Chapter Text
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Justice.
Yata no mori Kyudo Hall.
Another 5 arrows added to the 15 already stuck in the target.
Another 20 closer to 10.000. Slowly but steadily on the way to the closure of this chapter in his life.
Closer to the goal.
And the end.
The archer let his body relax, watching the sakura petals fall on the training grounds, giving the moonlit night an even more ethereal feel. The night sky made his endeavour seem so much more meaningful, melancholic, finite.
Lost in thought, he didn’t notice the audience while laying down the bow and taking off the yugake glove, but an owl’s screech and a startled yelp, paired with a thud, caused him to become aware of his surroundings again. He turned his head, following the sounds, and spotted a small figure on the ground next to the shooting range. Taking the blue tartan cloth off the chair’s backrest, he made his way to the young boy, who seemed to have fallen to the ground. Cause of this, the man deduced, had been the snowy white owl sitting on a branch not far from where the boy landed. The very owl that served as his watchman at night, as his silent judge while he laboured away on his journey. He called out to it. The boy on the ground let out another startled noise as Whoo landed on the blue tartan cloth wrapped around the archer’s hand. Quietly, so as to not frighten him any further, he fixed his gaze on the boy’s back, waiting. The boy turned around and peered up at the man in traditional priest’s clothing, a feather stuck in his hair, his mouth slightly agape in wonder. The archer was taken aback by the night sky reflected in his eyes, so deep, so clear, striking blue mixed with bright green. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of this meeting.
“Who are you…?” he asked.
No answer.
Chuckling to dispel the tension hanging in the air, he turned his words to the animal on his arm. “Who’d have thought we’d have a visitor this late at night, hmm, Whoo?”
“Eh..? Whoo?”
Ah. An answer. He should take this approach, then.
“It’s his name”.
The boy’s eyes lingered on the bird for a while, then traced the archer’s hand up to meet his eyes. Then, he seemed to become aware of himself. He rose to his feet, mumbled an apology and was already hurrying to get away.
Interesting kid.
“Hold on. Come inside. Let me treat you”.
When his gaze met the boy's, he noticed confusion. He pointed at the hand that showed a seemingly new scratch. "Your hand..."
He guided Whoo to his shoulder and returned to his task, recording the arrows he fired yet again, while waiting for the boy to come in. When he saw him standing there, he beckoned him to sit next to him, producing a first aid kit from under the table. The nervousness that had surrounded the boy before seemed to have dissipated as he extended his scratched hand without hesitation.
“How many did you hit?”
The boy’s question took him by surprise. He had chosen as his first question neither an inquiry about what he was doing, nor a plea to explain the otherworldly situation they seemed to be in, but rather an examination of the archer’s skill. If he hadn’t already guessed from the nature of the boy’s injury, he was certain now.
He was an archer. Did he practice kyudo at school?
“I don’t count hits. I count arrows fired”.
“Well, then how many have you fired?” the boy pressed on.
A smile grew on the man’s lips. “Eighty. I’m shooting another 20 today”.
“100? Why would you shoot so many in one day?”
“Aah… I’m not doing this just today. This is the 97th. I have three days left”.
“You’re shooting 10.000?! Why?”
Yes.
Yes, 10.000.
Why?
Because he had to.
It was something he had to do.
“…a whim, maybe?” he eluded. It was not the boy’s burden to bear. Instead of properly answering the question, the man rose to his feet, took the bow and held it out for the boy to take. “Want to try?”
Longing started to creep into the boy’s look, then sadness.
“No thank you”.
No? Why fix the tool with such yearning only to refuse?
“You’ve shot before. Come on, no need to be shy!”
“I… I don’t shoot.”
Present tense. So he had done it before.
What had happened? What made him seem so lost? The man was confused with the mixed signals the boy was giving. He wanted to, that much was plain to see. Why didn’t he then?
“Come on, here, take it!” the man tried again.
He wanted to see the boy shoot, and the boy obviously wanted to shoot, so what was the problem?! The archer was becoming slightly irritated with the boy's utter resistance he couldn't understand, and the kid seemed to unconsciously pick up the uncomfortable tension starting to rise.
However, that seemed to tip the scale.
With a sudden loudness that had Whoo retreat to the trees surrounding the shooting range, the boy repeated “I told you I don’t shoot!”
Oh dear. That was too much.
The boy seemed startled by his own outburst. He bowed, apologized and hurried out the door, leaving the man standing in the dojo, mouth agape, still not quite grasping what had happened.
Questions started to flood his head. Who was that boy? Why had he had an injury pointing to a misfired arrow when he ‘didn’t shoot’? Why had he seemed so lost?
The archer fixed the bow in his hands and sighed. He still had a task to do.
20 left.
Clear your mind, set your intention.
Walking to the back end of the dojo to retrieve his arrows stuck in the target, he faintly heard the ringing of his phone.
Of course this happens when I’m the furthest away possible…
Deciding to ignore it, he gathered up the arrows and made his way back, only to find another round of ringing greet him. Sighing, he picked up.
“Yes, this is Takigawa Masaki ……. Aaaah, is it about what you asked the other day? …Yes…… Yes, I’m sorry. ……. I will call you once I’m done here, yes. ….. Yes, thank you, Tomio-san. Good bye”.
Another 5 arrows.
Yata no mori Kyudo Hall.
Justice.
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