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The first thing Bishamon wanted to do, after finding out about Yato’s (somewhat disastrous) birthday party for Yukine, was repeat it (less disastrously). For one thing, she hated the fact that he’d come up with an idea that she hadn’t, and she was not to be outdone. For another, she owed everything to Kazuma. Why not show her appreciation?
There was only one problem: She had no idea which day she’d named him.
Bishamon quickly ruled out picking a random day of the year and calling it Kazuma’s birthday. He of all people would surely remember, so getting it wrong would be the same as admitting she’d forgotten. No, she had to find out the real day she’d named him, but she couldn’t ask him and spoil the surprise.
She was upset with herself for forgetting in the first place, but the passage of time was unfathomable to her; years passed by like seconds. In Takamagahara, there was simply day after day of peace, broken only by periods of hunting ayakashi on the near shore.
When Kazuma had been a new shinki, her house had been reservedly quiet, everyone moving about their day with backs upright and only speaking when spoken to. These days, Bishamon would wake to the sound of the youngest kids barging into her room and jumping on her bed. Kazuma always scolded them, ever stuck in the old ways, but she didn’t mind.
Now that the sorcerer was gone and things had settled down, it seemed like the days would take the shape that they had before the Ma clan’s death, but much more intimate. She and her shinki would take their final steps toward becoming a real family in the lull.
She briefly wondered if this was close to how Yato felt, only having one shinki (well, two for a time, but it was best if she didn’t dwell on the fact that Yato named Kazuma for too long. Especially when she was trying to do something nice for him).
The problem with finding Kazuma’s birthday was, all her current shinki had been named after him. So Bishamon set off on a series of missions to discover Kazuma’s “birthday” at all costs, then organize and throw a birthday party the likes of which had never been seen before.
Mission One: Ha Clan
Bishamon first found Kuraha and Kinuha chatting in one of the sitting rooms. As her two most active shinki besides Kazuma, they worked with him frequently.
They both leaped to their feet and bowed, then looked embarrassed when she frowned. She’d been trying to encourage less formality among them, but old habits die hard.
“Sit, sit,” she said, waving her hands. “I’ll only be a minute. Has Kazuma ever told you on which day he was named?”
Kinuha and Kuraha exchanged a glance, then shook their heads.
“He’s rather business-minded, honestly,” said Kinuha, rolling her eyes. “He always asks how we’re doing, but never says anything about himself.”
Kuraha nodded. “He’s immune to my jokes. Do you know how it feels to have a kid immune to my jokes?”
“It hurts?” Bishamon guessed.
“Worse than losing my eye! But anyway, please let us know if you go through with this…party.” Kuraha leaned in closer. “I’ve been interested in the idea. We all missed Yukine’s, you know, and we’d have liked to go.” Kinuha nodded emphatically.
Bishamon smiled. “I’ll do my best. But I can’t have a birthday party without knowing his birthday.”
“I’m sorry I don’t know anything. Though,” Kinuha said, looking thoughtful, “Kazuma’s been talking with Karuha and Kazuha to train them in accuracy. They’re kids, right? Maybe he’s let his guard down more around them?”
So Bishamon thanked them for their time, swore them to secrecy, and headed to the pool, where the twin pistols were splashing each other, their laughter echoing off the surrounding walls.
Bishamon crouched at the pool’s edge and beckoned them over.
“Come on in!” Karuha shouted with a grin. “It’s really nice!”
Bishamon smiled. “No, thank you, but I have a question. It’s…really secret, so can you come closer?”
The kids exchanged an excited look and swam over to her, splashing each other a few more times. One splash hit her, but she wiped her face. “What do you know about Kazuma?” she asked.
They looked at each other again and started giggling.
“He’s boring—”
“Kind of strict—”
“He never laughs—”
“Not even when I told him my best joke!” Karuha finished.
“Oh, yeah? What’s your best joke?” Bishamon asked.
“It’s—Okay, get ready. What kind of food do you eat when you’re cold?”
She thought about it seriously for a minute. “Soup?”
Kazuha rolled his eyes. Karuha giggled. “No, silly. Brrrr-gers!” Bishamon couldn’t help but laugh.
“See? You get it. Kazuma just told us it doesn’t make sense. He’s no fun at all,” Karuha sighed. “But why are you asking us about him? Don’t you know all this?”
In fact, Kazuma hadn’t always been so strict, when it had just been them for some long decades. He probably would have told a joke very similar to Karuha’s just to make her laugh from how childish it was. When had his smile faded?
“I just feel like we should all get to know each other a bit better,” said Bishamon carefully. “Hey, I have a job for you two. It’s secret, though, just like this talk, okay?”
The kids had already gone back to messing around in the pool, but they drifted over to her once more, faces excited. “A secret mission?”
“Find out how old Kazuma is.”
Kazuha raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”
“I already know,” Karuha piped up.
“You do? How old is he?” Bishamon asked.
They exchanged yet another conspiratorial look. “Really, really old,” Karuha emphasized.
Bishamon grimaced. “I want to know his exact age. When he was named, that kind of thing. Okay? And remember, you can’t tell him I told you.”
“You can count on us!” Kazuha said with a salute. “But we want something too.”
“What would that be?”
“A water slide!” they cheered.
Bishamon looked around the poolside, noticing all the empty space. “Deal. Find out Kazuma’s birthday, and you’ll get your water slide.”
Once, in the past, Bishamon and Kazuma sat under an overhang, eating while watching the rain drench the garden. Bishamon took a bite of rice, kicking her feet out into the downpour.
Kazuma gave her a side-eye she was getting too used to seeing. It meant she was acting in a way he disagreed with. “What is it this time?” she preempted.
“Mistress—sorry, Viina —you’ll ruin your kimono if you get rainwater on it.” Kazuma’s rice sat untouched while he lectured her; she rolled her eyes.
“Okay, bossy.” She placed her food down and leaped to the muddy ground, running out into the storm with her arms outstretched and face turned toward the sky. She let out a hearty laugh—it felt good , basking in nature like this—even if her shinki before would have disagreed.
She glanced over her shoulder at Kazuma, but instead of frowning, he’d cracked a smile. A moment later, he set his food aside and joined her, though with less enthusiasm.
“Is this supposed to be fun?” he asked, holding a sleeve over his head.
“Don’t be so uptight. Come on!” Bishamon grabbed his arm and tugged him into the garden, where the raindrops rippled the ponds. They raced up and down the pathways, through the bamboo trees, and skidded to a halt in the middle of the largest stone bridge. Bishamon glanced down at her tabi socks and laughed at how muddy, and certainly ruined, her kimono had gotten.
Kazuma was looking glum at the state of his clothing, but started laughing when Bishamon nudged him. “Fine, this is pretty fun.”
“Right?” Bishamon knew her shinki before would have frowned at her playing in mud, and given her a good scolding for it, but all she had now was Kazuma. And for years, decades even, he’d been all she needed.
But lately she’d been thinking about how empty the manor felt sometimes. There were echoing hallways and so many unused bedrooms, a deserted courtyard, and an unsettling silence hanging over the place. Dust didn’t gather in Takamagahara, but Bishamon found it pointlessly large all the same.
“You look troubled. What are you thinking about?” It was Kazuma’s turn to read her mind, and he looked at her with his usual thoughtful expression, heedless of the rain falling on them.
“Kazuma, I’m very grateful for the time we’ve spent alone, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything, but I…I’m ready to have more shinki again. Will you guide them?” She held out a hand.
Kazuma took it, the raindrops sealing their pact. “Of course.”
It’ll be different this time. I won’t let them die. I won’t leave anyone to the mercy of that cold-blooded killer. The magatsukami who had murdered the Ma clan would pay, but that would come in due time. First, she had to save those who needed her most.
Mission Two: The Freeloader
Though Bishamon had lost the Ha clan to her own foolishness, she was content with the shinki that remained. They’d all gotten much closer, and felt like a real family. There was no shortage of bickering and disagreements, but that was what made it special.
But Kazuma had turned from the somewhat nagging shinki who’d joined her in the rain all the same to one who kept a strictly professional relationship with the others. In fact, now that she thought about it, the only time Bishamon had seen him let his guard down was when he was hanging around Yato.
Yato, the one she’d hated for so many years, when she had nothing to keep her going except a desire for revenge. But though she now knew he hadn’t been the one to cause her misery, she continued to be unable to let go of her old grudge.
And aside from her, Yato knew Kazuma better than anyone. It was time she swallowed her pride and went to him for help.
So Bishamon released a groan and traveled to the near shore, where Kofuku’s house was only a short walk from one of her shrines. But when she arrived, the house was silent.
“Hello?” she called. I should have made an appointment.
“Bishamon, hello!” Iki Hiyori poked her head out from behind a door. “Are you looking for someone?”
“Yes, where’s that good-for-nothing…sorry, where’s Yato?”
“He and Yukine are out on a job now, but they should be back soon,” Hiyori replied. “I’m just getting things set up for my lesson with Yukine. Would you like to join me while you wait?”
Bishamon shrugged, then sat opposite Hiyori at the table. Looking around, she realized the house was absent of Kofuku’s presence. “Where are the others?”
“Kofuku said something about a shopping spree,” said Hiyori, pouring her a glass of green tea. “Daikoku went with her; I think as damage control.”
“So they’ll be a while,” Bishamon surmised.
Hiyori laughed. “Probably.”
“Say, you’ve talked to Kazuma a few times, haven’t you?” Bishamon suddenly had the idea of asking Hiyori instead. If she knew, she wouldn’t have to bother with Yato at all.
But for some reason, a sour look crossed Hiyori’s face. “Yes, I’d say we have.”
“Would you happen to know if he ever said anything to you about how old he is?”
Hiyori’s frown deepened. “No. Our conversations covered…other topics.”
“Oh.” Bishamon cocked her head. “He wasn’t rude to you, was he?”
Hiyori’s cheeks flushed a deeper red and she glared at the table.
“You can tell me,” Bishamon persuaded. “I’m aware he can be a bit difficult.”
“I’m really sorry, but I—”
A loud clatter at the gate interrupted her, and she leapt to her feet, looking relieved. “Oh, that’ll be Yato and Yukine! Welcome back!”
“Hi. Daikoku’s not around, right?” Yato asked, looking as weaselly as ever. “My back aches, so chores are the last thing I want to—what the hell are you doing here?”
Bishamon got to her feet. “Hello to you too.”
“I said, what are you doing here?”
“Last I looked, this wasn’t your house!”
“It isn’t yours either!”
“Hey!” Hiyori shouted, stepping between them. “Bishamon, didn’t you say you had a question to ask Yato, about Kazuma?”
Bishamon lowered her fist. “Right. Yes.”
Yato, however, still had his guard up. “I didn’t do anything to him if that’s what you’re wondering; he was like that when I got him.”
She had no idea what he was talking about, but neither did she care. “Can you shut up for a minute and join me upstairs?”
“It’s my house!” Yato whined peevishly as he trailed after her. “I should be the one inviting you in.”
“It’s not your house, but I’ll humor you.” Bishamon stopped halfway up the staircase and turned around. Yato bumped into her back and stumbled, clutching his nose. “Will you invite me upstairs?”
“Absolutely not; get the hell out.”
“That settles it.” Bishamon walked the rest of the way into the attic and stooped so as not to hit her head on the low ceiling. She then righted the table and sat behind it, wrinkling her nose at the mess.
Yato, still looking unhappy, started rummaging around in the back of the room. He produced two cans of beer after a moment. “Want one?”
Bishamon raised an eyebrow. “Do you remember what happened last time you drank around me?”
“No, I don’t. Is that a challenge?”
Bishamon snatched the can from him and cracked it open. “Don’t go overboard.”
“As if. These are my last two, so you’re welcome.”
“I’ll just get right to the point. Did Kazuma ever tell you what day I named him?”
Yato cracked a mischievous grin. “Oh? You’ve forgotten his birthday? That’s a shame. Let me guess, you were going to hold him a flash mob too?”
“A what—Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Just tell me, did he ever let you know when his ‘birthday’ is?” Bishamon took a sip of the beer and shuddered. It was awful.
Yato tapped his chin, still smiling that smile that made her want to punch him. As did most things Yato did. “I can’t recall. See, our relationship has always been…quite professional.”
If “professional” meant “borderline criminal activity,” then yes, it had been quite professional. However, Bishamon held her tongue and instead pressed, “Think. Use that lump between your ears for something. Didn’t Kazuma ever let this slip? Maybe when he was your…well, you know.”
Yato looked like he was having entirely too much fun. “I can’t say he did. See, when we were chasing my dad, we didn’t have a lot of time for chitchat, unless you count those drunken nights in alleyways and internet cafes. When it was just the two of us, some more of this excellent beer, and a whole lot of nostalgia. So I don’t know.” He winked. “But maybe…if you gave me a bit of money…it might jog my memory.”
Bishamon fished out a five-yen coin from her pocket and threw it at him. It bounced off Yato’s forehead and onto the table, where he clapped his hand down on it rather like a cat pouncing on a mouse. “Does that help?” she growled.
“It does. Unfortunately, Kazuma never did tell me his birthday, I know for sure. But hey, for five more yen I can get it out of him! Very subtly. He won’t even know.” Yato was now holding the coin up to the light, checking its legitimacy.
“You’re hopeless.” Bishamon slammed her mostly untouched beer can on the table. “And no thanks for this, either. It was terrible.”
“Fine, then. Here’s a tip for free.” Yato winked at her. “Give him one of these—” he tapped her can— “and he’ll sing like a bird. It worked for me!”
“Kazuma doesn’t drink,” she snapped. “You can keep that.”
“More for me.”
As Bishamon headed downstairs, she heard the gulping sounds of Yato finishing off the beer, and shuddered again. “Disgusting.”
“Bishamon! Did Yato know anything?” Hiyori asked, glancing up from helping Yukine with his homework.
“Of course not. I’m sorry I came,” she grumbled as she put her boots back on.
“It was nice seeing you!” Hiyori called after her. “Come by again soon! We can have a girls’ night.”
“I would like that,” said Bishamon with a smile. And maybe she’d find out exactly what Kazuma had said to Hiyori that had made her so uncomfortable. In the meantime, she made a mental note to reprimand him.
She left Kofuku’s house, somewhat relieved that Yato didn’t know Kazuma’s birthday either. She was tired of owing him.
Mission Three: Subconscious
The day was drawing to a close, and Bishamon was running out of people to ask. Takemikazuchi? No, Kiun and Kazuma disliked each other. Tenjin? No, Kazuma had often complained about his pretentiousness. Ebisu? No, his shinki were even more business-minded than Kazuma. Loathe as she was to admit it, Yato had been her best guess.
Bishamon finally surrendered to defeat and the ever-present hunger gnawing in her stomach, and returned home for the night. She shared a meal with her shinki and said nothing to Kazuma, though judging by the glances being passed around the table, word had traveled.
Bishamon lay awake in her room that night, going over a mental list of anyone who might be close enough to Kazuma. She’d ruled out her shinki, Iki Hiyori, Yato, and the other gods they’d had major dealings with in the past.
Perhaps she would just have to wait and see if anyone else had been successful in getting it out of him. Yato’s five-yen offer was sounding more appealing, but he was still a last resort.
Frustrated, she fell into an uneasy sleep, wondering if her subconscious might give her an answer by the time she woke up.
Instead, she dreamed of his past. It was a memory she hated unlocking, due in no small part to how visceral it felt. Kazuma’s blind, naive love for a girl who could never love him back. His shock and betrayal as his jealous brother ended his life much too soon. Bishamon felt all of this and more, accompanied by her own pain of seeing Kazuma as a happy infant, toddler, child, teenager. Then the edges of the memory blurred, she could feel the hands around her throat, and woke up gasping for air.
It was too cruel. Out of all of the pasts she’d seen over the centuries, Kazuma’s stayed with her for reasons she couldn’t place. It might have been the inherent barbarousness of being murdered by his brother, or how deeply his emotions had run before he learned to seal them up, or some combination of the two.
Eventually, she calmed her heart rate enough to drift back off, and this time the dream was much kinder.
She’d landed in one of her shrines in the southwestern end of Japan, fully geared up to hunt ayakashi. It had been raining that day, though she couldn’t recall if it had been warm or cold. And as she’d left the boundary of her shrine, she’d run into him almost immediately. The spirit’s eyes had met hers, and his mouth had barely opened in surprise before she’d lifted her hand and bound their souls together forever.
Bishamon tried to focus in on the details, anything that might give her a clue, but she slowly woke again, the memory fading; frustrated as ever.
Yet as Bishamon went about her day, she began recalling the birthdays of her other shinki, ones who weren’t there anymore.
Suzuha, July 17. He’d been walking among the hydrangea flowerbeds during a bright summer’s day.
Tsuguha, October 3. All concrete, fiberglass, and the click of smartphone cameras. A crisp, cold wind.
Kugaha, December 20. She could still feel the snow gusting her face by that harbor.
“Excuse me?” A light knock at the door startled Bishamon out of her reverie, and she glanced up. It was Aiha. She knew, innately, she’d named her in the spring, a time of new beginnings.
“Did you need something?” Bishamon asked.
Aiha glanced around nervously, then crept in and shut the door behind her. “I heard you wanted to know which day you named Kazuma, and I might be able to help.”
Mentally, Bishamon was slapping herself. Of course, Aiha was up to date on all the gossip. If any of her shinki knew Kazuma’s secrets, it was her.
She sat up. “Yes! Do you know?”
“I don’t—” Bishamon’s heart plummeted— “but I have an idea of how to get it. It involves that exchange diary.”
“Ah.” The diary in question hadn’t been used ever since Tsuguha’s death. They’d all left it alone, for reasons no one wanted to state. “What did you have in mind?”
“I was thinking I could get the ball rolling by asking everyone about their fondest memories.” Aiha seemed very interested in her feet all of a sudden.
Bishamon looked as well, but didn’t see anything noteworthy. “I think that’s a great idea! Thank you for suggesting it, Aiha.”
Aiha beamed. “You’re very welcome! Do you have the diary?”
“I do.” Bishamon opened the top drawer on the left of her desk, where the diary sat among some old paperwork she didn’t feel like cleaning out just yet. “Here you go. Good luck.”
Aiha clutched it to her chest and ran off. Bishamon smiled, hoping this latest venture would lead to something. She didn’t imagine Kazuma had too many happy memories considering how serious he always acted, so surely the day she’d named him would be right up there.
Mission Four: Diary
The diary was returned to her at dinner. Aiha winked. “I made sure to get everyone to write something. It’ll make a nice bedtime story!”
“Great work. Thank you, Aiha.”
She retired a little earlier than usual to read by the light of the flickering oil lamp at her bedside. Aiha had gone first. Her bubbly script had been hard to read for a while, but Bishamon was getting the hang of it.
My fondest memory is the day Bishamon named me, it said. It was April 14. I remember the cherry blossoms in bloom. Because of that, I got to meet all of you! I’m so grateful to have you. What about everyone else?
Bishamon smiled and kept reading. Many other shinki had shared the days they’d been named, so she pulled out a separate sheet of paper to keep track of all of them. More birthday parties were on the horizon.
There was the odd one out. Kuraha, for example, had written in his untidy scrawl, My fondest memory is the day I licked Ebisu’s face and he started laughing. Before that, he’d been so afraid of me! I’m glad my efforts paid off.
Bishamon read through, remembering sharing some of those memories, while others were new to her. Kinuha had filled several pages with a hilarious Kuraha incident involving him getting stuck on the roof (That’s mean! he’d remarked. I’m not a cat!), which must have happened while she was unconscious.
Kazuma’s entry was last, and it was the shortest. Bishamon’s heart pounded as she read over his impeccable penmanship.
My fondest memory is the day we ran out in the rain.
A tear trailed down her face.
And by the time she turned out the light and fell asleep, diary still in hand, she’d committed every detail of that sentence to memory.
Mission Five: Last Resort
The next morning, Bishamon awoke with a plan perfectly in place, as if she’d spent all night working on it. A rock-solid plot to find Kazuma’s birthday and schedule the party without him ever finding out. Even if it was morally questionable.
As much as she hated to admit it, it had partially been that scumbag Yato’s idea. It seemed she would never stop owing him.
In preparation for her plan, she retired to her study and slipped a bottle of whiskey in with her, then started on her paperwork. Though the sorcerer, the main threat to heaven, was gone, ayakashi were always an issue and vents continued to pop up everywhere. And every time she so much as breathed near one, Takamagahara wanted a report. So she passed a couple of hours filling out forms and muttering under her breath, until the bottle of whiskey looked quite tempting. She squeezed her eyes shut. She had to remain sober until Kazuma arrived.
Which he did, thankfully, not much later. He straightened his tie and sighed as he shut the door behind him. In his free hand he held his usual glass of morning milk.
Bishamon’s eyes narrowed. Target acquired.
“Sorry about that,” Kazuma was saying. “The kids were being unusually rowdy today, and it took a while to sort out. Something about a water slide? You know you can’t just go around promising things.”
Bishamon straightened up. “I am not making empty promises. The water slide will happen.”
He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment further. Setting his glass of milk down on her desk, he instead picked up a stack of papers and rifled through them. “An awful lot of paperwork, isn’t it?”
“I’m behind, but I was hoping you could help.” Bishamon nudged the bottle of whiskey toward him. “Want to indulge in a little day-drinking to get us through this?” She batted her eyelashes at him, but Kazuma was unmoved, giving her only a small smile.
“You know I don’t drink.”
“Just this once?” she pleaded.
“No can do.” Kazuma set down the paperwork at a knock at the door and turned around. “What is it?”
There was her distraction, in the form of Aiha. And she was right on time, too. As Aiha pestered Kazuma about the location of her hair ribbon, Bishamon unscrewed the top of the whiskey bottle and dumped a shot (perhaps more) into the milk.
“It’s in your hair,” Kazuma was pointing out. He started to shut the door.
“Oh, silly me! I must have forgotten I already put it on,” Aiha was exclaiming, a panicked edge to her tone. Bishamon replaced the top, but Kazuma was turning around before she could replace it where it had been.
He raised an eyebrow at her hand still wrapped around the stem of the bottle. “Couldn’t resist?”
Bishamon poured herself a glass, glad her hands weren’t shaking. “Cheers.” She watched Kazuma carefully as they sipped their drinks.
He frowned and pulled a face after his first sip. “This milk must have gone bad. It tastes awful. Well…it would be a shame to waste it.” He drained the glass.
Bishamon snorted with laughter and immediately regretted it, the whiskey having gone up her nose. She doubled over, eyes streaming, while Kazuma thumped her on the back. “Swallowed it wrong,” she gasped.
“You should be more careful,” Kazuma said, gently but sternly. “I don’t want your health to get worse.”
“My heath is fine,” she coughed, finally waving him away. “Are you going to help me with this paperwork now?”
“Yes.” Then Kazuma’s eyes unfocused, and he drifted sideways. “Actually, I need to sit down. I feel a little…” He tottered a few steps, and didn’t sit so much as fell on the sofa, eyes half-closed.
Bishamon was awed. It had been a while since she’d last seen him drink and had forgotten how much of a lightweight he was. She tiptoed up to him, pulling one of the armchairs close to where he lay. His glasses were askew, so she took them off and set them on the end table.
“Kazuma. Are you feeling okay?”
“Mmgreat,” he mumbled. “Dizzy…”
“Well, that’s simply terrible! Just rest. I’ll watch over you.”
A frown creased his face. “Shinki don’t…get sick. Stupid bad milk.”
“Remember that winter I got really sick? How long was that, 140 years ago?”
“130…somem,” he sighed. “Right after we got…Kuga-sensei.”
She remembered it well. One of Kugaha’s first tasks as her shinki had been nursing her back to health after an unusually serious bout of illness. It was because of that she’d learned about his talent with medicine, and his apparent trustworthiness.
“Anyway, remember when I named you? It was springtime, wasn’t it?” Instead of answering, Kazuma’s eyes fluttered, then closed. “Wasn’t it, Kazuma?” She shook his shoulder, but he’d passed out, his breaths lapsing into quiet snores.
And he would awake with a wicked hangover. Bishamon pinched the bridge of her nose. Her perfect plan had failed, she felt terrible about doing this to him, and it’d likely be another century before she’d be able to get him to drink again. Maybe in another century, he’d have let something slip to any of the others she’d talked to. But she wanted to do something for him now. After such an eventful year during which they’d narrowly escaped death multiple times, Bishamon didn’t want to wait for her next window. In that case, she was just going to have to be honest with Kazuma. Ask him directly, and if he didn’t say, schedule the party on a random day.
She heaved a sigh. He was always making things so difficult, but she wouldn’t trade it for anything.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to his.
Mission Six: Honesty
Late that evening, Kazuma bolted to the bathroom. Judging by the sounds from within, the whiskey was making a reappearance. Bishamon poked her head around the doorjamb.
“Do you need anything?” she asked.
“Water,” he said weakly from the other side. She fetched him a glass of water and entered the bathroom to see him hunched over the toilet, face pale.
“Thank you.” He took a sip and grimaced. “It was that milk, I bet. Remind me never to drink bad milk again. I thought shinki couldn’t get food poisoning, but…Maybe I’ll switch to coffee.”
“I’m sorry about that,” she said.
“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault,” he replied.
Bishamon was surprised he didn’t suspect her. Then again, he had always been a bit nearsighted when it came to her.
By the following morning, Kazuma was his usual, straightforward self, a glass of water in hand this time as he directed the other shinki about their daily tasks. Then he looked at Bishamon. “Good morning.”
“Good morning. Can I get a quick word?” She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the hallway, where the others darted past with arms full of bedding.
Kazuma met her gaze evenly. “What?”
Bishamon took a deep breath. It was killing her to admit defeat. Gods of war didn’t get defeated. But all her other plots had failed. “Kazuma…I need to know—”
“Coming throuuuuugh!” a voice screeched from down the hallway. The two of them sprang apart as Karuha and Kazuha barreled through, uniforms askew.
“Hey!” Kazuma barked after them. “I said no running in the hallway!”
They skidded to a stop one by one, fixing him with large eyes.
“Sorry,” said Karuha.
“We won’t do it again,” added Kazuha.
“Come now, Kazuma, they surely didn’t mean it,” Bishamon said. The kids grinned at her, then kept walking, glancing over their shoulders as they did.
“Why did you say that? You know they’re going to start running again as soon as they’re out of sight,” said Kazuma with a rueful look after them. “It’s that foolish water slide that’s got them so energetic. Who’s supposed to handle that?”
“We’ll figure something out,” she said, already dreading the inevitable lecture that would bring about.
“Anyway, what were you trying to ask me?” Kazuma had fixed her with that intense look of his, and she found herself unexpectedly intimidated. It was hard to regain her nerve now that she'd been interrupted.
“I need to know—and this is very important—what…what day…did I name you? I…uh…I’m afraid I’ve forgotten.” Bishamon hung her head, simultaneously feeling a release in her chest. She’d been holding on to this for a long time. But now it was out, and there was no going back.
But Kazuma surprised her yet again by doing something he hadn’t done in a very long time: he tipped his head back and laughed. Not a chuckle, but a full, hearty laugh that rang through the early-morning halls.
Bishamon felt her face reddening. “I didn’t think it was that funny,” she muttered.
“It’s not that,” said Kazuma, removing his glasses and wiping his eyes. “It’s just…oh, how very human of you to forget.” He met her gaze, smiling.
“Well…?” She gestured for him to continue.
Kazuma’s smile didn’t waver, but then he did something she didn’t think she’d ever heard him do before. He giggled.
This threw her off so much she almost missed his response: “I don’t remember, either. I was hoping you did.”
Bishamon simply stared at him, so he continued, “It’s been a long time. I’ve made so many other happy memories since then, it simply slipped my mind. So, no, I don’t remember. But why did you want to know?”
“...No reason…” Bishamon was backing away, mouthing words that didn’t quite get unstuck from her throat. She spun around and headed to her quarters, leaving Kazuma frowning behind her.
Once she’d shut the door firmly behind her, she sat on the edge of her bed. The exchange diary lay open on her bedside table, but she ignored it for the time being.
From there, her thoughts unraveled at a frenzied pace. Kazuma didn’t remember either. This meant she was free to book any day of the year. He also hadn’t guessed why she wanted to know, but she’d still have to act fast so that none of the others let it slip.
She could turn this around. She could win. She just couldn’t give up yet.
Final Mission: The Party
Bishamon sat with her back to Suzuha’s cherry tree, observing the scene. It was a beautiful summer day, and the tree’s branches were still lush with leaves and the grass bright underfoot. Around her, gods and shinki alike had put aside their differences to show their appreciation of the one Bishamon relied so heavily on.
As it turned out, Kazuma was so business-minded it had been no trouble at all to trick him into going where Bishamon wanted to go. She’d sent him to Kofuku’s house first under the pretense of asking her about vents, where Hiyori had been waiting. From there, they’d worked out their miscommunication, then Hiyori had lured him to the party's location, where he’d been surprised (and a little miffed) by the number of people waiting to wish him a happy birthday—all her shinki and some others were there.
Now, after his conversation with Hiyori, he seemed to have relaxed at long last. Bishamon had always thought he looked so tired for someone so young, but with a slight smile on his face as he talked to Yato, Yukine, and Hiyori, he was again the young man he ought to have lived and died as.
And Bishamon would never be able to forget about his past, about the girl he’d loved, and the shadow of that love that he now saw in her. It was a sad tale, one too sad for her to bear. But while she couldn’t return his affections the way he craved, she felt confident that together, they could find a compromise that worked for both of them.
“What are you thinking about?” Kazuma appeared at her side with that knowing face, and Bishamon glanced up. She had been right; he did look well-rested for once.
“I hope the party is to your liking,” she said. “I know it’s nothing fancy, but I thought you might prefer something casual.”
Kazuma’s face unexpectedly fell, and Bishamon’s heart plummeted too. Had she judged him wrong yet again?
“The party is fine. I’m enjoying myself.” (Bishamon let out a sigh of relief.) “But you didn’t answer my question: what are you thinking about?”
She looked at Kazuma seriously for what felt like the first time in over a century. He was her miracle; the nail turned earring that had defied not only death but the god’s greatest secret to come back to her. A party couldn’t even begin to scratch the surface of her gratitude.
So she said, “I was thinking how glad I am to have you back.” It wasn’t a lie. “Would you like to sit with me?”
Kazuma smiled and sat next to her; Bishamon looked over to the trio he’d just left. The weasel was now sprawled on the grass, Yukine by his side. He seemed to be lecturing Yato yet again. Hiyori was joining in on the nagging, but caught Bishamon’s eye and waved. She, too, appeared relaxed once more.
“I’m sorry for forgetting your birthday,” Bishamon said. “I know it’s a poor excuse, but it’s been so long—”
Kazuma waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you thought of me. Even if none of this is real, the feelings are.” It was true; his human birthday had been lost to time. Fake was all they had left either way.
“Especially if it’s with you.” His words were quiet, and Bishamon almost missed them. Then they registered, and her cheeks flushed.
“This won’t be the last,” she promised. “We can meet like this every year, on a different day each time, if you like. I’m sure we’ll find the right one eventually.”
“This day is perfect,” Kazuma said. His tone was reserved but left no room for debate.
On the hills surrounding the tree, under Yukine’s care, Suzuha’s flowers bloomed in all sizes and colors, recalling the memory of a lush garden. Without looking at Kazuma, Bishamon could feel he was remembering the same thing despite the sunny skies.
The last year had been one of adventures beyond imagination, of too many near deaths, and conspiracies that stretched far and deep. Bishamon would have liked to say it was enough excitement for a lifetime, but she knew herself better than that. Eventually, a new mission would make itself known to her, and when it did, Kazuma would be by her side.