of such to make me subdue to my ‘words’; so I wasn’t the nearest surprised when he threw two sets of bokken at the boy and I after breakfast and told us to ‘match our strength’ with each other.
I have written before that I do not adhere to the idea of training with the boy in regards of swordplay since I feel superior against him, and my vain ignorance can only be my downfall once again if I am given the chance to compare myself to him by mere luck – but when I saw the boy’s aura, I know that I couldn’t avoid the challenge.
Duels often leave a bitter taste in my tongue, still – I weaved through the wish of the determination of the boy’s silent insistence, alongside sensei’s keening gaze upon us.
“Demons do not give you a chance to evaluate them and their strength,” Sensei lectured as he oversees the match taking place. (Efsaw qb gmcc um kccjtw i ‘lwvj’ lamv ccj X wql yrq sbaucerabvo vyc qhg’a jfjs hv pkj zddsmp jm btvg vzktl ivf nyivp pkd nxvsmf zr ji?)[1]
“So, one must be quick enough to adjust and defeat the enemy.”
A loud “hai!” came from our student as he picked up his bokken again.
At that moment, I evaluated him too; I have only done this to my human opponents – since I would never give the leverage for demons to attack against me – and I saw how faulty his swordsmanship is in closer sight despite training under sensei.
I have so many questions with our teacher – for the boy’s stance is wide and inviting, even when he attacks; he attacks without his defense in mind but subduing the enemy.
Tanji- (Hfp iam scdg’h lisg – nfn ww Q ccupra pcmc ih ezkkc wba vcdc qr uqukyzx?) [2] The boy’s jabs are powerful, no doubt about that – and his speed are better than it was before, but his flexibility and grip needed work.
He might be practiced and seasoned, but he could have done better. I may have experience, but I knew it by reflex and movements alone that he was never as clumsy as this when I oversee his training before.
Our conversation in the mountains played in my mind with a bitter distaste. Despite being proven wrong; I feel like I have half of myself to blame for his lack of progress, and perhaps I was too harsh training against him because of that.
Do I regret being a nitpicker with his evaluability? I don’t think so.
He was asking for it with how open his form was: too much space between his stomach and legs – his sword is held higher than should be acquainted normal. (Sensei must have been striking him from above to test his endurance against vertical swings, and the boy took this protective stance as a habit without him realizing.)
Pain often is a reminder to one that doesn’t want to get hurt again, and I’m teaching him that burning bolts against his fingers for him to avoid reliving his clumsy deflections. (He must have forgotten enemies can do horizontal strikes or I might have been too fast in changing the course of my attacks.)
What I noted the most is that he still hesitates when striking, and perhaps that would explain his awkward approach altogether.
I didn’t break a sweat and his attacks were easy to dodge or meet with only just one hand on my bokken. But by the afternoon, he already looked like he just survived a war: sweaty, dust-stricken, and itching for more experience to be pummeled into him with the tenacity in his soul.
His expression is as strong-willed as ever, just as strong as the screaming left on his lungs whilst he tries to land an ippon on me. I can see how much he could’ve improved if only I put more time paying attention on him before, and I continued to silently gazed at his movements with each blow and tactics he used.
He’d become sluggish the more the hours stretched, and I wonder if he would keep pushing his limits even when his body is clearly screaming for it to rest with how it trembles from time to time. His arms also looked stiff whenever they sway in another direction and usually, it’s a sign of exhaustion and strained limbs.
I gave sensei a stare; one that asks of him to stop this silly ‘duel’ – but he remained firm in his seat, just staring at us with a poise redeeming as our referee.
Before that time, I failed to realize that Urokodaki-sensei was testing our patience.
He knows that if the boy was a demon, then I would’ve stricken him down a minute after knowing how he strategize his attacks. I hated fighting in duels with someone inexperienced than me for this reason alone – but knowing that this would help the boy to be more successful in his survival and I would keep my I promise…
I have to be the weaker one for the two of us. I sighed and lowered my guard down just a little bit for the boy to have ‘success’ over such a ploy.
But even then, our skills are just too broad to even match in equal terms.
I find myself lagging behind from my boredom and saw how fruitless it was to keep that act.
So, I finally took the vertical attack he issued with his wooden blade with my palm – my fingers gripping on the length tightly for it not to move, and using his weapon against him to pull him close just enough for my own bokken to poke his body.
The electricity of stopping such powerful swing made my arm shake from his strength, and I know full well such could’ve taken a demon’s neck swiftly with no accord. By power alone he exceeds, but his accuracy would need work.
Especially if he wishes to return his sister to human. He would have to face not just an ordinary demon, but sturdier ones, wittier ones that are sly and adept enough in winning even over battle-driven hunters.
So, if I have to keep my oath to our teacher, then disturbing the routine he gave us wouldn’t be a problem. (It was, I received a good slap on the back of the head after – but it was worth it. Especially knowing that the boy took my words with a grain of salt against his healing pride.)
“You are too impatient.” I told him with my tongue lacing spikes against his ego, and I was too, but the irritation in my statement was reserved for myself and how long the battle is driving without any sense of improvement from him.
(I had an impression that he is a fast learner, but even then – he couldn’t even break my defense, nor managed to tire me out. Such was the technique I tried against sensei, and I realized how elementary my approach was.
The boy was doing far better than I had before. At least he tried changing his stance and attacks in a matter of hours to keep things ‘fresh’ and ‘unforeseen’ by striking low or at my ‘weaker’ side. That made me think at how this might be his expertise … drawing out battles in order to take the upper hand, and I am clearly underhanded in such practice because of my preference of doing Iaijutsu.)
“You have too many spaces open for us to attack.” I poked the tip of my bokken brutishly against everywhere it can reach – and it jabbed on his chest down to his knees. (The boy kept making shrilled noises every time I do so, and remembering it made me smile because he sounded like a cat yowling combined with a kettle whistling.)
But I have to hand it to him; he was still determined to try and take me down by exerting more weight down with his bokken that was caught in my hand, even if he tried making my subdue in such a dirty way by raising his leg and trying to kick me out on the stomach.
“It’s essential to keep your strength while swinging the sword,” I told him with a sturdy voice, and I let go of the bokken while stepping back just in time to avoid another one of his kick.
The boy breathed in and out haggardly, his shoulders going up and down in a ragged way. He looked pitiful drenched in his sweat, that even the thin coat of his yukata wasn’t enough to dry him. He sounded hoarse but it sounded good to my ears, and my eyes were stuck on the strands of hair that clings on his neck and forehead in a way that is captivating – like the time when we were in the waterfalls to train – but this time, with more noticeably beads of water that trails down his chin.
(K yykx bw mvce fgagcd ukwu dvgcz lmutpxibqxv uxmp xqzlibvo jzq uxibwich hcb. Kk’q ihw mosygkiauzlv awe hcsxw bpg nmgwa itv ugbbbge yqhcb jzq uxibwich. B kip’k ckxv cvkcg aqa prkt, rmb K npxmm i rrppzziry yqhcb jfu ‘ekmbvp’ ft ewwmvb qxqvi kggxl. Ejrr xl ezqee lbbp ov?) [3]
Yet, despite how exhausted he looked; he wasn’t tempted to rest. He was still standing, stubborn and staring at my wooden blade rather than at my face, and his arms shaking in fervor to find more energy in raising them.
I recall faintly how I thought that he at least learned to always keep eyes on his enemies’ weapon, and I was proud of him, just the slightest.
Perhaps he caught whiff of it, seeing that he relaxed his frame just a brief moment with a small smile on his face that I easily wiped off his face by thrusting my bokken against his left shoulder’s socket.
I was massaging my burning palms with my fingers as I bore my attention on him with a heavy weight, and when he did not move; I continued my lecture.
“But it is also essential to be aware of the defenses you’re exchanging for power.”
My words came out gruff and drier than before, and I sighed before thrusting the bokken down the ground – letting the stick stand there straight as I looked him down with my chin up.
I was about to raise my fists and tell him to try and land a hit on me, but sensei ended our duel that time, and he told the boy to climb up and down the Sagiri mountain like always.
There was no break for the weak – and if he wanted to be stronger, the boy must understand that. That was what Urokodaki-sensei said when the boy whined as he dropped himself on the ground, clutching his wrists with shaking fingers.
The boy took a small moment to close his eyes, for a moment to breathe in and out to collect his breathe.
I would have batted an eye at that, but my gaze lingers on how his fatigued soul suddenly brimmed in sudden energy. I found myself staring at him with eyebrows that furrowed deep in incredulity – and I watched him take in air and more with too much attention that it could possibly burn a hole in him.
I don’t know if sensei noticed this, but I know that’s a breathing technique that’s unique and far from the stance of inhaling what could supplement a water-breathing style.
In my shock, I failed to register that the boy have already bowed his respect to the both of us, whispering his loud thanks in the air before disappearing by the trees’ shadows with the warm glare of the orange haze following his wake.
He looked back after a meter away, and when he noticed I was still looking at him; he waved his hand with a close-eyed smile that makes me click my tongue in annoyance. But I was flattered and humbled, because that moment – I realized that there truly was gratitude in his aura.
He said his thanks, not out of respect or out of duty as a student – but deep from the heart. I realized just how easy it was to guide him, if only I show him how.
He really is naïve for saying his thanks at someone eager to stab him just for making weird noises.
(But I also learned something new from him – something that I never thought was simple but helpful than most breathing form I’ve learned. I decided to try that breathing after recalling the moment, and I was surprised at how effective it was, and I thought confidentially that… he could really be a prodigy in drawn-out battles… If he survived long enough.)
I found myself shaking my head at the annoying thought of possibly growing closer to him – I’ve read once in a weathered journal that a retainer, a samurai, should only feel responsibility and passion to his master, and any semblance of emotions other than that could be distracting and stray you farther from your path.
(Op npmp ecj rd mmiey ycw xzqkcrm pqo, emi mw ogk yimikjvb. X gwe mvce kmukebxgo uajcay bpck.) [4]
I hoped that Sabito and Makomo would take the reins of teaching him better than I would. At least, today; I know they’ve seen what they need work with – considering they are watching from the mists that are unnatural to be there by that time of the setting day.
“Next time, don’t try to steal my spotlight.”
A foreboding warning, with a mischievous glint – sensei spoke his words with low gruff that should be threatening, but his aura was anything but. He was proud, in a sense that made my chest light.
“Perhaps you should be the one dueling against him, sensei.”
I shouldn’t have been snarky… I can still feel sensei’s palm on the back of my head.
___
Dinner was enjoyed better than before.
When Makomo took the ghost from my head, I feel how light I am with only my mind and the aura of three people as my companion.
The boy ate in silence, perhaps in his own self-reflection for the day’s work, but he was shooting gazes at me that I try to ignore. He was covered in the herbal scents of healing salve that seems to be a waste since it would hinder what progress his body has at healing fast on its own, but if sensei wants to pamper him – then I wouldn’t go near that line to question him.
Because all I was thinking that time is that I feel so free, with how clear my mind is.
The page seems to be wet from a small spot, but the strokes of the letters are clear. A reminder that it was written after the paper have dried.
I slept first before the boy and the others, and it was a surprise that I managed to do such… considering I slept on an awkward position drooling against my journal. I’m glad my ink or brush did not splatter on the white canvas – it would have been a waste not to use this page.
Still, I never felt the embrace of awareness that enlightening before.
There was no voice that flatters me with insults, there’s no weight boring on my eyes and shoulders – and I can breathe deeply without any strong sentiments boring my back. The sensation was as if waking up from a bad dream, and it felt that: enlightening.
Breakfast came a bit too quickly for my taste. The scent of boiled daikon misting over the wooden husks of this house was strong, and as I glanced at the open window only to see how bright everything was outside – I realized that I might’ve overslept.
The prying looks from sensei and the boy was irritating.
I know I have ink on my kimono’s sleeve, and I have indent of the edge of my journal’s pages on my right cheek, but that is nothing to ogle about. Even the sturdiest samurai in the books I’ve read like Nobunaga-dono have moments of surprise – one of which is his likes to decorate his estates with foreign trinkets and decors.
It is, though rare for me to have such a nice slumber that isn’t triggered by my fatigue or deep emotions, and I have Makomo and Sabito to give my thanks. I will ask Makomo more about the answer behind the silence in my head – but I have a bigger curiosity to confront before anything else.
I ate in a pace slower than I would, and I let the both of Urokodaki-sensei and the boy finished first before I could. (Tanjirou) The boy was quick to agree with sensei’s reminder for today’s training and he disappeared after saying his farewell to his sister and a waved of a hand to me.
I didn’t bother entertaining him, even if I could – it would be one out of duty rather than being polite, so I offer him just my blank stare as he promised to return for our training. He doesn’t have to promise such a small thing. It is his duty as our student to continue that – punishment is ensured in response to tardiness.
(Avr, wtdqpx fxf bmnc kt mpiv yc lhctf icinzv hfp dnz agjqxhv ucuc wbu uqic fnmavzmctjta… vlsxizkee?) [5]
The boy was irritatingly determined, but that what makes him rather bright to be around.
Sensei’s presence on the other hand, was unsettling. Especially more of the nervousness that jitters my nerves over the possibility of him hating me for something I would ask.
He was waiting for me to finish my food as respectively and poised as a patriarch to an honored guest would, and I wonder why he didn’t rush me as he would with the boy whenever time is taking a toll to one’s schedule.
But I was glad he offered me the sense of solitude with my mind and I.
Because I was busy trying to come up with a way to tell Urokodaki-sensei of what I know with his former students. He wouldn’t believe me easily if I told them I can see them, nor would he trust the fact that I can communicate with spirits.
He would take me as a fool – or perhaps a woman slowly getting mad. Both would be appropriate; I think something even more degrading as that would be better.
Despite that reservation, I brought my wooden bowl down from my lips and faced him with a posture that says I am proud, and that I hold my words with nothing but the truth.
“I have seen Sabito and Makomo up in the cliff of this mountain.” The mentions of their beings made sensei stagger, and a tint of curiosity laced his soul, but wrath was more evident in him. They snapped at me like feral branches on storms, and I thought of how I must have stepped on a sensitive topic, (and I also thought of how I have a penchant for it,) but I continued in confidence even if his wide eyes are judging me with silent anger of a torn father.
“I have asked them to teach the boy—” He never did make me finished that sentence.
"How do you know of those names." His words were sharp, demanding and have a loudness that demands a quick answer, and I gave him that – with the faintest voice I could give – even if I was distracted from the shock from my nerves to see the way the reddish breeze of anger flooding his soul.
"They appeared to me."
"Lying is not a good attribute for a student of mine." I know he wanted to slap me, the indent of nerves in his trembling arms told me that, and he stood from his seiza to leave me be – I know I would’ve done the same if I don’t want to hurt someone with my lack of control.
So that moment, my mind went blank – and my words were rushed, as if they were hands tugging him down to sit and listen to me, seriously, patiently – just in the right mind to prove I am not toying with his emotions as a broken man.
That I wanted him to know that I am telling nothing, but my deepest sympathies over the reality I did face. All I could do was give him facts, one that is spoken with loss confidence that I once bore proudly.
"Peach hair. Kitsune Mask with a scar on his left. A kimono with green and yellow pattern – that’s Sabito.” I rasped, my voice cracking from the fear of no return to have a man I see more as my father to be leaving me be over a truth that he won’t believe. (I realized how helpless I was, because I have no proof to show him the evidence of my words being true – I could only describe his students to the best of my ability.)
When Urokodaki-sensei stopped, his back was facing me as he was halfway through the open entrance – I took the sudden relief in my lungs to flow the sturdiness in my words, and at the sight of his hesitance, I found my voice becoming stronger this time. “Black hair, minty eyes – a smile that is always mysterious and wearing a red kimono. Makomo.”
The quiet atmosphere between us have never felt that stifling, the air was thick with aura of mulling – and it was hard for me to breathe in such static wisp.
I remember how my hands were trembling, and how cold they were alongside the beads of sweat on my face. I tried catching my breathe in even shallow intake of air – but even then, my heart was pulsing with regret in my veins and my mind was asking me if being honest like the boy was even for the sanity of me.
But my lungs have never felt so free when Urokodaki-sensei turned his head at me and asked me, "how."
I composed myself, the best I could. Yet, my vision was still shaking, even if I’m only staring at those wide ogre’s eyes instead of his real one – I find myself scared at how deep they looked with the shadows looming over his frame.
"Their spirit lived on this mountain, sensei." I told him, finally finding momentum for my voice to feel loud and stable. The doubt in my soul is stirring in such a typhoon of unexpressed emotion, and I wonder if he could smell them.
"When did you have this ability?" He asked, finally coming back to sit in front of me as he took his seiza – his aura was guarded, but it was better than having a sudden anger expressed to me.
My vision narrowed, and in doubt came my question that deflect his. "Are you going to tell my family?"
Because if they caught words of my ‘ability’ – I could be considered as defective, a waste – and I didn’t want him to use that knowledge against me.
Even if this ability is inhumane, it had made me adept in my haunting over man-eating oni.
My clan was known to have sharp eyes, sharper than an eagle; but if an eagle started seeing even the dead, then perhaps their gaze could be acquitted as not the sharpest; but of a flaw.
(Eagles don’t have the ability to grab unto the dead, but I do – so it makes my ability more of an anomaly I wish for Makomo to further explain.)
"No.” Urokodaki-sensei have said his words with all the genuine honesty he has, and my shoulders sagged in relief at the aura of pureness coming from him.
“I am curious. When did you start seeing them?"
In an instant, the air between us shifted into something heavier – dramatic in a way the tone of his voice morphed deeper and serious. His words were not spoken in gruff in the end – they were clear, loud and I realized that the weight in them held something of a hope that I could never understand. (He would never see them, but I think, he knew that.)
"Just yesterday." I told him effortlessly, and my gaze was drawn to the bowl of Ohaw in my hand that’s slowly growing cold. "There were many of them, I can see why you were reluctant to accept new students."
And to think he accepted (Tanjirou) because of his old student, and to think my grandfather had made him agree to such a task. I have a suspicion that my death would be heavier to Urokodaki-sensei than grandfather and father ever would receive, but even then – he trained me the best he can.
Sensei was having his moment of clarity, of silence that made the room full of the darkest blue. It was depressing to look, and even more depressing to feel – but I stood up from my seat, and took the moment to sit beside him only to rubbed his back in comfort, and that motion made him remove his mask, just for him to dry the tear from his tired, kind face.
He has a body sturdy as a middle-aged man like grandfather’s – almost deceitfully youthful than it looked – but they were shaking under my palm as if his age was taking a toll on him, and I felt the indent throb of a sob escaping his lungs, vibrating on my palm.
That made me tear up too, for I wish I can offer more comfort to him than just my words and the hand on his back. Still, I bit my tears back and dried it with my cotton sleeve, waiting for him patiently to cease his crying.
"…How can I help them go to the afterlife?"
In his mind, I can only assume that he was blaming himself over their death – regret, guilt, and sadness is often the colors of grievance and just sitting near him, and absorbing ten people’s worth of mourning was enough to make me have difficulty breathing.
I pity him, since the last time I grieved was always with my mother. Even then, the pain became lighter the more I do, and I feel more attuned and connected to her in a way knowing that we have an understanding that her death was not my faulting.
But sensei doesn’t have that kind of comfort. I always am the first one to try and escape a funeral rite even if my presence was called for it; I just find myself emotionally tired with all the gloom and depression – but for sensei, I will sit through it with him.
It’s the best I could do.
“I'm no maiko, sensei.” I told him softly, “but I believe you could appease their spirits with offerings, prayers, incenses and just… telling them how you feel.”
Yet I think, they would appreciate nothing more, but to have sensei visit them.
I have told him just the surface point of honoring the dead – but the effort and message behind them are more than just what the surface could touch.
It is a lake, deep and dark enough for someone to drown in, and he is on a boat, testing how deep it could be by looking over the waters. And we will be there to help him rise up if ever he’d stay in the deep below.
When he did not reply to my words; I leaned my head on his arm and I felt them shake under me. He’s like a trembling pillar, so I hugged his side with both my arms and squeezed him tight with my silent support. It would make the suffering easier, as he did once when I was like him. And my eyes closed when he gripped my arm with his free hand as he submits to the haul of in sadness.
Just near him, I can feel how deep his grievance is – he has been so strong, to have everything else was bottled within.
The pain of knowing that you did everything for someone you care, only for them not to return is something only the greatest of teachers know… but there has never been a pain incomparable to those who lost their children.
Never was a word invented to describe that situation – a situation where a parent lost their child – and I pity sensei more than I could sympathize with him, for I feel and know his suffering, but can never find it in me to relate the heavy dread that he feels.
(Ceb xm lquxshma ug yml B nikccs mw zgcyix eqvy fxf. Q spfu X vwcnu’tt tb tgrqi mzqgu, zjm qb kj qdfmbjzlv B bpkei X viv’v tmbitmovli tb bjrr ibum. K zkpzqvgu rwx jwa uwxgo qp dw wxil llqi mw spfu laib kk dtxta, dlr xm eiu flar i lgwcpmml uvlhx wn hrganzm vyyc mpm rrlvbvo efjsgmau ssgrqvi r fdetwy jnpvm lgvn xg gwwi ztbvo vyyi lmvuvg xl nmgcgcz.) [6]
"I'll help you." I soothed him by trying to way our bodies side to side in a way it is like a rocking cradle, and he relented in my movements, shifting to hug me closer to him. The scent of clay was strong on him, alongside the smell of moss. I felt his tears rolling down my scalp, and I held him tighter than I could before.
Left to right, slowly from left to right, silence cooed us in a halted resolve.
The seconds felts like hours, the minutes – days. That was the beauty of silence, and the horrors of it. We both cried; him for his students and me for him. It was just normal for a soldier to cry, especially if he lost the family he so hard to protect.
That what is like to him.
Sensei finally found his composure and he patted my head in silent command that I can let go – but I didn’t, not yet. With that, my words left my lips in a secret whisper that I want to share to him.
“They think of you as a father.”
I recall how Makomo and Sabito explained to me that even if they didn’t experience the love of one, they feel it from sensei – and words flowed smoothly in my mind as their story yesterday flooded a brimming tightness in my throat.
I wanted to tell him everything that they said, from the admiration, to their regrets and of their fondness over Urokodaki-sensei. He deserved to hear their voice, hear their thoughts and I hold them in me, waiting just to be told.
But as I looked for them in hopes to tell everything to him, my fingers gripped rightly on his jin-bei and my voice cracked at the only statement I could give;
“They told me that they love you, and they died loving you.”
I felt him tremble, I felt him cry, and a loud mourning sob escaped him. They sounded broken, scratchy and hollow, and when his body curled from the weight of his tears – I sat beside him like a pillar he could lean on.
___
"Thank you."
I took a breather from my journal to see the fox-specter leaning against the mahogany tree before me. I gave him a look of speculation, waiting for him to continue his words but when he didn’t; I just returned to my writing.
At that time, I spent half the day just helping Urokodaki-sensei build a wooden shrine by a meadow that had served once to be a place of training – if the dirty ground was anything than that – and I mulled on just how painful it might’ve been for sensei to never step on the place again after their deaths, only to do so after so long.
It was spacious, held an air of prosperity, and was abundant of the different type of wild flowers. It truly held a scenic view, one that is coveted in the forest trees and sprinkle of white, violet and yellow on the grass. It gives you a sense of peace needed in meditation, and somehow, I can imagine Makomo and the others playing around in the grass.
But its purpose has been changed. It became a place for a little shrine for sensei’s students. The Jizo statues that were in sensei’s basement were an item that held shock – seeing that each and every one of them had a miniscule warding-mask in their hands. Two of them I have identified to be like Sabito’s and Makomo’s …
They looked cared for, and I wondered if he ever planned to set them up even if I didn’t tell him about the spirits of his students.
Or perhaps he was looking for reasons to do so.
Urokodaki-sensei and I worked in silence as we carried the statues one by one in out must delicacy. We could’ve talked – but after such emotional start for the day, sensei and I have a silent agreement to spend the day being quiet.
It was afternoon when we finished building the shrine – sensei have already built a shrine for them and we carried it both up here. We took the moment to pray for them after that, the scent of incense was strong and reminiscing, and I left sensei to do his mourning.
Solitude would help him speak his words to his thirteen children. Twelve – since Sabito was with me, haunting me instead.
“I only provided peace to sensei – the rest was all because of you.” I told him flatly after being uncomfortable from his relenting stare that makes my hair on my neck stand up, and as I write down on my journal, I felt him looming over me.
I threw my pages shut and gave him a peeved expression, and he must have worn a smirk under that lifeless mask of his with the way he tilted his head – the red cord swinging along with his hair with the wind.
“Not one to take credit?” If only he knows what goes in my mind- “you’re proving to be interesting.” -Then perhaps he would never find me interesting. I can only be inferior and superior at the same time, and this journal is a safe haven for me to ease those burning thoughts away from my being.
Truth to be told, I just did my part and I feel as if I shouldn’t be given thanks just for conveying a message both sides needed delivered.
I took a moment to lean down on the tree behind him, just staring up at the mask looking down. The oiled ink besides has grown hard from the winds – and speck of dusts can be seen above the blank tint, but I ignored it. That moment, I just feel like I wanted to lose myself at my failure on helping sensei feel more comforted than before.
I didn’t expect the ghost to sit besides me, our shoulders practically touching. My hair might be longer than his, but the stupid salmon strands slap my face with the help of the breeze.
I was about to push him away with a snark prepared to be released from my tips when I stopped at the thing in his hand. It was my hair, being petted like a pet.
“You really have soft hair.”
I tugged my braid away from him, giving him a look of disgust. “Your sense of touch is loss, ghost.”
Sabito easily chuckled at that, as if, it was entertaining for him to be reminded he was dead all along. (K eckxz eqljs nvlgiqitvl jfu rtzmhict am innynl amgd rd tkb cimjgl ug, zr’h kibjvp hbksgegcz ia jv ichea vyyi B lwp’k rdemzckc wba xtvqtgkm cj G lhctf ngia Uimfkd.) [7]
“Sensei plans to drop Tanjirou, you know.” Sabito whispered, and I bristled at him when he poked my cheek, and I tried slapping him off – but of course, only material air can be felt between the space of my fingers as he laughed at my tough act.
But as much as I want to ridicule him for being tough-spoken even when dead, I couldn’t. My thoughts focused more on what he said, because there was a cemented honesty in them.
I don’t want to believe him, I really don’t… but with how less strict Urokodaki-sensei was with our training before – his actions have spoken louder than words. The way he was lenient with the boy’s stance and fighting, how he became soft to give him healing salve… To even have a ghost took note of that possibility he’s losing hope for the boy makes me somber in my thoughts.
He believed so much in that boy that I couldn’t help but let my expression show the disappointment I felt.
“I know.”
My voice has no inch of hesitation in them, and that made my companion hummed in curiosity as he tilted his head in a rather mock-musing. “So, why do you want to help him? He could die in that selection, you know.”
I clicked my tongue at his words and narrowed my vision on the tree before us, the breeze that greeted was just cold with no warmth in them – and I sighed through my nose just to keep my lower face unbothered by it.
I know the truth, suspicions often are true unless proven wrong, but…
“I promised.”
My fingers gripped on my journal – just in a way to keep myself grounded of that reality. I know the possibilities; I just don’t want to be reminded of that. Because it only means that I would not just stray my words, but also break sensei’s heart too.
After seeing such a respective figure have their moment of weakness – it hurts me to think that it could happen in the future again, and I don’t want that.
“It’s easy to break them you know.”
It was a loud whisper, spoken by my ear.
The ghost sounded too close for comfort, and when I turned my head around – I was miffed that he was playing the dead end of my braided hair and comparing the color to his. The color is a stark difference, yes – but they are still both pink.
I tugged my hair away from his hold and his mask leaned up to see me glaring at him. It’s hard to know what he feels with how guarded his soul is, and that mask of his just exhort an energy that is too fierce and hard to understand whatever expression is beneath.
“It’s easy to break promises.” Sabito repeated his words, and he spoke them as if he had experience himself, and while I haven’t once done something like that – broke a promise or made one that I couldn’t handle – but I can just assume that his promise being broken is an aftermath of his death.
His opinions and mine are different, and I should’ve agreed to disagree, yet I found myself being defensive over that.
“I only wish to lend my help.” I snapped at him, and he hummed his amusement at my fiery reaction – reacting just by poking my head with his finger with a jovial air around him that makes me click my tongue in distaste.
"You already gave us your help,” He told me with a deep huff. “By letting us use the energy of that ghost lady of yours and some few that managed to haunt your soul.”
I recall how speechless I was when I heard him say that.
My mind grew blank, and I think of how stupid that was. And how weird it is for my being to try and grasp that kind of reality that such thing absurd beyond human comprehension could exist. (Dlr iamv cxyxg, lmoflh xfqukcs lw Q uymjelv’v nycwmz.) [8]
“I… I was haunted?” I asked in shock, my jaw dropping as he chuckled and closed it for me – perhaps if I was in the right state of mind, I would have slapped his hand away but I was too busy grasping my horror.
My mind was awfully quiet, my reserves rather peaceful to a measure – and to have them disappear in a flick was a mystery… but kami. I never thought of those… weirdness happening before me…(?)
It almost sounded mythological, mystic and unholy in a way but I couldn’t understand how to comprehend this revelation is.
I dropped my journal on my lap and grabbed Sabito tightly on his shoulders, shaking him as I asked him if he ate the souls, or if one of them was a woman with hair and colors appropriating mother’s description.
(Because if they did, I would find a priest to actually exorcise the likes of them, that’s what I thought at that moment of panic.)
Sabito drew his hand back and grabbed my wrists as if telling me no. “What are you thinking? Makomo helped them go to the afterlife by cleansing their regret.” He helped me let go of him, before crossing his arms in front of him. “I shouldn’t be the one telling you this because I have no experience in that kind of voodoo.”
His explanations drew questions in my mind. One of which tried to find a level of clarity I want to hear that time. My family have worked close with Shinto and Buddhist priests and priestess in respect for tradition – but I knew some of them actually have the power to exorcise malicious spirits and easing the worries of others… just the way Sabito said that made me think.
“Did… Makomo grew up in a shrine or something?” I asked with curiosity, and he took a long moment to answer, before shrugging.
I was annoyed at his lack of decent response and I tried slapping on his chest, but my hands just phased through. I groaned in defeat and his tone ever annoying echoed a laugh in my ears.
“Stupid bastard.” I muttered under my breath, but he heard it despite how silent I said those words.
"Hey.” He flicked my forehead and I only blinked from the sharp pain before sneering at him. “At least I wouldn’t be soft on teaching that boy.” He told me that with confidence and it somehow lightened my nerves knowing that at least he would keep his promise by the end of our arrangement. “Unlike someone."
I scoffed at his ‘jab’. "Sensei would be angry when he heard that."
The ghost let out a loud snort. "I was referring to you."
I gave him a long stare, one that actually made him uncomfortable with how he moved away from the close space we share. (Urzxmw qu igvab. Q ffl’i nvlgiqitvl yyw wx qa – dlr wx rcuk qu.) [9] I didn’t know what to feel about his sentiments other than asking him through annoyance out of anything; "Do you ever shut your mouth?”
"Well, I know a way." He teased, leaning over me with the edge of his fox-mask’s nose a feather touch away from mine, but I stood up as quickly as I could gather my equipment around me.
"Good.” I nodded at him before nudging my head at the direction of their shrine. “I'm getting the salt, nice meeting you ghost."
"Sabito." He egged, and I rolled my eyes at him. He sounded like (Tanjirou) the boy for a brief second and that made me amused. I write his name because at least I owe him one, but I would never dare speak it out loud.
I recall how the priestess over our family’s shrine tells the children to never call anything that is human by their names lest you want them to grow an attachment to you. But it seems like writing Sabito’s name is just the same.
Because when I left him be, he followed me.
To be haunted physically now is another new status – but I’d rather have at least something corporeal annoying me than the voice that I hated so much.
Though, I hoped that Makomo was with me instead of the man trying to walk besides me. At least with her, I could’ve asked her several questions needed to be crossed out of my mind.
But I will admit; Sabito is a nice company after bringing up the foundations of breathing forms and stances. He is knowledgeable only at one style, but that is enough experience for us to cling at every little word that he spoke, especially since I haven’t asked of sensei to teach me the water-breathing form.
And having the time to share my experience and of the stances of other techniques… It was nice to have the attention of someone who actually share the same interest as you.
For once, I don’t have to try and understand what the others might say or talk about something that is alien to me – I never felt my face be as free as my mind the more I explain to him about the importance of balance and equilibrium in jumping just to execute the proper accuracy needed to cut a demon’s head.
I might’ve bored Sabito over my rants about techniques, but my distaste for him have shortened into irritation. He’s a great listener. While I have my reservations in being corrected by someone weaker than me, I found his hindsight of favoring agility over strength in executing a counter favorable with an explanation from his.
A fleeting feeling bloomed in my chest. Something that is akin to what I think my other fellow students from other teachers have felt for each other: it was a sense of camaraderie. A rapport.
It felt… nice to consider one as ally.
I still am annoyed with Sabito tugging my hair for his entertainment.