Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kazuma has had fifty days to imagine this moment. 

Not that every day was spent imagining it, of course. Most of his days have been filled with training, or catching up on Iris’ book recommendations, or learning how to thwart Sholmes’ disconcerting lockpicking skills. But occasionally, on those nights when they serve chicken, while he lies awake trying not to mutter increasingly elaborate curses on the chef, he imagines the ship docking at Yokohama. Of what it would feel like, to take his first steps back on home soil after nearly two years abroad. Of the humid air and that salty, acrid smell of the harbor while passengers jostle onto the pier. And he imagines that he’ll look up from his luggage, and he’ll pick out the faces of his welcome party—his family—somewhere among the crowd. They’ll be smiling, he hopes, although by now he’s learned to temper his expectations. He doesn’t imagine Ryuunosuke’s face specifically.

It’s only afterwards, when he’s standing there in the haze of the humid summer morning, catching sight of Professor Mikotoba (smiling, waving, and alone), that he realizes with an unpleasant flood of disappointment exactly how much he’d taken Ryuunosuke’s presence for granted.

The crowd pushes past him—some of them throw dirty looks his way, and more than once he hears a curt, “Excuse me.”

“Mr. Asougi!” An arm flings around his shoulder, and he tries not to stumble as all of the weight of Herlock Sholmes sags against him. “Why is it that I am not even two minutes off that wretched boat, and yet I am already thrust into an even more wretched situation!”

But Kazuma has his own wretched situation to deal with, which includes Sholmes’ increasingly oppressive deadweight and the distinct lack of Ryuunosuke. One of those things is more likely to be addressed within the next minute than the other, though, so he relents and asks, “The what?”

“My clothes,” says Sholmes, “are sticking to me.”

“It’s August,” Kazuma explains.

“Typhoon season, Daddy,” says Iris, appearing at Kazuma’s side. “We read all about it before our journey, remember?”

“I remember a great many things, Iris,” Sholmes replies, still draped uncomfortably around Kazuma’s shoulders. “But weather facts must be reserved for only the most riveting of small talk, and therefore have no place in my brain.”

“So you’d rather complain than be prepared. I see!” Iris says. She grabs Kazuma’s wrist and tries tugging them forward. “Let’s get going, shall we? It would be rude for us to keep clogging up the dock. And Professor Mickey is waiting!”

“Mikotoba?” Sholmes mumbles into Kazuma’s shoulder. His mood has melted as quickly as body. “Tell me, Iris, is he here?”

“You’ll find out sooner if you’d walk on your own, Daddy,” she says, and with a heavy sigh he peels himself off Kazuma. 

Professor Mikotoba’s smile widens as they approach, but Sholmes doesn’t appear to notice. He scans the docks, head whipping from side to side, looking anywhere but straight ahead where Professor Mikotoba is waiting.

“I don’t see him,” Sholmes announces. “However, there is some man here who looks eerily similar to Mikotoba, if perhaps one squints and tilts their head at just the right angle…”

“Sholmes…” Professor Mikotoba sighs and shakes his head, but he’s still smiling.

“Ah, so it is him! Apologies, Mikotoba. I couldn’t recognize you with that mustache, you see.”

“You saw me in London, Sholmes. I haven’t changed it since then.”

“And that’s precisely the issue,” Sholmes replies smoothly. “But no use dwelling on Mikotoba’s stubbornness, I suppose. The next leg of our journey awaits!”

And so it does, because the next train out of Yokohama leaves in just fifteen minutes. They make a mad rush to the station, hefting their luggage through the crowd and up the platform. Professor Mikotoba has already bought their tickets, thankfully, and they flop into their seats right as the train begins to depart. Only one more hour, Kazuma thinks. His body thrums in anticipation, even as the fatigue of boat travel sinks in. Iris and Sholmes must feel similarly—their faces are glued to the window the entire trip, uncharacteristically quiet except for the occasional fascinated observation.

The train ride passes in a blur, and Kazuma soon finds himself swept into a carriage and down the familiar set of streets to the Mikotoba household. He stumbles a little when he steps off at the gate, still somewhat stunned that he’s actually here. Home.

Professor Mikotoba tugs the luggage from his hands, rousing him from his fugue state.

“Welcome home,” he says, and Kazuma mumbles his way around an awed tadaima.

They drop their luggage just inside the house entrance, when Iris pipes up with the question that’s been at the top of Kazuma’s mind since they arrived this morning: “Where are Runo and Susie?”

“They had a trial today. And actually—” Professor Mikotoba checks his pocketwatch. “It seems they’re not quite finished yet. What do you say—shall we see if we can catch the rest of it?”

Kazuma has already seen Ryuunosuke defend before, and has no particular desire to watch him while someone else is serving as the prosecution. But before he can say so, Iris gasps and claps her hands together delightedly.

“Oh! Watching Runo and Susie in the Japanese courts! I’d love to see them!”

“Alright.” Professor Mikotoba smiles. “Let’s catch a rickshaw, then. Unless you want to take a short break to unpack…?”

“There will be plenty of time for unpacking later,” says Sholmes, waving off the suggestion. “Whereas, each trial is only a once-in-a-lifetime moment!”

Kazuma can’t help but roll his eyes at that. He’s prosecuted his own fair share of slogs of trials back in England, as Sholmes very well knows. He hardly sees how this might be different, except that Ryuunosuke will be there. And as pleasing as that is sure to be, it wouldn’t be anything he’s not already used to.

Except this, within not even two hours since he stepped off the docks at Yokohama, is the second of his tragic over-estimations. Because of course Ryuunosuke is not wearing his Yuumei uniform nearly a year after setting off on the path of a defense attorney. He’s not wearing that western suit either, which would have been arguably more tolerable given that Kazuma had already been exposed to it during their time in London. Instead, he’s wearing a navy blue haori hakama kimono in similar make as Professor Mikotoba's, with the red han-eri collar underneath a perfect complement to the hachimaki around Karuma's hilt. It suits him devastatingly well. 

“Oh, and there’s Susie!” Iris exclaims. She’s pointing somewhere, although Kazuma is currently too busy watching how Ryuunosuke’s sleeves move as he crosses his arms to bother figuring out where.

A shrill “Objection!” cuts through the air, and with an unpleasant start Kazuma remembers the existence of the prosecution. He pulls his gaze away from the defense’s bench to the opposite end of the courtroom, where the prosecutor is haphazardly waving a fan about. His face looks vaguely familiar, but… 

“Who’s that?” Iris asks, to which Professor Mikotoba responds, “I believe that’s young Prosecutor Auchi.”

“Auchi, hm?” Kazuma mutters. The name rings a bell, and he recalls a man whose chonmage fell under Karuma’s sharp blade. “He has too much hair.”

“That’s the son,” Professor Mikotoba explains. “Takeshi, I believe? He was in your year, you know.”

“Hmm…” Kazuma narrows his eyes further, because clearly Takeshi Auchi was not exemplary enough to stand out to him, and is therefore a poor match against Ryuunosuke.

All that fan-waving and screeching must have communicated something important, because Ryuunosuke looks taken aback and begins furiously shuffling through his evidence list. So some things don’t change after all, Kazuma thinks, calming a little at the familiar sight of a floundering Ryuunosuke. But, as is becoming disturbingly usual, Kazuma has made his judgment too soon. Because once Ryuunosuke finds what he’s looking for, he leans back and rests his hand over Karuma and he grins. It’s dazzling. It’s horrible. It’s absolutely annihilating. Kazuma swears a curse on Auchi's bloodline for all eternity.

That expression of Ryuunosuke’s seems to signal the end of it, though, because by the time Kazuma has shaken himself away from death-glaring at Auchi, the judge is already declaring his verdict. A Not Guilty. Of course. As if he can expect anything less of Ryuunosuke, by now. 

Iris springs from her seat as soon as the verdict is announced and rushes to the lobby. By the time Kazuma catches up to her, Ryuunosuke and Susato are entering from the chamber.

“Iris! Mr. Sholmes! You’ve arrived! And...Oh—!”

Susato squeaks as her eyes land on Kazuma, and without looking away she grabs at Ryuunosuke and tosses him to the ground. 

“Ouch! Miss Susato! What the—”

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammers, still staring at Kazuma. “It’s just—I didn’t—I wasn’t expecting—”

“Quite the welcome, Judicial Assistant Mikotoba,” he says. “Although it seems Ryuunosuke’s gotten the worst of it.”

They both stiffen, and Ryuunosuke slowly angles his head backwards and looks up.

“Kazuma,” he says. 

“I’m back,” Kazuma agrees, and after a brief moment of consideration, adds, “partner.”

It is the exact wrong thing to say. Ryuunosuke’s jaw clenches, and he busies himself with getting up off the ground. Susato tears her eyes away, instead focusing intently on Sholmes.

“How was your trip, Mr. Sholmes?” she asks. “No storms or other poor weather, I hope?”

“To be quite frank, Miss Mikotoba, a storm or two would have been the perfect antidote for boredom. But I hear we may experience a typhoon here in Japan, at the very least, so that much I can look forward to!”

“A-ah, yes…”

“Enough weather talk, Daddy.” Iris whacks his arm with a rolled-up newspaper she’d grabbed from the train station on the way home. “Susie! You were marvelous in there!”

Susato ducks her face and fidgets with her hands. “Well, I can hardly take credit for our success. It was Mr. Naruhodou who did all the hard work. And Prosecutor Auchi helped us fit the final piece together, and the judge was favorable today…”

Iris rolls her eyes. “Oh please, Susie. You and Runo need to learn to be less modest.”

Professor Mikotoba laughs. “We’ll be sure to tell that to all of the people of Japan, Iris,” he says, resting a hand on Susato’s shoulder. 

“Iris is right, though,” says Ryuunosuke. “I really don’t know where I’d be without all of your help, Miss Susato.”

“You were marvelous too, Ryuunosuke,” Kazuma cuts in. Ryuunosuke ignores him. 

“SUSATOOOO!!” 

There’s a blur of yellow and a rustling of fabric as someone launches at Susato. 

“H-Haori!” she says, stumbling back to catch the girl in her arms. “You were here for the trial?”

“Of course!” the girl replies. “I had to watch you for moral support, didn’t I?”

Kazuma vaguely remembers her from brief interactions at the Mikotoba household—Haori Murasame, one of Susato’s friends. He might have offered a polite hello, if he wasn’t so busy trying to catch Ryuunosuke’s eye as he shuffles further and further around Susato. And Murasame appears occupied enough, as it is.

“Just in time for lunch, too,” Professor Mikotoba says. “I’m sure our guests are hungry from their journey. You’re welcome to join us as well, Miss Murasame.”

“Oh!” Murasame says. She glances around at their group, finally seeming to notice a few unfamiliar faces. “Ah, that is, if I’m not intruding…” 

“The more, the merrier!” says Sholmes. “There can never be too many people to regale with the Great Adventures of Herlock Sholmes! And accomplices.”

Murasame’s eyes widen. “Susato, is that…”

“The very same,” Susato whispers back.

“Please, ladies, hold your applause,” Sholmes says. “At least until after the great detective has been fed. Lead us away, Mr. Asougi!”

Sholmes grabs his arm and whirls him around, pulling him out of the lobby.

“Wh— Why me?” Kazuma blurts, with a hint of annoyance. He hears a chuckle that sounds suspiciously like Professor Mikotoba.

“Because you are a local, and because you haven’t been home in so long. Surely you have something you’ve been craving, that you haven’t been able to find in London?”

“La Carneval,” he says, because it’s the first thing he sees as they exit the courthouse, and because he needs to somehow find a way to talk to Ryuunosuke alone, as soon as possible. The sooner they can get lunch over with, the better. 

“Oho! Beefsteak!” Sholmes declares. “Not what I would have chosen!”

“Then you can choose it yourself, next time.”

“No beef hotpot, huh,” Ryuunosuke mumbles. Kazuma freezes, then glances back at him. Their eyes meet for the briefest of moments before Ryuunosuke startles and turns away. Damn. 

It’s only after they’ve been seated, with Kazuma staring at the image of a dripping beefsteak on the front page of the menu, that he realizes he would really have rather had the beef hotpot. Damn!

He finally pulls himself away from the menu and looks up at the rest of the table. He’s wedged between Iris and Sholmes, somehow, and across from Murasame, who is engaged in conversation with Susato. Ryuunosuke is at Murasame’s left, his face turned away from Kazuma and towards Professor Mikotoba, who is sitting at the end. Kazuma quickly processes their seating arrangements and then turns to Iris.

“Would you like to sit next to Sholmes?” he asks. 

“Not particularly,” she says. 

Well. “Would you switch seats with me regardless?”

“I like the end seat.” Iris glances up from her menu and takes a long look around the table. Her eyes flick between the three sitting across from them, before she finally settles back on Kazuma with a beaming smile. “But because you asked so nicely, Zumie, I’ll do it for you.”

“Thank you,” he breathes out, and they make a hasty swap. Susato looks over at him, an expression of consternation on her face, but luckily any protests she might have are interrupted by the sudden appearance of their waiter.

“Good afternoon,” the man says. He coughs slightly, and Kazuma recognizes the detective who had been involved in Ryuunosuke’s trial nearly two years ago.

“Inspector Hosonaga?” says Susato, thoroughly distracted now. Kazuma is almost in the clear. “Are you still working undercover here?”

“Please. I am no inspector,” he says. “At least, not right now. I must continue to serve out the rest of my contract as a waiter, regardless of whether or not there are crimes to investigate while doing so. The intelligence-gathering I'm able to conduct here is surprisingly useful, though.”

“Ah… I see…” Susato says, but Kazuma is no longer paying attention, because Murasame has gotten up to go to the restroom, and this is the only chance he has. 

He mumbles some excuse that no one is listening to, and follows quickly after. He catches her on the way back to the table, her eyes wide with surprise as they nearly bump into each other in the narrow hallway.

“Murasame-san,” he says. “I will buy you a year’s worth of beefsteaks if you would trade seats with me.”

Her mouth opens, then closes. She thinks for a moment, calculating a similar arrangement that he himself had done almost fifteen minutes prior. “Asougi-kun,” she replies, very seriously. “You do not have to bribe me for the honor of being able to gaze directly in Susato’s eyes.”

“Excellent,” he says, and escorts her back to the table. Ryuunosuke does a double-take when Kazuma slides into the seat next to him, and glances over at the chair where Kazuma—and Iris before him—had originally been. But Murasame is happily leaning forward over the table, eyes sparkling as she laughs at whatever Susato has said, and Ryuunosuke can only settle for a glare. Kazuma returns it with his most brilliant smile.

“I hope you wanted beefsteak, Mr. Asougi,” says Sholmes, “because that’s what we ordered for you while you were away.”

“Yes, sure, thank you,” he says, and returns his attention to Ryuunosuke. Ryuunosuke shifts a little in his seat, and the defense attorney badge on his armband catches briefly in the light. Kazuma itches to know whose name is inscribed on the underside.

Ryuunosuke looks to his left, but Professor Mikotoba is wrapped up in one of Sholmes’ disjointed storytellings again, and, resigned, he settles for conversation with Kazuma.

“So,” he begins, apparently electing to ignore the seat-swapping gymnastics that led them here. “You’re back.”

“That I am.”

“How was London?”

Kazuma laughs. “Chaotic. The judiciary’s still sorting through the mess Stronghart made, trying to work out who can be trusted not to take extrajudicial actions. I’m up against a new defense every trial.” He rests his arms on the table, smiling at Ryuunosuke. “None of them put up quite as much of a challenge as you.”

“Hm.” Ryuunosuke stares at some vague spot between Sholmes and Iris, refusing to turn his head even the slightest bit towards Kazuma. “I didn’t realize trials were a competition.”

“They’re not, of course,” Kazuma swiftly responds, then frowns. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Your beefsteak, sir.” Inspector Hosonaga appears behind Kazuma’s shoulder and slides a hot plate between them, setting it in front of Ryuunosuke. “And yours, as well.”

“Thank you, Inspector,” Ryuunosuke says. Kazuma is still a few sentences behind, wondering how he can salvage this conversation when it’s barely even begun. He frowns down at his beefsteak. It offers no answers.

Everyone else is eating, though, and Kazuma is hungry. And if he’s stuffing his mouth with beefsteak there’s a significantly decreased likelihood of him saying something that will piss off Ryuunosuke.

Chatter returns around the rest of the table, but Kazuma stays quiet. He gets through about half of his steak before slowing down, taking the time to think as he chews. 

Theoretically, he knows why Ryuunosuke might still be upset with him. He made a mistake, and he never fully apologized for it, and he arrived back in Japan unannounced. He had hoped that complimenting Ryuunosuke might ease them back into a friendly relationship, but… 

I need you to be honest with me, Kazuma.  

The memory of their conversation at the docks nine months ago comes to him suddenly. It was something Ryuunosuke had said after Kazuma returned Karuma to him, his eyes solemn as they bore into Kazuma’s soul. Kazuma had left him with Karuma and his hachimaki and an unspoken promise to meet Ryuunosuke’s every expectation, honesty among them.

And all of his compliments have been honest, every time. None of them put up quite as much of a challenge as you. It was meant to be a testament to how much Ryuunosuke has grown as a lawyer, and how much Kazuma trusts that he will see to the heart of the truth. But, after re-examining his phrasing, he might admit that it perhaps wasn’t the most straightforward way of saying so… 

Ah.

There. 

Kazuma slams his hand down on the table. “Ryuunosuke.”

The outburst makes Susato flinch in her seat, and draws the attention of everyone else at the table. Time and a place, Kazuma, a voice reprimands from the back of his mind. It sounds irritatingly like Ryuunosuke. But he needs Ryuunosuke to pay attention, because he’s realized something urgent and now is as good a time as any to say it.

He wants to say something like the Japanese judiciary is lucky to have you or you’re a better man than I’ll ever be or you’re amazing and stunning and I’m still in love with you, but his tongue has never cooperated in any moment that has mattered and instead he says, “Is that mine?”

Ryuunosuke’s fork is halfway to his mouth; he goes very still, and without looking over at Kazuma says, “What?”

“The armband,” Kazuma says, because he might as well make use of this hole he’s dug himself into.

The mood turns frosty; Sholmes and Iris are now watching them avidly, and Ryuunosuke does not answer.

“I see,” Kazuma mumbles, a little deliriously, because Ryuunosuke has not gotten his own armband, which means that he keeps not one, but two mementos of Kazuma with him at all times, which means that Kazuma still has a solid chance. If he hasn’t already ruined it with his run-off mouth, that is.

Ryuunosuke doesn’t respond. He cuts his steak and scarfs it down with a vicious intensity, and stiffly ignores Kazuma for the remainder of their lunch. Iris fiddles with her Bearis trinket. Sholmes makes a poor attempt at stifling a laugh. Murasame gives him a pitying glance, which is more sympathy than anyone else has shown, and probably more than he deserves.

Welcome back to me, he thinks sourly, and doesn’t finish the rest of his beefsteak.

Miraculously, Ryuunosuke still returns to the Mikotoba household with them afterwards. 

Iris rushes off to unpack her things, with Susato and Murasame close behind. Sholmes has wandered into the house, complaining loudly about the heat, and Professor Mikotoba has similarly disappeared. Ryuunosuke branches off to the side yard, moving quickly past the pond around to the back.

“Ryuunosuke,” Kazuma calls out after him, but Ryuunosuke continues to ignore him. Kazuma walks faster. “Ryuunosuke!”

Ryuunosuke stops before one of the pine trees and turns around, weary irritation evident on his face.

“What do you want, Kazuma?”

You. Karuma. Our soul. “What do you think I want, Ryuunosuke Naruhodou?”

“Honestly? I have no idea what you think.”

Anymore. The word hangs implicitly at the end of his sentence. But they both know that Kazuma had never been the person Ryuunosuke thought he was, and the silence only thickens until it’s as heavy and uncomfortable as the humid afternoon air. Ryuunosuke sighs.

“Why are you here?”

“Can I not come back to visit my home?”

“I don’t know,” Ryuunosuke says snippily. “Can you stop responding with a question, maybe?”

Honesty. Kazuma reminds himself sternly. “Do you remember our last conversation, in England?”

“That’s another question—”

“When I asked you to hold on to Karuma for me,” he goes on, and watches while Ryuunosuke pieces together where this conversation is going. It’s one of the things he loves most about Ryuunosuke—how he can always get to the heart of a matter, without Kazuma having to explain it himself.

Ryuunosuke continues to stare at him for a few moments, then sighs again.

“Do you really want the sword?”

“I—” Kazuma hesitates. What he really wants is Ryuunosuke’s heart, but he’s absolutely certain that’s the wrong answer. But surely there’s some metaphor about hearts and swords and becoming worthy of one or the other, so instead he says, “Yes?”

“You sound so sure,” Ryuunosuke says dryly.

“I swear it, on my honor.”

Ryuunosuke assesses him skeptically, which Kazuma supposes is what he deserves.

“Alright,” he finally says. There’s a scrape of metal; a flash of silver; and then: “Draw your sword, Kazuma.”

Kazuma laughs. “Really? We’re going to do this here? Right now?”

“Your sword, Kazuma.”

Kazuma shakes his head incredulously, but unsheathes his saber. “You know, Ryuunosuke, when you said you looked forward to our duel I didn’t think you’d take it quite so literally—”

Karuma arcs down from the left. Kazuma parries on instinct, the clang interrupting whatever he was about to say next.

“Ah,” he says. “Nice move.”

Ryuunosuke steps back for a moment before coming at him from the right. Kazuma blocks again, countering with a half-hearted swipe. Ryuunosuke pivots and makes another arcing swing, and Kazuma has to admit that he’s a little impressed.

“Expert maneuver, Ryuunosuke,” he says. “I’d almost think you’re taking this seriously.”

“You’re talking too much.”

“Oh, sorry.” Kazuma lunges into the opening at Ryuunosuke’s left, which is quickly blocked by Karuma. “I was under the impression you wanted me to talk more, not less.”

“Yes, about important things. Not running your mouth off at any passing thought you have.”

Not every passing thought, he thinks wryly, but has the good sense to keep that to himself. For a few minutes there’s nothing but the sound of swords crashing; this back-and-forth, step-by-step dance. He’s almost enjoying himself, even, and when Ryuunosuke places another well-timed strike Kazuma can’t help but chime in with a teasing, “Not bad, for a broken sword.”

Ryuunosuke’s expression darkens. “And whose fault is that, I wonder?”

Ah. Kazuma hesitates for a split second, and Ryuunosuke has him on the defensive again, pushing him backwards towards the pond. “I didn’t mean—”

“What did you mean, then, Kazuma? Or were you not thinking, as usual?”

“As usual?” Kazuma sputters, affronted. He pivots as soon as his foot touches stone, darting to the side to avoid a spill. “I’m trying to apologize—”

“And doing a piss-poor job of it, too.” 

“If you would bother listening to me—”

“Maybe if you would bother listening to yourself. Do you know how you sound, right now?”

“And yet you’re the one idolizing a sword.”

“It’s my best friend’s soul,” Ryuunosuke says haughtily.

“Your best friend is right here!” Kazuma snaps. “You’ve built up some image of me that never existed, and now you’re blaming me for it, as if that’s in any way a fair or reasonable expectation of anyone!”

“Because you lied to me, Kazuma,” Ryuunosuke says, stabbing forward with Karuma.

“Ha—” Kazuma huffs and blocks it easily, and if Ryuunosuke hadn’t kept a flexible stance he might have knocked Karuma from his hands. “Nothing I’ve ever said has been a lie—”

“Alright, fine.” Another jab. “So you’ve never lied. You’ve only refused to share important information with anyone, and brought me all the way to England without telling me why, and strung us along on your little revenge plot until we had to dismantle it for you. But yes, you’ve never lied. Excellent job, Kazuma. Absolutely stunning lawyering.”

Kazuma falters, blustering at the disastrous combination of a compliment veiled within a flurry of blows. It’s endlessly unfair, that Ryuunosuke can exploit his weaknesses like this.

“You’ve made so much progress,” Ryuunosuke says, relentlessly pushing onward. “Is that what you want me to tell you?”

Yes. "No." 

But Ryuunosuke has managed to become an expert at reading him, in the interim of nine months apart, somehow, and Kazuma watches as he narrows his eyes and frowns. Ugh.

Kazuma’s foot bumps against something uneven, and all of a sudden his back is pressed against the pine. Ryuunosuke slashes downward, and Kazuma lifts his saber to meet it with an ugly clang. They’re leaning in so close, now—their faces filling the space between their crossed swords. 

“You’re a fucking idiot, Kazuma,” Ryuunosuke says, the words ghosting against his lips. Just a few more millimeters and Kazuma could shut him up properly—show him exactly how much he has or hasn't changed. But he doesn't get the chance; Ryuunosuke lets him go and steps away. 

Kazuma clears his throat. “You’ve been practicing.” He’s very proud that his voice doesn’t waver.

For a moment some of Ryuunosuke’s charming modesty returns, and he gives an awkward half-shrug. Kazuma seizes the opening. 

“Do you think of me?” he says, a crazed grin spreading across his face. “As your faceless opponent? As your sparring partner? Training for the chance to cross swords with me again—”

There’s a flash of silver, and Karuma is pointed at his throat. “You’ve always been too full of yourself,” Ryuunosuke says hotly. “That’s why you’re so easy to best.”

Kazuma opens his mouth indignantly, but Ryuunosuke withdraws Karuma again and takes a few more steps back.

“I don’t know why you’re here,” he says, while Kazuma sorts his thoughts together. “And honestly, you’re just wasting your time.”

“Wasting my—”

“I have no interest in talking to you like this. So yes, you’re wasting your time.”

“Ha— That’s— As if I came just for you—”

“Didn’t you?”

The words shrivel on Kazuma’s tongue, and he stays quiet. Ryuunosuke stares him down with that horrible, familiar disappointment.

“Nine months, and you’ve hardly changed at all, huh?” 

Kazuma flinches as though struck. Ten minutes of sword fighting, and this is what hurts the most. “You don’t mean that.”

“Well, you might think differently,” Ryuunosuke says, sliding Karuma back in its sheath, “but I've never been able to be dishonest with you, Kazuma.”

He turns to leave, and Kazuma can only watch as his back recedes from sight.

Ryuunosuke doesn’t stay for dinner. He had left as soon as their duel ended, although Kazuma imagines he must have said goodbye to the Mikotobas and their British guests. Dinner itself had been another awkward affair—less awkward than lunch had been, but that is hardly an accomplishment.

Kazuma sits on the porch overlooking the garden, letting the heat and the incessant buzzing of cicadas wash over him.

“Aahh…” Sholmes sighs, plopping beside him. He’s changed out of his suit and into some light purple yukata, waving an uchiwa fan at his face. “What a day, what a day! And to think, this is only the beginning of our holiday!”

It is, and Kazuma’s already managed to ruin it somehow. He makes an irritated noise and hunches his shoulders.

“Why, Mr. Asougi,” Sholmes says. “With a sigh like that one would think you’re not enjoying yourself.”

“It’s our first day of holiday,” says Kazuma, glaring at the setting sun, “and Ryuunosuke refuses to talk to me.”

“Oh, come now. You were talking earlier, weren’t you? Doing that... whatever it was in the garden.”

“It was a duel.”

“Right! A duel! With words and with swords, unless I’m mistaken. Therefore, it’s a falsity to claim that Mr. Naruhodou refuses to talk to you, given that he already has.”

Sometimes Kazuma really hates what proximity to the law and all its minor technicalities does to people. Although he’s certain Sholmes has always been this annoying, world-famous detective or otherwise. “Alright, well, from now onward he will likely refuse to talk to me further.”

“Hmm.” Sholmes leans back, tapping his fan against his cheek. “And what would you say is the estimated likelihood that he doesn’t talk to you for the rest of our holiday?”

“I...Do I have to put a number to it?”

“Of course you don’t have to, Mr. Asougi. But if you don’t, your hypothesis is untestable and your claims will be unsubstantiated. How about this—I’d put it at a likelihood of eighty-two percent.”

Eighty-two. As much as Sholmes touts using evidence and logic as a basis for any sort of claim, Kazuma would bet that he’s pulled that number at random. Even so, the prospect of Ryuunosuke ignoring Kazuma for the rest of their month-long holiday is so crushingly devastating that he groans and sinks his head into his hands.

“Ah, well. No matter.” Sholmes claps a hand around his shoulder. “If it’s any consolation, it’s not just Mr. Naruhodou, you know—it appears Miss Mikotoba also refuses to talk to you!”

“...Thank you, Mr. Sholmes. I noticed.”

“Honing your deductive skills, I see. Good lad!” Sholmes laughs and slaps him on the back again, making him cringe. “And of course, I am happy to offer my expertise in the Herlock Sholmes Art of Apology. A patented technique I’ve honed over the years, as Mikotoba can attest.”

I would rather walk straight off the docks at Yokohama, Kazuma thinks, but has enough self control by now to know not to vocalize it. Ryuunosuke should be impressed.

“That’s a no, I take it?” Sholmes says, laughing at Kazuma’s expression. “Ah well. Let’s see if we can improve that eighteen percent remainder, shall we? And if not, then at the very least we will have to make the best of our holiday.”

“Fantastic,” Kazuma mumbles, but he does not have much confidence.

Chapter Text

The rest of the week passes in much the same way as the first day. Susato continues to avoid talking to Kazuma directly, glancing aside when they pass each other in the hallways and addressing the room at large when she has something to say. Ryuunosuke doesn't stop by. Professor Mikotoba shows Sholmes and Iris around Yuumei and other parts of the city, and Kazuma finds himself dragged along for lack of anything better to do.

This is fine, he tells himself, as Sholmes stops at yet another street cart to pop his tenth nigiri-zushi into his mouth. This isn’t any different from what I expected.

But when he allows himself to reflect on it—which he’s not much in the practice of and has no intention of letting this be the moment to start—he might admit that this is not how he’d hoped his holiday would go. 

He’s sitting on the porch back at the Mikotoba household, frowning out over the garden. Iris has gone out with Susato again, presumably to peruse the tea shops and confectioneries. He doesn’t see how they have the energy. Then again, he doesn’t see how Susato can continue to avoid him unless she’s not at home, so he supposes it makes sense.

There’s a soft pad of footsteps, and out of the corner of his eye he catches the light brown hem of Professor Mikotoba’s kinagashi.

“Obon is coming up,” he says.

Ah. “So it is.”

“I have some respects I wanted to pay in Shikoku this year,” he continues, amidst Kauzma’s silence. “You are always welcome to join me.”

As if there is any other reason he would go all the way to Shikoku, if not to visit the Asougi estate. Kazuma attempts a light scoff, but it twists oddly around the lump in his throat. Instead, he coughs and nods mutely.

“Alright.” Kazuma hears a rustling as Professor Mikotoba crosses his arms. “I’ll purchase our train tickets. Would you be ready by tomorrow?”

He nods again. Professor Mikotoba lingers for a moment, and Kazuma almost thinks he’ll have something else to say. He doesn’t though; he turns around and steps back into the house, and Kazuma releases the breath he’d been holding.

It takes the better part of two days to get to Shikoku. The trip is quiet. Uneventful. Perfect for brooding, as has become his new favorite pastime.

The farther they get out of Tokyo, though, the more he begins to relax. He hadn’t realized quite how much tension he’d been holding in his shoulders. For the next few days, however briefly, he can distance himself from Susato’s stiff silence and the memory of Ryuunosuke in the garden.

A ferry ride from the station, then an ox cart up the winding forest paths, and at last they arrive at the Asougi estate. The mukaebi fires are already lit at the gates to welcome the spirits of their ancestors: Kazuma’s grandparents, his father, and his mother among them. 

His aunts and uncles welcome him as they step into the house, and they get swept up in a flurry of relatives for a feast before nightfall. Some of his younger cousins—or, cousins’ children, even?—are busy stringing up lanterns and making horses out of cucumbers, then spend the rest of the evening catching fireflies in the yard.

The next day is when they commemorate their loved ones in earnest. Kazuma stands stiffly before his parents’ altars, in the white, western suit he usually reserves for court. The offerings are neatly laid out before their photos—cups of sake; bowls of rice; two cucumber horses; and, of course, his own: sliced persimmon and a tiny, sharpened bamboo sword.

It shouldn’t feel so different. He’s done this countless times before—only, this is the first time he’s done so since uncovering the truth of his father’s murder. Kazuma knows, now, the exact tally of lives his father had taken. He can cite his father’s reasoning, and can weigh the cost of one life taken honorably against the alleged five taken in cold blood. He knows what his father bargained for, and how much he sacrificed, and can list the names of all the men who were content to let him rot and smear his reputation for the sake of the greater good. For the sake of their own selfish advancement.

It shouldn’t feel so different, and yet it does. It hurts even more than before, somehow.

He takes a deep breath, but the suit jacket is tight across his chest. It feels more constricting than usual—the discomfiting stares from his cousins and the whisperings of his extended family behind shoji doors certainly don’t help. But it’s the nicest thing he owns right now. A symbol, even, of how far he’s come since the promise he’d made before this very altar over ten years ago. He wonders, distantly, if it’s bad luck to wear white while calling home spirits. Or hypocritical, perhaps, in the eyes of England’s Christian culture, for a color so pure to be forever stained by his intentions that night aboard the SS Grouse.

Either way, it’s a gross defilement—as a dead man walking, or as a demon in disguise.

A throat clears beside him, and then: “Kazuma-kun.”

Professor Mikotoba is at his side, and even though he had announced his presence Kazuma still flinches.

“They would be proud of you, you know,” Professor Mikotoba says. “You’ve grown so much since the last time you were here.”

You haven’t changed at all. As much as Kazuma appreciates the sentiment, they both know Professor Mikotoba is wrong. “I don’t regret it. Any of the choices I made.”

“I don’t think your father did either,” Professor Mikotoba says softly. The saber feels too heavy at his right hip. The left feels too empty.

“Mm.” He shrugs noncommittally. No one will ever know for sure, he supposes. 

“Let me know if you need more time,” Professor Mikotoba adds. “I’m happy to stay for as long as you’d like.”

Kazuma stares down at the smiling faces of his father and mother. His aunts and uncles are talking quietly amongst themselves in front of the altars of his grandparents, and there are many more altars of relatives he barely ever knew. He imagines staying through tomorrow, bumping shoulders at dinner with cousins whose names he doesn’t remember, or navigating banal smalltalk with his father’s old disciples. Of being introduced to yet another stranger as Genshin’s son, and of the knowing looks and stiff conversations that will follow. But Obon is a time to be spent with family, and, despite what anyone else might say otherwise, his real family is still back in Tokyo.

“No,” Kazuma says. “I think I’m ready to go home.”

They manage to catch an overnight train to Tokyo. It’s practically empty—most people are either traveling out of the big cities, or have already settled in their hometowns for the next few days. Professor Mikotoba sits across from him, and their first hour passes in pensive silence.

Kazuma’s mind drifts as he watches the countryside fade from dusk to dark. He doesn’t even notice Professor Mikotoba leave his seat until he returns with two ekiben in hand, offering one to Kazuma.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, and tucks in gratefully. He feels much more energized after the meal and sits further upright, examining Professor Mikotoba while he eats.

“I’m sorry for keeping you,” Kazuma says. “From home. And your own loved ones.”

“Don’t be,” Professor Mikotoba responds. “I visited Ayame before this trip. And there’s still time for us to see her once we get back.”

Kazuma nods. Professor Mikotoba plucks up another piece of pickled radish, chewing thoughtfully.

“I’m sure Susato is looking after her as well, even though I already cleaned her grave and left fresh offerings.” He smiles. “I truly don’t know what I did to deserve her as my daughter.”

Or me either, as a member of their household. “She hates me,” Kazuma blurts.

Professor Mikotoba caps his ekiben and sets it aside. “She doesn’t…hate you,” he says carefully. “But she is rather upset.”

That’s quite the understatement, given her silent treatment over the past week and half. Professor Mikotoba must sense his thoughts, because he adds, “She won’t be forever, though. If you talk to her and listen to her own perspective, she’ll come around eventually.”

Talking. It all comes down to that. If only it were ever so easy. “And if she won’t listen to me?”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try.” Professor Mikotoba smiles wryly, and Kazuma hates that he is right.

He sighs and frowns out the window. At least he has the rest of the train ride to prepare. And there is something else he still needs to apologize for, to the person conveniently sitting across from him now.

“I’m...sorry,” he mumbles. Professor Mikotoba looks over at him, confused. “The-The letter,” he goes on. His thoughts feel jumbled, and this is the worst, most impromptu start to a proper apology that he has ever attempted, but at least Professor Mikotoba is the one person most likely to forgive him for it. “For not telling you. I’m sorry.”

“The...letter?” Professor Mikotoba repeats, brows furrowing.

“About my father. And the Professor killings. When I was fourteen,” Kazuma explains. “I didn’t tell you. I didn’t...trust you to tell me the truth.”

“I see,” Professor Mikotoba murmurs. He’s silent for a long moment. “I do wish you had come to me about it, but I can’t say I don’t understand where you were coming from. It’s easy to want to protect someone from hard truths. Or to carry your secrets in silence. But if there’s one thing I learned from the events of last year, it’s that that kind of thinking can cause more harm than good.”

Kazuma nods. He knows this, rationally, but he’s never been able to translate that into practice.

“So, what I’m saying is, you don’t have to be afraid to rely on others, Kazuma-kun. Not just myself, but those you think you might be protecting, as well.”

“I’m working on it.” He can’t quite keep the frustration from edging into his voice.

“I know,” Professor Mikotoba says gently. “And believe me when I say that it’s a lifelong effort. You have to put in the work, a little bit every day.” He pauses and rubs his chin. “Not unlike your sword training, actually.”

Oh. It’s both a relief and a disappointment, to know that it isn’t something that can be accomplished in the next few days, or even months.

“But, like sword training, it gets easier over time,” Professor Mikotoba goes on. “And I’m still practicing it myself, if that helps.”

It does, a little. Kazuma shifts in his seat, feeling the saber press against his side.

Professor Mikotoba looks out the window, then chuckles. “You have no idea how many times Susato tossed me for keeping the true story behind the Hounds of the Baskervilles from her. And for never telling her about Sholmes, or Iris, or what I knew of your fate after the Burya. It was every day for the first week of our journey home, and then at least once a week after that. I remember a few more after we arrived, too.”

“Hah…” 

“Trust me, Kazuma-kun. She may hold grudges, but never in bad faith. Certainly not forever. And I know, from personal experience, that she’s only this upset because she cares about you.”

“I...see,” Kazuma mumbles. “Thank you, Professor Mikotoba. For your advice. And for joining me to Shikoku.” It means more to me than I can say.

“Of course. It’s never a burden. And besides—” He shoots Kazuma another soft smile. “I’ve always considered you a son, you know.”

Kazuma jolts. He takes a sharp breath inward, then ducks his head. He can’t look up at Professor Mikotoba—not now, with the floor blurring beneath his eyes.

“Thank you,” he chokes out, hands gripping tightly at his knees. If any errant tears spill onto his lap, Professor Mikotoba pretends not to notice. “Thank you.”

Susato had stopped by Ryuunosuke’s place the day after Professor Mikotoba and Kazuma left, which is the only reason he knows that they’re gone. She hadn’t told him about it directly, but she had invited him to dinner sometime, and he could piece out what she’d meant from there.

He stares up at the ceiling, squinting against the morning light. Susato had also mentioned something about Iris and Sholmes, and how they’ve been asking after him lately. Somehow he doubts Sholmes cares much about seeing him—either that, or he’s bored without Professor Mikotoba around. But Iris is a different story, and Ryuunosuke does feel a bit guilty that he hasn’t seen her since their first day back.

Which makes him think of Kazuma. Again. He frowns.

“It’s not that I’m avoiding him,” he says to the rafters. “It’s just that he surprised me, is all.”

Not that Kazuma doesn’t deserve a little avoiding, if he’s being honest. But that sounds too childish to put into words. Ryuunosuke flips onto his side, greeted by the familiar sight of Karuma across the room. 

“He can’t just show up after nine months and pretend everything’s all fine,” he goes on. “He’s got to do a little more than that, if he thinks he deserves you back. Right, Karuma?”

The sword sits arced on its stand, the hachimaki falling limply to the floor. It doesn’t respond, of course. And yet you’re the one idolizing a sword.

He sighs, then mutters, “This is stupid.”

He rolls off the futon to finally get dressed. For the final ensemble, he grabs Karuma and fastens it around his waist, as he's done every single morning for the past nine months, and for ten more months before that. It's felt different, this past week. Weirder. Disjointed. He blames Kazuma for that.

Well, whatever. Kazuma is out of town for the next few days, and Ryuunosuke has his own visiting to do.

The Mikotoba household is quiet when he enters. Suspiciously quiet.

“Hello?” he calls out, and when he slides the door closed Sholmes’ face appears behind one of the panels in the wall. Ryuunosuke yelps and falls embarrassingly to the floor.

Sholmes cackles, and Ryuunosuke watches with mute shock as the wall unlatches from itself to reveal a narrow alcove. Sholmes steps out of it, doubled over with maniacal laughter.

“How was that? How was my disguise? I call it: Operation Herlock Sholmes Hidey Hole.”

Ryuunosuke has gotten his tongue to start working again, and he sputters out an exasperated, “Mr. Sholmes!”  

“Ah ha ha haaah! Apologies, Mr. Naruhodou. You have no idea how much I missed that wide-eyed, surprised face of yours!” He gives Ryuunosuke’s cheeks a brief slap and a pinch. Ryuunosuke certainly had not missed this behavior of his.

“...Where are Iris and Miss Susato?”

“Out.” Sholmes waves a hand towards the door. “I believe they should be back soon. You’re just in time for lunch.”

Ryuunosuke stands up and brushes off his kinagashi, eyeing the segment of fake wall that Sholmes had created.

“Are you so bored that you’re ruining Professor Mikotoba’s house already?”

“I’m not ruining it, my dear fellow, I am making enhancements,” Sholmes says. “You never know when a secret hiding spot might come in handy!”

"Right, of course."

"I can think of another ten or such uses right now. For example, when you might need to hide from Mr. Asougi!"

Ryuunosuke panics for a moment, before remembering that Kazuma isn't here right now. "I don't need to hide from him."

"Aha! And yet you looked about ready to jump inside at the thought."

“I was surprised," Ryuunosuke reiterates. "And besides, I didn’t expect him to be here in the first place. You never warned us he was coming with you.”

“Didn’t I?” Sholmes says. 

“It wasn’t in any of your telegrams.”

“Ah, well then,” he says airily. “It must have slipped my mind.”

“Professor Mikotoba knew.”

“Precisely!” Sholmes snaps his fingers, and Ryuunosuke grimaces in advance of whatever excuse he’ll spew out next. “I tell Mikotoba these sorts of things so he’ll remember them and I don’t have to! It’s a perfect system, you see. Failproof.”

“Except that Professor Mikotoba seems to have ‘forgotten’ as well,” Ryuunosuke points out, but Sholmes has moved on to examining the hanging scroll in the tokonoma.

That’s the end of that conversation, I suppose...

“We’re back!” chirps a voice from the entrance. Iris and Susato step inside the house, their hands full with boxes wrapped in furoshiki. 

“Mr. Naruhodou, you’re here!” Susato says. Her face brightens with a smile. She sets her furoshiki on the low table and then envelopes him in a tight hug. “Oh! I’ll get some tea going for us, and lunch as well. Please feel free to sit!”

She pulls out some cushions for them and then disappears into the kitchen. Ryuunosuke spies Sholmes sneaking in after her, likely to steal some snacks under the guise of assistance. Iris sets her furoshiki on the table next to Susato’s, then plops onto a cushion. Ryuunosuke does the same.

“Looks like you bought a lot,” he says, glancing at their haul. “What did you get?”

“Flowers, sweets, some trinkets and such. Mostly offerings.”

“Offerings…?”

“Yes,” she says. “For Obon!”

“Ah, right,” he replies, a little shocked that she knows.

“I read all about it before our travels. Daddy is horrible about remembering these sorts of things.” She shakes her head, clicking her tongue. “I know Susie wants to visit her mother today. I’m planning to join her. She is my namesake, after all, so it would only be proper to finally meet her.”

“That’s very kind of you, Iris.”

“Thank you,” she says, blushing. “Well, it’s mostly so that Susie doesn’t have to go alone. Will you be joining us too, Runo?”

He hadn’t planned for it, but it’s not as if he has anything better to do. “I'd be happy to."

“Wonderful!” She claps her hands, then bounces to her feet. “Would you help me prepare our set of offerings, then?”

She leans over to unwrap the furoshiki, then carefully lays the boxes out across the table. 

“I bought these as well!” She pulls out a stack of small, lacquered boxes from her knapsack, with pink cherry blossoms painted around the edges. “We can put the offerings in here.”

She hands Ryuunosuke a box and starts arranging her own, sorting through the selection of manju 0and trinkets. He does similarly, attempting to make it look somewhat aesthetic and also sneaking a few manju into his sleeves when he thinks she’s not looking.

“Hey, Runo?” she says after a while. “Do you think that… even if you’re not able to visit a person’s grave, that they’ll still… um… know?”

“Know…?” he repeats. “You mean, that you’re thinking of them?”

She chews her lip, then nods.

“Well, I’ve always been told that spirits only return to their family homes during this time of year, so…” At her downcast expression, he hastily adds, “B-But I’m no monk, so I can’t say for certain what spirits do or think or where they go. And maybe my parents told me that so I would be sure to come home each year…” Iris snickers, and he rubs the back of his head. “But, uh, anyway… What I can say is that… No matter how far away a person’s grave is, I think you always carry some part of them with you. In your heart, in your head, wherever. So, as long as you’re thinking about them, it shouldn’t matter where their body has been officially laid to rest, should it?”

Iris’ eyes widen, then flicker down to his side. His hand is resting on Karuma, he realizes. He snatches it back into his lap.

“I see,” she says softly. She grabs a manju for herself and chews it thoughtfully. “And if you guessed that I was thinking about Gregsy, you were right.”

“Mm.” He had.

“I told Ginny all about it. Obon, that is,” she goes on, in a bit of a rush. “I asked her to be there for me, at his grave, just in case. She said she thinks it’s all hogwash, but I’ll bet she goes anyway. It’s not like she doesn’t already visit every so often. And who knows, maybe she’s there right now!”

“I’m sure she is,” he says, mouth quirking at the thought of Gina at Gregson's grave, muttering about blasphemy while carefully wiping the grime from his headstone.

"I was thinking of visiting Mr. Wilson, too," Iris adds. "He was buried here in Tokyo, wasn't he?"

"Mr. Wilson?" Ryuunosuke says, taken aback. "He was, but…"

Iris fidgets with the corner of the furoshiki cloth, idly wringing it in her hands. “Well… I mean… I never knew him, and I know he’s not my real daddy, but… I don’t know. I would still like to pay respects to him, even so. He died in a horrible way, didn’t he?”

Ryuunosuke remembers his fateful first trial—the revelation of the curare poison and the exact sequence of events surrounding Wilson’s death. How Wilson had been paralyzed, unable to move or even scream as his wrist was pressed into the hot iron. How he had suffocated in his chair, and how that British assassin had propped him up and shot his corpse and lured Ryuunosuke with a planted gun. 

And he remembers, too, how Wilson had signed off on Klimt van Zieks’ autopsy report. How he had brushed off Professor Mikotoba’s concerns, and knowingly condemned Kazuma’s father to the gallows.

Had he deserved to die for all of that, though? Had Gregson, for that matter, for the part he’d played in Genshin’s death? And in the reaping of so many others? That image is still burned in his brain, of Gregson’s body, curled in on itself on the cold floor of an empty room, and he can’t seem to shake it away.

Hideous. “He did.”

"And no family here, either," Iris murmurs. "Well, except for us."

“Us?”

“Well, aren’t we? In some sort of way?” she asks. “I mean, otherwise it would be incredibly lonely for him.”

Ryuunosuke would never have considered John Wilson to be part of his family. But Iris had grown up believing that he was the man behind those journal entries, and Ryuunsouke can see how she would have grown attached to him because of that. 

He shakes his head, amazed. “You really have a habit of adopting all sorts of people.” 

“I do, don’t I?” She beams. “Let’s see...there’s you, and Susie, and Ginny, and Professor Mickey, and Zumie...and Daddy, of course. I like having a big family. It makes everything so much more fun and exciting.”

That’s right. Kazuma. “What’s it been like, back in London with him?”

“Who, Zumie? Oh, he’s delightful! Daddy loves him. I think Daddy misses having you around to bully, but Zumie takes it very well.”

“Does he really?” Ryuunosuke tries to imagine Kazuma putting up with Sholmes' antics, but the imagery escapes him. He’s sure that it involves waving around that saber, though.

“And he barely draws his saber in court anymore,” Iris adds, as if reading his mind. “He’s been practicing restraint.”

Ryuunosuke snorts. “If he has, I would have heard about it. He’s not at all modest.”

“He’s not,” she agrees, and her voice is unspeakably fond. "And you know, he was very excited to see you again. But I think he was also excited to be back generally. He always seemed a little homesick.”

That catches Ryuunosuke off-guard. All of a sudden, he remembers that the only reason he is here at all is because Kazuma is away, visiting his childhood home for the parents he lost over ten years ago. One of whom had been horribly betrayed and murdered, and then served as the scapegoat for a series of equally brutal murders. And who had been the entire reason behind Kazuma’s desperation to get to London in the first place.

Ryuunosuke knows why Kazuma made the decisions that he did. He understands every step that led Kazuma there, to that spot on the opposite side of the courtroom with a broken sword at his side, and that’s the gut-twisting tragedy of it.

“Here we are!” Susato announces. Iris clears the boxes away for her to set their lunches on the table. Sholmes follows behind, haphazardly balancing a tray of tea on one hand.

Ryuunsouke shakes his head to clear it. He can’t afford to be distracted—not now, when he’s finally back together with all of his family again. 

Not quite, his mind whispers in response, but he firmly shoves those thoughts aside.

Chapter Text

Kazuma Asougi steps back into Tokyo with a renewed sense of purpose.

I’m a changed man, he thinks, as the train hisses and steams behind him. Realistically, he knows he’s not, but he’s had a fresh perspective and survived exactly one vulnerable heart-to-heart, so surely he can congratulate himself for that.

“Kazuma-kun.” Professor Mikotoba pulls him along the platform before the crowd swallows him up. It’s the last day of Obon, and the station is a mess of travelers rushing in and out.

They push their way out of the station and manage to hail a rickshaw. Kazuma releases a breath as they branch off from the crowded streets, feeling nothing but relief to be headed home. Even if all that awaits him there is Susato’s tacit scorn.

You'll never know if you don't try.

Sholmes bursts out of the house on their arrival, throwing himself around Professor Mikotoba. 

"Oof—" Professor Mikotoba looks stunned at the sudden gesture, but laughs and pats his back in return. “It was only four days, Sholmes.”

“Was it really?” Sholmes mumbles into his shoulder. “Hm. Time passes strangely, without you.”

Something about the scene feels oddly intimate. Kazuma averts his gaze and hurries past them into the house. 

“Welcome back, Zumie!” Iris says, springing up from the floor. A pile of metal tubes and netting and screws are spread out on the ground around her.

“I’m back,” he says with a small smile. “What’s all this?”

“I’m putting together a Capture Apparatus, for Susie!” Iris says. “It’s supposed to shoot out a net to capture someone in. She thought it might be useful for those extra flighty witnesses.” 

“That’s certainly an image,” he muses. Although, he could make use of something like that to finally pin down her and Ryuunosuke. “Where is she now, actually?”

Iris taps her chin and shrugs. “I’m not sure exactly. All she said was that she was going out.”

“I see…” 

“Good luck!” she says brightly, returning to her work. He sets his luggage aside and hurries out the door, brushing past Professor Mikotoba and Sholmes along the way.

Susato isn’t in the garden, nor is she at any of the nearby confectioneries. She’s not at the courthouse, or the Yuumei library, or at Murasame’s place. At last, he finally ends up finding her at the Mikotoba family gravesite, standing before a grave that overlooks the sea. He peers around her, spying the name carved into the stone: Kazuma Asougi. He’s known about his empty grave for a while now, but that knowledge doesn’t make it any less disorienting.

“Judicial Assistant Mikotoba,” he says. “What are you doing?”

“I am paying respects to Kazuma-sama.”

“I’m hurt,” he says, but his tone is light. “I’m not dead, you know.”

“Perhaps you aren’t,” she responds, “but the Kazuma-sama I know is.”

That does actually sting this time, but Kazuma puts on a brave face. She doesn’t hate you. He takes a breath.

“I’m sorry,” he begins. “For betraying your trust. I wasn’t…thinking about how my actions would impact you. I know I’ve been selfish, and less than honorable, and I’m sorry that… that was how you had to see me. That I didn’t show you—ah, tell you before.” 

He watches her carefully, but she gives no indication of responding.

“I understand why you are upset with me, Judicial Assistant Mikotoba. I won’t begrudge you if you decide never to speak to me again.” Although he hopes it won’t come down to that. “But… if you would have me, it would be an honor to train side-by-side with you once more.”

She stays incredibly still, and he doesn’t dare to breathe. Then, before he can even process what’s happening, there’s a whirl of purple and he flips hard onto the ground.

“You—You are my esteemed older brother,” she says. “So you can’t...You can’t just treat us like that!”

Kazuma’s ears ring from the impact. He blinks up at the sky, trying to catch the breath that’s been knocked from his lungs. Susato stands over him, her fists clenched and trembling at her sides.

“I’m tired of my family hiding things from me,” she goes on, and he realizes incredulously that she is crying. “You, and Father, and Sholmes-san...I don’t care who you think you’re protecting, because it’s certainly not me, or Naruhodou-san, or even yourselves. Do you understand?”

Family. Kazuma is still lying on his back, stunned. Brother. “Y-Yes.”

She takes a few deep breaths, then wipes her face. “I’d certainly hope so. But please excuse me if I don’t have much faith in you at the moment.” 

“O-Of course,” he says. Then, tentatively: “Susato.”

Her face crumples; she makes another choking sob and kneels to the ground beside him, flinging her arms around his neck. It’s an awkward angle, given that he’d been halfway through pushing himself up again, and her grip is a little too tight, but even so he can’t help but feel a rush of relief and affection.

“I missed you,” he says roughly. 

She nods into his shoulder in response.

“I’m sorry.”

“Good,” she mumbles back.

She gives him one more squeeze and then pulls away, her face set in a stern frown.

“You can’t keep all your secrets to yourself,” she says. “Especially if you think you can handle everything all on your own. That’s just your useless pride, and I won’t have any of it.”

He laughs under his breath, and at her annoyed glare, explains, “That’s what Professor Mikotoba said as well.”

“Hah!” She crosses her arms. “He stole that from me, after I scolded him.”

“After the same tossing treatment too, I heard?”

“It was well deserved!”

“As all of your tosses are,” he agrees, grinning. “If only all conflicts could be resolved so easily.”

“It does make me feel a bit better,” she admits. “Although don’t think this means I won’t toss you again. I still have a few more to go through, for your transgressions.”

He laughs, and for the first time in a long while it feels full and genuine. “Well, don’t hold back then, Mi- Susato.”

She punches his shoulder, and from the ache it leaves behind he can tell she’s already taking his words to heart. 

“Why,” Sholmes bursts, “did no one bother to tell me about the dancing?!”

They’re sitting around the table, eating an early dinner before the night’s festivities. With Kazuma and Professor Mikotoba both back home early, they’ve made plans to head out to the Bon Festival near the Yuumei campus after sundown.

“Haven’t we, though?” says Susato.

“Yes,” says Professor Mikotoba. He sounds tired, as if they’ve had this conversation many times already. “Iris has been talking about it since last week, Sholmes.”

But Sholmes isn’t listening, instead choosing to draw his knees to his chest in a dramatic sulk. “Betrayed. By my own family.” 

“Well, we’re going tonight, aren’t we?” says Ryuunosuke. “So I don’t see what the issue is.”

Kazuma watches him out of the corner of his eye. They're sitting at opposite ends of the table, with no opportunity to trade words or even fleeting glances. Which suits Kazuma just fine, considering how their last meal together had panned out. Ryuunosuke hasn’t looked at or spoken to him since arriving, but he hasn’t fled yet either, and Kazuma doesn’t know what to make of that.

“The issue is that I could have been looking forward to it all week, and instead only have an hour or so to enjoy the prospect of dancing.”

“So, no issue, then,” Ryuunosuke mutters. Kazuma snorts and immediately tries to stifle it, resulting in a strangled cough. Ryuunosuke casts him a brief look of surprise before his face becomes guarded again.

“You’ll get to the dancing soon enough, Mr. Sholmes,” Susato says comfortingly. Sholmes takes that as a directive to finish eating as quickly as possible, and scarfs down the rest of his bowl.

Once dinner is over they take some time to get ready. Susato helps Iris put up her hair and change into a flowery yukata. Kazuma has switched from his suit to a chestnut-brown yukata—which, if he was feeling poetic, he might describe as a perfect complement to Ryuunosuke’s navy blue one. Unfortunately, Ryuunosuke still is not looking at him, and in turn Kazuma pretends not to notice.

It’s just barely light out by the time they leave the house. Ryuunosuke sets a brisk pace at the head of their group, with Sholmes not far behind. Kazuma hears the clack of geta behind him, and Susato rushes past to join Ryuunosuke’s side. Despite their earlier conversation, it seems that she still feels more comfortable with Ryuunosuke. Give her time, Kazuma reminds himself, trying to ignore a painful twinge of dejection. But then she glances backwards; their eyes meet for a short moment, and she smiles. It’s a small thing, he knows, but it eases some of that doubt rooted in his chest.

“Haori!” she cries suddenly, and rushes towards the girl waiting near the university gates.

“Susato!” Murasame greets her with a hug, and they head off in the direction of the festival. Kazuma can hear the swell of music and the chattering of the crowds, now, and soon enough they join a stream of people entering the festival grounds. There are lanterns everywhere, strung up on streamers and posted around the edges of the field, with the wooden yagura stage serving as the focal point of light. The crowd is milling around the yagura, but then the drummer on stage clacks to attention, and the flutes begin to play soon after.

“Oh, we’re just in time for the next song!” Susato calls back at them. She grabs Murasame’s hand and they join the outer circle of dancers right as the vocalist begins to sing. 

“So we jump right to it, do we? Excellent!” Sholmes leaps into the line with an exuberant whoop.

“Do you want to join, Iris?” Professor Mikotoba asks.

“I would, but I don’t know the dance,” she says, a bit apprehensive as she watches the crowd slowly move around the yagura. 

“Don’t worry, I never remember the dances either,” says Ryuunosuke. “Here, we can follow along with everyone together.” 

He takes her hand and they join the circle too, leaving only Kazuma and Professor Mikotoba behind.

“And you, Kazuma-kun?”

“I’m fine watching, for now,” he says. 

“If you’re sure,” Professor Mikotoba replies. He huffs a laugh at the sight of Sholmes further down the line, hopelessly bumping his neighbors as he tries to imitate the dance. “Well then, if you don’t mind…?”

Kazuma shakes his head, and Professor Mikotoba disappears into the crowd after Sholmes. He watches them bumble through the dance together for a moment, before returning his gaze to Ryuunosuke. Iris is already faring much better than him—Ryuunosuke has the arm movements down, but his feet shuffle awkwardly in time to the music. Kazuma laughs to himself as Ryuunosuke turns the wrong way around, Iris tugging at his sleeve.

Step, step, step. Forward. Step, step. Back.

The circle slowly marches on. Susato and Murasame have already disappeared around the other side of the yagura, with Sholmes and Professor Mikotoba not far behind. All at once, Ryuunosuke’s question from their duel over a week ago comes back to him, itching at the edge of his mind.

Why are you here?

There’s the surface-level answer, of course, which is that Sholmes and Iris asked, and he accepted. Not a lie, but not the kind of truth that Ryuunosuke would appreciate.

Sidestep, sidestep. Clap. Clap.

Then there’s the answer that Ryuunosuke had deduced, which is that Kazuma had come back just for him. And, if he’s being honest, it’s the one that’s closest to the truth. But even that feels like only a fragment of it when he reflects on the past few days—of visiting the Asougi estate in Shikoku, and the train ride home, and the circumstances that have led him here, to this moment, standing in a field among the spectators and dancers at the Bon Odori.

He thinks of his father’s resolve, and of Ryuunosuke’s during that trial last November, and of his own when he agreed to that ill-fated mission. How he had spoken outwardly of justice, and inwardly about pursuing the truth, and how what he’d truly sought was neither. 

Ryuunosuke and Iris are nearly at the far corner of the yagura, and Kazuma’s eyes are drawn to Karuma. The soul of the Asougi clan. Klimt van Zieks had trusted his father with his own soul, to witness his demon and carry out the appropriate verdict. In a way, Kazuma had done similarly when he asked for Ryuunosuke to serve as the younger van Zieks’ defense. The only difference between himself and Klimt is that Kazuma had never gone through with his revenge, and was able to keep his demon at bay.

But if he hadn’t? If he had allowed the rage to swallow him, and had taken another man’s life for the sake of his own, twisted justice? He wonders if he would have trusted Ryuunosuke to cut down his demon then, but realizes there’s no question there. He would have, without a doubt.

What do you want, Kazuma Asougi?

And suddenly, he knows the answer.

He springs forward, rushing towards Ryuunosuke and Iris before they slip out of sight. Kazuma catches Ryuunosuke’s wrist as he lifts it to his head in another step of the dance, and Ryuunosuke jerks around to face him. 

“Kazuma?!”

“I need to talk to you.”

“What, now?”

The urgency is burning through his chest, but Ryuunosuke’s question sweeps the momentum away. He opens his mouth, then closes it. He lets go of Ryuunosuke’s wrist.

“It doesn’t...have to be now.”

Ryuunosuke assesses him carefully. He and Iris exchange a glance; she gives him a small nod, and he turns back to Kazuma.

“I’ll go,” he says. “But make it quick.”

“Thank you,” Kazuma says, then grabs his wrist again and yanks him away. Ryuunosuke makes an indignant squawk at the sudden movement. Kazuma ignores him and drags him along faster, into the line of trees past the edge of the field. He doesn’t stop until the music is only a muffled thrum in the background, the lights from the lanterns just barely filtering through the trees. He whirls around to face Ryuunosuke, then begins unbuckling the saber from his waist.

“Kazuma, what are you—” 

The weight at his hip lightens, and he thrusts the sword at Ryuunosuke.

“I— Wh— You can’t just keep giving me swords like this—”

“Ryuunosuke,” Kazuma says, and his mouth clamps shut. “You keep asking me why I’m here, and what is it that I truly want, and I think I know my answer.”

“O...kay…”

“I want you to take this.”

“Kazuma—”

“Please, Ryuunosuke,” Kazuma insists, and Ryuunosuke only gives him a wary look before he complies. As soon as the saber leaves Kazuma’s hands he snaps forward into a low bow.

“I wanted to see you,” he says, the words coming out all in a rush. This is the only way he can imagine having this conversation—if he pretends it’s just another practice speech, without anyone else watching. “It wasn’t the same, prosecuting in England without you. And you’re right, because it is a selfish reason, and I haven’t changed much at all if I can’t achieve my own goals regardless of who’s defending.”

Ryuunosuke has been silent so far. Kazuma glances at Ryuunosuke’s feet, which are similarly motionless, and tries not to imagine what expression he must be making right now.

“And so, now, what I really want is to apologize,” he presses on. “For misleading you. For not trusting you. And for presuming that we could go back to how we were before, without addressing my mistakes first.”

Ryuunosuke lets out a small sigh. “And the sword…?”

“Is my fate,” Kazuma says. “It’s in your hands.” As are my heart, and my soul. As always.

Ryuunosuke is quiet. Kazuma swears that an entire song finishes in the distance while he waits.

Get on with it, Ryuunosuke, Kazuma thinks, staring fervently at the ground. His skin prickles in anticipation. He half hopes Ryuunosuke will cut him down where he stands, if only so he doesn’t have to wait any longer in this awful silence. Although, he’s done this before, hasn’t he? Laid his soul bare for Ryuunosuke to see, to pick him apart and judge him accordingly. But back then Kazuma had had nothing to lose—he couldn’t imagine his life outside that courtroom, after working single-mindedly towards that one purpose for so many years. Now, the future stretches vast and uncertain before him, and he can't bear to face it.

“Kazuma.” Ryuunosuke’s tone is steady and neutral, and Kazuma can’t determine whether that’s good or bad. “Will you look at me?”

He does, hesitantly. Ryuunosuke’s face is as indecipherable as his voice had been.

“I spent a year living as your substitute,” he says quietly. “I navigated the British courts, following what I thought was your dream, in your memory, and along the way I learned what it really, truly means to be a lawyer. And what it means to be Ryuunosuke Naruhodou. I know what I want now, Kazuma, and you—” He hovers the saber over Kazuma’s shoulder. “You have no role in it.”

Kazuma swallows. “But I could?”

Ryuunosuke pauses. “You could,” he allows, lifting the sword away, and for the first time Kazuma feels a bud of hope. “If you learn to trust me.”

“I do trust you,” Kazuma says quickly. “More than anyone. You know that.”

“Enough to have told me about the real meaning of your exchange?"

Another piercing blow. He really, really wishes Ryuunosuke would just use the sword. “I promise you, I would have.”

“When, Kazuma?”

“The timing was never right.”

“And that's the problem,” says Ryuunosuke. “The timing is never right, with you.”

Kazuma takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Yes,” he says. “I know.”

Ryuunosuke sighs again, then frowns at the saber that’s still in his hands. This is it, then, Kazuma thinks, his stomach sinking with bitter disappointment.

“I can’t see you as you are if you never show me,” Ryuunosuke continues, catching Kazuma by surprise. It’s not an outright rejection, and he’s suddenly struggling to anticipate how this will end. “And... I know you’ve always told me how observant I am, but…” He makes a face. “It seems I’ve always had a blindspot when it comes to you.”

Oh. That’s. Not at all what he expected. He’ll take it. “Do you...do you still like who you see?”

“I never stopped, Kazuma.” Ryuunosuke offers a small, wry smile. “Against my better interests, maybe.”

“Even now?” he asks. He needs to know, even if the answer terrifies him. “Seeing me like this? Knowing what I’ve done, and the decisions that I’ve made, and all my failings?”

“I think…” Ryuunosuke pauses for another long moment, working his way around the words. “I think that… I would rather have you as you are now, than the person I thought you were before.”

“Ah.” Kazuma swallows.

“So.” Ryuunsouke is looking past him. He clears his throat. “The sword?”

“Yes?” Kazuma is still stuck on the last thing Ryuunosuke said, and can’t seem to spare attention for anything else.

“I don't know why you gave it to me.”

“Oh.” His brain works slowly, sifting through their earlier conversation. “I told you, didn’t I? My fate is in your hands. For you to pass judgement.”

“Your…” Ryuunosuke’s eyes widen, and his head whips back and forth between Kazuma and the saber. “Kazuma, did you seriously think that I would… I don’t even know what you thought I would do. Duel you? Kill you??”

“And I would have respected your decision,” Kazuma says defensively. “It’s a gesture of complete trust and vulnera— Ryuunosuke, stop, what are you— Stop laughing—”

“Kazuma,” he wheezes, doubled over with laughter. “You're insane.”

“I— Wh— I’m trying to be honest with you, and you’re calling me insane—”

“You’re absolutely insane,” Ryuunosuke says, wiping his eyes. His face is flushed from laughter, and when he meets Kazuma’s gaze there’s something soft and wistful in his smile. “But that’s what I like about you.”

An electric thrill shoots up his spine, freezing him in place. “That’s… great.”

His tongue has failed him again, it seems, but he can’t bring himself to care. He half expects Ryuunosuke to tease him for it, but that smile only widens. “Isn’t it?”

Kazuma’s mind is too fuzzy to come up with any sort of response. It’s both frustrating and achingly familiar, that Ryuunosuke always reduces him to this. Ryuunosuke has moved in close enough to touch his hand, and it shocks him back into some semblance of coherency.

“I missed you, friend,” Ryuunosuke murmurs.

“Best friend, you mean.”

“Best friend,” he agrees, his nose brushing Kazuma’s cheek. “Partner.”

Kazuma can feel the smile on Ryuunosuke’s lips as he says so. He’s smiling too, he realizes. And then Ryuunosuke’s hands are in his hair, and he angles them deeper into the kiss, and Kazuma can’t hold him close enough.

He’s missed this. He’s missed Ryuunosuke. So, so much. 

Ryuunosuke’s hands roam down his neck and to his cheeks and back up to entangle in his hair, and then, all too soon, he’s pulling away.

“We should go back.”

“We should.” They don't move. Ryuunosuke trails his hand down to Kazuma's cheek and kisses him again.

“How’s that for being…” Ryuunosuke leans back, thinking. “Yeesh. Has it really been two years?”

A year and seven months. Not that Kazuma’s been counting. “Magnificent,” Kazuma says in response to Ryuunosuke’s unfinished question. But by the smug look on Ryuunosuke’s face he already knows that.

Ryuunosuke’s hand travels back down to lightly grasp Kazuma’s own. He stares at their hands for a long while, considering. Kazuma marvels at the shadows that are cast over his cheekbones, his face framed in the distant orange glow from the lanterns.

"You're leaving," Ryuunosuke says. "At the end of the month?"

"I'm planning on it, yes."

“And you’re set on it?”

"It’s not going to change now that we've kissed again, if that’s what you’re asking."

"Just making sure," Ryuunosuke says.

“I’m still working on it,” says Kazuma, and Ryuunosuke gives him a questioning look. Kazuma squeezes his hand. “Becoming better. Trusting more. If I can blindly put faith in some middling British defense attorney then surely it won’t be so difficult when it comes to you.”

“Mm. Right.”

"But don't think for a second, Ryuunosuke Naruhodou, that I won't come back for you,” he vows. "And my sword."

"Both your swords," Ryuunosuke corrects.

"I—What?"

"You gave me the saber.”

"No, I lent it to you—"

"For the purpose of dueling you with your bare hands, or something similarly stupid."

"And the expectation of getting it back—"

“Are you kidding?” Ryuunosuke says, grinning. “You gave it to me, fair and square. And besides, it’s high time I had two swords, don’t you think?”

“Careful, Ryuunosuke,” Kazuma warns. “Don’t want to get too big-headed.”

“As if there’s any danger of that, in comparison to you.”

Kazuma laughs and pulls him in, eagerly kissing that smirk off his face.

“Keep it, then,” he says, “and I’ll come back twice as better a man for it.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” says Ryuunosuke, and takes Kazuma’s face in his hands, kissing him soft and slow in retaliation. It’s both a challenge and a promise.

In the distance, the dancing goes on. They don’t return for a long while.

The rest of the month passes in a haze of mundane activity. Kazuma and Susato get back into their daily training routine, during which she usually manages to throw in a few extra tosses. He gorges himself on as much beef hot pot as he can get his hands on—which is to say, a week’s worth, after which point Ryuunosuke refuses to bring him to any restaurant that offers it. They join Iris for long walks through the gardens and parks of Tokyo, and are dragged along with her and Susato to the burgeoning department stores in Shinjuku. Every night he returns home, sitting around the Mikotoba’s dinner table with Ryuunosuke and the rest of his family, and he can’t remember the last time he’s ever felt so happy.

He and Ryuunosuke may not have been able to accomplish their wild time through Her Majesty’s capital, but Kazuma would say they’ve just about made up for it.

He wakes up in the soft light of early morning, the sheets half-flung off the futon. Beside him, Ryuunosuke is snoring lightly. Kazuma takes a moment to appreciate that relaxed, open expression of his before poking him firmly in the cheek.

“Blgh.” Ryuunosuke shakes Kazuma’s hand away. He goes in again, undeterred. They continue in this fashion, the light from the window growing steadily stronger, until at last Ryuunosuke turns over and glares blearily at him. “What’s this about.”

“You were snoring,” says Kazuma.

“Ugh.” Ryuunosuke flops away from him. “Go to sleep.”

“What, with you snoring?”

Ryuunosuke mumbles out a response. 

Kazuma tries again. “It’s our last morning together.”

That seems to do the trick. Ryuunosuke shuffles back around, burrowing his face in the crook of Kazuma’s neck.

Kazuma smiles. “I knew you’d miss me.”

“You’ll miss me more.”

He’s right. Kazuma’s heart clenches, and he wraps his arms tight around Ryuunosuke.

“You don’t have to remind me,” he mumbles. 

“Sometimes I need to take you down a peg,” Ryuunosuke says, but he squeezes tightly in return.

Kazuma huffs a laugh. “You’re getting too cocky, with both my swords.”

“They do seem to have that effect, don’t they,” Ryuunosuke muses. “What’ll you be without any, huh?”

“I can only become stronger and more handsome from here,” Kazuma says loftily. “Be careful, Ryuunosuke. You might not even recognize me the next time I come back.”

“Oh, I think I’ll still be able to recognize you somehow.” Ryuunosuke traces Kazuma’s lips, then slides past his cheek to twirl with the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck. “Even if you hide your face, or if your hair becomes unruly.”

“What, should I cut it? Change my appearance for you?”

"You know…" Ryuunosuke says, and Kazuma should really be more wary of that tone by now. "If you’re considering it… I'm starting to become attached to chonmages."

Kazuma bolts upright, horrified. "No. Ryuunosuke—No."

"Kidding! I'm kidding." Ryuunosuke laughs and pulls him back into his arms, kissing the top of his head.

They lay there, legs tangled together and Kazuma’s head pressed to Ryuunosuke’s chest, listening to the street outside come alive with the first customers of the morning. After several more minutes, Kazuma indignantly chimes up with, “I would sooner shave it all off.”

“All the better for growing a beautiful new chonmage,” is Ryuunosuke’s swift and heartless response.

“Please, Ryuunosuke,” Kazuma groans. “You can’t do this to me. On my last day.”

“You’re the one who keeps bringing it up, Kazuma.”

He grumbles into Ryuunosuke’s chest. It’s as much of an excuse to savor this moment as it is an actual complaint. Ryuunosuke laughs and runs his hands through Kazuma’s hair again, and all is mostly forgiven.

They can’t stay like this forever, though, and with great reluctance they untangle and get dressed. Kazuma sticks to a cotton shirt and trousers—his suits are all packed away, and they’ll see plenty of use back in London, anyhow. 

They stop by the Mikotoba household to grab the rest of Kazuma’s luggage. Iris is already packed, sitting atop her trunk and idly flipping through a book. Kazuma hears Sholmes stomping about in the other room, searching for something or another that he’s misplaced.

“If he goes on much longer we might have to leave him here,” says Ryuunosuke. 

“He’d like that, wouldn’t he,” Iris replies, without looking up. “It’s okay, though. Professor Mickey won’t let him miss our ship.”

As if on cue, Professor Mikotoba’s voice carries over from the other room: “It’s fine, Sholmes, I’ll mail it to you if I have to, we have to get going to catch the train.”

Another minute and several more bumps and curses later, Professor Mikotoba emerges, dragging a grumbling Sholmes behind him.

“Alright,” he says, sounding harried. “We have everyone here? And all your luggage packed?”

“Yep!” says Iris, jumping from her perch.

“You know I don’t—” Sholmes whines, but Professor Mikotoba ignores him.

“Let’s get going then,” he says, grip tightening on Sholmes’ arm. The six of them cram into a carriage, with Kazuma squeezed between Ryuunosuke and Susato in the back, and hurry to the station to catch their train to Yokohama. 

They eat a rushed lunch of ekiben on the train ride down—enough to keep them full before their first meal aboard. And besides, knowing Kazuma’s luck, they’ll be serving chicken tonight anyway. He grabs another ekiben just in case.

The train arrives a bit early at Yokohama, and they have a comfortable amount of time to get to the docks before the ship’s departure. For as much as Kazuma’s packed, his own trunk is fairly light. Aside from his clothes, it’s mostly manju and senbei and tins of green tea. It’ll all be gone within a month or so, and the thought makes him feel preemptively homesick.

He won’t lie—it hurts to leave. Some part of him doesn’t want to. 

“Good luck, Kazuma-sama,” Susato says. “I hope the London courts don’t treat you too harshly.”

“And you as well, Susato,” he replies. "Whether you'll be serving as a judicial assistant or a lawyer in your own right."

She ducks her head, hiding a shy smile. "Well, regardless, I'm sure we'll both have quite the stories to share."

"We will, won't we," he says fondly. “I’ll mi—”

“Don’t,” she abruptly warns, hands up in a tossing stance. She takes a deep breath and composes herself. “Time will pass before we know it, so there’s no need to miss one another.”

“Of course,” he says, smiling. “I’ll look forward to your letters, in any case.” 

She nods, eyes shining, and briskly turns to say goodbyes to Iris.

Professor Mikotoba chuckles as he takes her place in front of Kazuma. "Not good with goodbyes, is she?"

“I’m not sure that I am either, if I’m being honest.”

"You get used to it," Professor Mikotoba says. "Although, that never truly makes it easier."

"I can imagine," Kazuma says softly. 

"Mm." Professor Mikotoba’s eyes flicker briefly to Sholmes and Iris. He shakes himself away and sets his hand on Kazuma's shoulder. "Well. Safe travels, Kazuma-kun."

"Thank you," he mumbles, and watches as Professor Mikotoba joins Susato in bidding Iris goodbye.

It’s just Ryuunosuke that’s left. He’s standing to the side with that half-smile on his face, and Kazuma turns to face him.

“I’ll miss you, partner.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

Kazuma is endlessly grateful for this frankness they’ve managed to develop, and for the accountability that they’re still holding themselves to. It’s a promising step towards that lifelong practice of honesty.

“You’ll write?” he asks.

“Of course,” says Ryuunosuke.

Kazuma nods and falls into silence. There’s too much that he wants to say, and his chest is heavy with it.

“Oh, wait.” Ryuunosuke pats his sides, looking down to the left and right. Once he’s sure he has the right sword, he unbuckles the saber and holds it out in front of him. “Here.”

Kazuma blinks in surprise. “Already?”

“For you to think of me,” he says. “And… I don’t know. I think you’ve deserved it back, at this point.”

Maybe it’s the confidence that comes with having a sword, or the euphoria of being deemed worthy by Ryuunosuke, but he boldly adds, “And Karuma?”

“It’s one or the other, Kazuma.”

“Alright,” he says, “Karuma, then.”

Ryuunosuke’s eyes flit to the side. “A-Ah, well…”

Kazuma smirks. “Called you out on your bluff, didn’t I?”

Ryuunosuke huffs. “Well. I’ll let you keep the saber. You’ll have to come back for Karuma.”

“That’s a promise, then?”

“Let’s call it an incentive.”

“Ryuunosuke, you can’t keep my sword forever.”

Ryuunosuke grins. “Watch me.”

His smile is dazzling, and his hand is slung over Karuma’s hilt as if it’s always belonged to him. Maybe it has, ever since Kazuma entrusted him with it last November. Or even before that. Kazuma’s breath hitches. “Okay,” he says.

The boat horn blasts behind them, and he jumps. 

“This is it, then,” Ryuunosuke says, clapping him on the shoulder. 

“Yes,” Kazuma replies. “Until next time, Ryuunosuke Naruhodou.”

“Goodbye, Kazuma,” Ryuunosuke murmurs, and Professor Mikotoba was right—it hurts even worse than the last time they did this, ten months ago at the port of Dover. But Kazuma’s resolve hasn’t changed since November, and there’s still more he needs to accomplish in London. One day, when the time is right, he’ll be back to bring that resolve to Japan. For now, though, he’ll trust the courts in Ryuunosuke’s exceptional hands.

“Goodbye,” he murmurs back, and joins Iris and Sholmes up the gangway.

Ryuunosuke watches as the ship departs from the harbor, growing smaller and smaller into the distance.

“They’re really gone, aren’t they,” mumbles Susato.

“Yes,” Professor Mikotoba replies. His eyes are also stuck on the horizon, but then he heaves a sigh. “Well. Shall we head back home?”

Susato nods once and turns around. She walks briskly in the direction of the train station, with Professor Mikotoba following after. 

Ryuunosuke lingers on the dock for a half-second longer before joining them. He takes a few steps forward, then glances back one more time towards the sea.

“We’ll be waiting,” he says, hand returning to Karuma’s comforting weight at his side. “Partner.”