Chapter Text
Hasetsu, still the first Saturday of August
“Victor, are you sure?” Yuuri once again asks, his cheeks feeling fit to combust.
“I've said it already, haven't I? Do as you like, Yuuri,” Victor replies with an indulgent smile. “It's only fair, seeing as I've tasted yours.”
Yuuri needn't be told twice. “All right.”
Victor's banana looks almost dauntingly big up close; Breathing in deep, Yuuri delicately nibbles at the tip for a moment before taking the entire thing in his mouth. A trickle of milk spills from his lips, and he licks it all up, not letting a single drop go to waste.
Delicious.
A strangled sound seemingly spills from Victor's own. Yuuri looks up from his half-eaten kakigoori to find his coach intently studying an old promotional poster by the seaside kiosk's countertop. Albeit faded, it depicts a cartoon squid and sea urchin posing in front of a camera with Hasetsu Castle in the background.
“That's the 'Seven Mysteries of Hasetsu Photo Campaign',” Yuuri translates, indicating the text on the poster. “The tourism board ran this eight—no, seven years ago, I think? When you skated Firebird?” And broke the world record for the highest short program score twice within the same competitive season, Yuuri's inner Victor Nikiforov fanboy would have gone on to gush, but really, it goes without saying.
(Incidentally, that was also the same season Yuuri had skated his All-Japan Championships-winning, excessively glittery costume-wearing Lohengrin. To this day he suspects he'd owed part of his victory to all those sequins bedazzling the judges' eyes—literally.)
“Oh—er— seven,” Victor confirms with a cough, turning towards Yuuri. “That was seven years back, I believe.”
Undoubtedly seven, or so Nishigori would corroborate later on, further recalling that it had been Yuuko-chan's uncle's ex-wife's graphic designer cousin, now based in Fukuoka, who'd come up with the promo. “It was pretty straightforward: all eligible participants—anyone sixteen and up—were to take pictures of Hasetsu's 'seven mysteries',” exposits the man. “Then they were supposed to post the photos on Instagram, hashtag—I don't know, 'Hasetsu no nanafushigi'?— just before Obon.”
“'Obon',” Victor repeats, scooping up the last of his kakigoori. “That's All Souls' Day for the Japanese, yes? Mrs. Katsuki told me.”
“Out here it's held around the middle of August, so it'll be ten days from today, thereabouts,” nods Yuuri. “Anyway, the photo campaign kicked off right after the harvest festival in July, but it never really caught on. A lot more people took pictures of the Saturday night market instead.”
“Yeah, I don't think anyone even posted all seven of the so-called 'mysteries',” says Nishigori. “No winner was announced, and the prize—a month's supply of squid buns and a giant 'Dark Squid' plush doll—ended up being given away for free.”
Victor's face falls. “That's too bad. Now I almost wish I'd been around to promote it. Or to participate, even.”
“Us, too!” Axel, Lutz, and Loop chime in, with Makkachin giving an affirmative “Rowf!” beside them. “We definitely would have won, no problem!”
“Heh, of course you would've,” their proud father declares fondly. “I highly doubt you'd be thrilled to get the Ankoku Ika plushie, though. None of us were.” (Ubiquitous statues notwithstanding, the tourism board's efforts to make their official mascots 'cute' have always achieved the opposite effect.)
Yuuri adjusts his glasses. “Well, an old farmer did step up to claim it. Something about the 'evil squid' making for an excellent scarecrow, if I remember correctly.”
“So the squid became a scarecrow?” asks Loop.
“Yes,” Nishigori replies, adopting a mock ominous tone as he leans forward and points his finger up conspiratorially. “And even though the farmer's long since gone, rumor has it that the plushie's still around, scaring crows and other field pests— for eternity. The eighth mystery of Hasetsu, so to speak.”
“And the other seven?” Lutz inquires, gulping visibly. “You've got to tell us about those, Papa!”
“Yeah!” agrees Axel with a nod, her short pigtails bobbing. “Inquiring six-year-old minds need to know!”
Inquiring six-year-old minds also need to eat, however, so Nishigori only accedes to their request over stir-fried soba bread and ajian gyouza. Victor and Yuuri, stomachs still sated from the kakigoori, help man the counter in the half-hour or so it would take for Nishigori to individually recount—with varying degrees of embellishment—Hasetsu's Seven Mysteries.
Mystery #1: The Little Girl of Crescent Pine Forest
Mikazuki no Matsubara no Ko (三日月の松原の子)
“We call her Midoriko: the little girl of Crescent Pine Forest,” Nishigori begins. “Deep within the woods along the eastern coast she dwells, guiding travelers who may have lost their way.”
“Unless that traveler is an asshat,” Yuuri would qualify on the way home, briskly walking down one of the winding paths of said woods with Victor and Makkachin. (A bit of a detour from their usual route, admittedly, but it still leads out into a road that leads to another road that leads to Yu-topia... eventually.) “You know, one of those people who leave cigarette butts and other trash? They get lost.”
Victor stares at him, blue eyes rapt. “They're never heard from again, Yuuri?”
“Er, nothing so permanent,” Yuuri sheepishly returns. “They all turn up the next morning just outside the forest, claiming they couldn't get out or contact anyone the entire time.” He cracks a small smile, their folded umbrella (with his duffle bag hanging off of the shaft) balanced over one shoulder. “Of course, nine times out of ten they would also admit to having been drunk, so...” Yuuri shrugs.
“Ah. But for those who aren't asshats, this 'Mikado'—”
“Midoriko.”
“This Mi-do-ri-ko,” Victor retries, carefully enunciating the name, “shows up and helps them out?”
“More or less?” Yuuri rejoins. “Or rather, I guess it's more accurate to say that they find her.”
“Eh?”
“You'll see soon enough. We're almost—” Yuuri suddenly stops and looks around, realizing that they are, in fact, “here. I mean, this is the place, and that—” He points the umbrella at a child-sized jut of rock long overgrown with weeds and moss, “—is Midoriko.”
Victor and Makkachin slowly approach the stone. 'Midoriko' sits in between a fork in the wooded path, nestled against the trunk of a tall pine tree. Even less than ten paces away, dappled midday sunlight filtering through the leaves, the rock could still be mistaken for a little girl with long green hair kneeling down as if to pray, or sleep, or play hide and seek.
“Not quite what we were expecting, isn't she, Makkachin?” Victor breathes.
The poodle gives an equally subdued wuff in response. Thereafter Makkachin noses at the exposed foot of the rock, giving it a tentative sniff.
“The moss on Midoriko-san always faces north,” Yuuri goes on to explain, coming up behind them. “From here, if you follow the path where the same moss is growing, you can find your way out of the forest easily enough.”
“I see,” Victor says. “And the tale? How much of it is true, would you say?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Yuuri ponders for a bit. “Well, perhaps there really once was an orphan girl named Midoriko. And perhaps she did implore the spirits of Crescent Pine Forest to return her family to her, and got 'adopted' by them instead. Or, you know,” He gestures towards Midoriko-san again, “perhaps someone merely came up with that yarn after seeing this rock.”
“She does seem eerily lifelike,” Victor opines. “And her story reminds me of a fairy tale we have back in Russia: Kamennyj Tsvetok; 'The Stone Flower.' I don't suppose you've heard of it?”
Yuuri nods. “I've seen the ballet. It's about a craftsman who gets so enthralled by that flower that he abandons his loved ones for years, right?”
“Yes. 'Though when you put it like that, Yuuri, Danilo sounds like a thoughtless ass.”
“I think he was, to be honest,” Yuuri confides. “His fiancée saves him in the end, and they live happily ever after; but really, I'd have liked it if the woman just gave up on him and moved on.”
Victor's shoulders shrug. “Well, I like how Katya chose to stand by him,” the man airily rejoins. “True love triumphs and all that. So much more romantic.”
Were his arms unoccupied, Yuuri would have folded them. As it is, he settles on narrowing his eyes instead. “Romantic or not,” he huffs, “Katya still deserves so much better.”
“She got the love of her life back,” Victor replies. “That should be good enough, shouldn't it?”
No. Are they arguing over fairy tales now? Seriously? “... Maybe,” Yuuri partially concedes. “If Danilo spends the rest of their days making it up to her.”
“I am of the belief that that's what he did.” After a moment Victor takes out his smartphone and holds it up, glancing back at Yuuri. “May I?”
“Douzo—ah— go ahead.” As Victor snaps a picture of himself and Makkachin sitting next to Midoriko (#hasetsu 7 mysteries) Yuuri appends, mildly amused, “Wait, you're not thinking of completing the photo campaign, are you?”
“I wasn't, but now that you mention it...” Victor tips him a wink and a smile. “What do you say, Yuuri? Shall we extend our date?”
Yuuri's face burns (Victor couldn't really mean a date, could he?), but he nods slowly. “Sure. But only after lunch, okay?”
(As if he could resist Victor's imploring eyes a second time.)