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To a child, an empty house could be a kingdom. Large and silent save for the room from which one could easily slip away from a grandparent’s watching eyes, spaces behind sliding doors seemed to beckon for someone to explore them.
In such terrain—familiar and safe beneath an illusion of mystery—Susato had grown. Fanciful ideas had taken root as creatures and characters from stories found their way from her young imagination into the world around her, and she could hardly have kept from chasing them. Many a day had been spent finding some previously unexplored—or perhaps merely temporarily forgotten—corner in which to tuck herself away, nose tucked into a book filled with characters she’d only just begun learning to make out. Occasionally, she’d find another treasure —some bauble, dusty and forgotten, perhaps half-broken, and with eager eyes, turn it over and over in her hands. Little fingers twisted, pulled, sometimes popped the thing apart, curiosity satisfied only once every nook and cranny had been explored.
Though still a seedling by all accounts, Susato was older now. No longer did her little feet pad with quite as much reckless abandon through the halls; instead, she did her best to drift with grace and dignity like the young lady she would one day become, only occasionally slipping up and making a mess of things.
Still, childlike curiosity refused to fade, continuing to sprout and flourish deep within her. So deeply rooted, so intertwined with her spirit, it was unlikely it ever would fade at all. Thus, though the young girl held the appearance of sweeping the floors clean, wide and eager young eyes continued to glance around her with vigor despite any attempt at refined behavior.
In truth, it was not age alone that had caused the difference in Susato’s behavior. The rooms through which she wandered her entire life were no longer empty, the kingdom no longer her own. If ever in her mind the girl had painted herself as a princess—though in truth, she’d never thought herself anything so important—then the king himself had returned to claim the throne, throwing everything around him out of balance. Not yet had she grown used to seeing his face, one imagined and seen countless times in dreams before, and rarely had she the courage to face him directly.
Your father, her grandmother had explained and smiled, expressing a joy the child could not understand through the veil of shyness and uncertainty. Her father—that the man who’d knelt on a single knee before her could have been no one else did little to ease the trepidation that had caused Susato to tuck herself away behind the older woman’s skirts.
Never had it occurred to her to think that the man might be just as uncertain as she was, just as shy. Someone who shouldn’t have been a stranger, too close where before he’d been too far away.
He’d returned, and he hadn’t done so alone. As one child regained a parent, so another had lost both, and in short time another formerly empty room was suddenly occupied, and another piece of Susato’s world forever changed.
Rooms no longer empty—a strange hesitation came over her each time she passed them by. Curiosity, shyness, a simultaneous desire to hide and make a good impression—each feeling, even individually far too much for a child to comprehend, combined became something unable to bear.
It was by one of those doorways which Susato stilled, then. Many times before had she lingered just on the other side of this screen, uncertain if she dreaded or coveted the thought of being noticed by the person inside. Typically, it was the other room that caught her interest—that which had been revisited once more by an owner who’d kept it long before Susato was born. An owner she herself was still getting to know, but who at least made more sense than…
This door was open.
Only by a little bit, but the opening in the screen was enough so that Susato’s little body could have slipped through.
Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have stopped—at least, that’s what she told herself, bottom lip pulled between her teeth and fingers tightly clutching the handle of her broom. The owner of this room didn’t care to be disturbed. From the day of his arrival, everything about his presence had filled her with a strange sort of skittishness she hadn’t felt before.
To such a small sapling, not even yet begun to form into a bud, even the most juvenile of trees appeared daunting.
Whether Susato would have kept moving had a flash of light not caught her eye was uncertain, but from the moment that she saw the strange sparkle just inside the opening, her path was decided. Eyes wide, she forgot all about her chore and shuffled towards the doorway, sparing only a brief glance further inside as if to ensure the room’s owner wasn’t merely hiding in the darkness.
When he did not appear, the last of her trepidation was fully swallowed by intrigue, and Susato slipped just enough inside the screen to reach little hands towards the shining thing. It was large—larger than she was—but thin, and for a moment, she wondered if it was another sort of broom. Crooking her neck backwards while dragging the object closer and tilting it awkwardly to the side, she managed to cause the little metal details along its length to catch the light. Finally recognizing just what the object was, she let out a small gasp.
She’d seen it before, curiosity just as strong but a growing sense of manners preventing her from asking questions. Though, perhaps to a child still with one foot in a land of fairytale, this sort of thing wasn’t strange at all. Regardless, it had always been carried before, and now seemed almost like a lost pet, left behind by its owner…
Slowly, Susato fumbled with the katana in her hands until one little palm managed to find the hilt. With the assistance of determination and a good bit of leverage, she stared at the line where hilt met scabbard with the sort of rapt horror children managed to feel so well and often, took a deep breath, and fought an internal battle.
Ultimately, and as always, curiosity won out.
Many times before had Susato busied herself cracking open dusty old boxes with fragile locks or attempting to piece out the internal workings of an old run-down watch she’d found cast away in some corner. None of those items, each treasures in their own right, had managed to come close to causing the sort of chill that seized her as the first glinting sliver of the sword’s blade became apparent.
Transfixed, she began to slide her little fingers up the scabbard, slowly reaching towards that alluring shine…
“What are you doing?”
As if struck by lightning, Susato flinched out of her daze, allowing the sword to slip back into its scabbard. The entire thing was then clutched close to her chest as if it were a doll, serving to trip her up as she attempted to turn around.
What awaited her was a face like thunder, looking down at her from a height that seemed to tower over her. In truth, it was a sapling she faced rather than a mighty tree, but to children, there is little difference between various gaps of age, each impossibly vast and impossible to comprehend.
“K-Kazuma-sama,” she managed to greet sheepishly while bowing her head, eyes dropping quickly to fix upon her feet. She could hardly see them over the length of sword she still held, which she wasted little time in holding out from her body in shy offering. “I, was—”
“That’s not yours to touch.” In an instant, Susato’s hands were left empty as the sword was snatched from her grasp. Its proper owner wasted little time in pushing past her into the room, apparently having no intention at all of hearing her explanation.
“I’m terribly sorry—” she sniffed, bowing her head. Even if he wouldn’t listen, she would apologize—it was impossible to hold her words back now that the floodgates had opened. “I only saw it there and was curious… I’ve never seen a real sword. One outside of stories.”
For whatever reason, and though it hadn’t been Susato’s intention, Kazuma froze. Glancing over his shoulder, he hesitated for a moment, then let out an exasperated breath while looking away. “…It’s alright,” he finally muttered. “Karuma is rather impressive, so I can’t really blame you. But don’t do it again.”
“Ka—”
Before she could continue, the door was shut in her face, and Susato lingered for a moment more before turning and flitting away.
Something changed, then, as kingdom became house and the faces of strangers became more familiar. Ever so slowly, that dear and oft unattainable thing called normalcy grew steadily alongside the children, to the point of not quite familiarity but something resembling contentment.
Unaware of his place within the fairytale, the King looked on. It never failed to amaze him how quickly children could grow, from how much Susato had in his absence to how each of them continued to do even before his very eyes.
Something stirred within Yuujin Mikotoba’s chest throughout the years as he watched his daughter move from avoiding the boy he’d taken in to trailing after him like a little duckling, at first way of being noticed. More remarkably, in time, the boy began to look back, and despite the years and lack of blood between them, a sort of bond began to form.
Initially, he’d found himself happy, though the manner in which that bond was shown began to cause a modicum of concern. A mutual interest in combat soon turned to playful sparring matches, not genuine fights as he first feared. Still, worry for the younger and smaller party persisted as blows were traded, and he watched—though from a distance—with the full intention of stepping in when necessary.
As he was to learn, he need not have worried. Initially, Kazuma seemed to be careful enough, perhaps intending to go easy on the girl. However, he need not have bothered, for in time, his carefulness betrayed him, and Susato, with her study of martial arts, began to consistently take him down regardless of his efforts. Rather than offense, his consistent defeat began instead to foster an admiration and respect for his younger housemate that rivaled her own for him and his skill with a blade.
Though neither child acknowledged it themselves, the formation of that mutual respect was not lost on Mikotoba, being more than he’d ever dared hoped the first time he’d informed Susato of the addition to their household. Afraid that any recognition would shatter it, Mikotoba continued in keeping silent—as he did best—and likewise refrained from making known the extent of his own pride.
As the land of fairytales faded completely and children grew into remarkable young people, it was a task that became more difficult. Though he was certain a bit of danger lurked behind Kazuma’s ambitions, there was no denying the extent of his achievements as he stepped into his place as a proper lawyer. And at his heels—in footsteps, in shadow—was his own dear Susato, more brilliant than she knew, more accomplished than was acknowledged, and with the capacity to become something even greater than even the skilled judicial assistant that she’d become.
It made sense, he supposed, that their skill and ambition would eventually take them away.
Of all places, to London—it was almost poetic, though Mikotoba knew that, of course, there was no coincidence. A reprise of his own ventures, this time to be taken by the talented young people he’d watched grow up, and he to be left behind.
As he attended to their departure—well-wishes exchanged, kind smiles, bows, but none of the embraces his aching heart longed to deliver—and watched the ship set sail, Mikotoba’s pride did indeed cause his eyes to sting. Would that this new story they were writing—whatever genre it proved to be—find itself to have a happy ending.
But it seemed the trepidation he’d tried to ignore had been warranted.
A short while following that departure proved to be the next time Susato held Karuma. In a room so disheveled and tainted she could never have put it together neatly again, she reached once more for the sword she’d avoided meddling with since childhood, now not in curiosity but overwhelming grief.
Red ribbons shook as they hung from her hands, which hesitated before making contact with the sword where it had fallen—treated so poorly, without any of the typical care—upon the ground. Frozen in place for several moments, it seemed she was incapable of crossing that final barrier. As if doing so might cause that same voice to manifest, snappish and scolding, for doing something so improper—something she’d promised never to do again—
How contradictory. That thought itself was what finally enabled her to close the distance and take Karuma completely in her hands.
Kazuma’s voice did not come, either from the room or from the blade where his soul had perhaps been sealed away. All was silent, all was still, and as she held the sword to her chest and slowly began to wind the length of hachimaki around its hilt—he hadn’t been without it in some time now, and if his soul truly remained within Karuma then he should have it still—she began to quietly weep.
Never before in Susato’s life had she wished so badly to be scolded.
When inevitably her time with Kazuma’s soul was interrupted, Susato wasted little time in giving it away. To someone he had admired, someone he cared for greatly, someone who would do it justice—
After all, what right had she to hold onto it so? What had she been to Kazuma? Most certainly, nothing of importance.
Across the sea, her father wondered the same thing when he first received news of their shared loss. What right to mourn, what right to feel such grief—grief he’d known before, had broken in the face of—the sort that had only before been experienced in the wake of the loss of family.
It was the sort of grief which persisted even after learning that Kazuma remained alive and seeing him for himself after crossing the ocean to take his place within the story. Alive, perhaps, but lost to himself, which Mikotoba knew while watching him with sorrow from behind the witness stand. Yet, it was with resignation and a painful sort of hope that he knew things would have to break before being put back together.
Mikotoba would help in doing so, and leave the task to those on the opposite side of the room—those who, for all the grief and fear brought on by Kazuma, inspired an equal amount of pride. Susato didn’t know just how much she contributed to the success of that last trial and, in fact, to Kazuma’s salvation—of that, Mikotoba was certain. But he knew. He knew and, if he was ever to make up for his poorly spent first six years of fatherhood, he would never allow her to forget it.
It was not only Mikotoba who had reached this realization, however. In the wake of everything that came following his breaking point and slow, agonizing journey back upwards, Kazuma knew just how important Susato had been. Though it pained him to have parted from her, it had been impossible to feel anything other than pride as she’d looked him in the eyes that day in the prosecutor’s office and had informed him just what she wanted. It was just as she’d deserved, and he’d immediately agreed, emotion covered by smarmy commentary and a confident smile.
Likewise, Kazuma remained aware of something Mikotoba did not—that of his own contributions to everything Kazuma had become. The past several months spent in London since the others had returned to Japan had been often spent in reflection, and there was much he was certain of now that he hadn’t been before.
Why, then, did his heart beat so fast as he set foot in Japan once more for the first time since leaving for that study tour what felt like ages ago? As he set off down familiar streets and finally approached the Mikotoba family home, somehow more familiar than even the treasured Asougi estate and certainly more comforting…
Nerves, or anticipation? He didn’t want to think about it.
If the house he approached had ever been a kingdom, it remained one now—and a fine one, warm and inviting to the return of a wandering prince.
“Kazuma-sama!”
Susato—somehow matured even further in his absence, a little bud now brilliantly blossomed—emerged with a smile, self-discipline the only thing restraining an enthusiasm that threatened to have her break into a run. Barely behind her came her father, with the same kind, unreadable smile that had always frustrated Kazuma so much.
“You’ve arrived faster than we expected,” Mikotoba said in surprise, and nothing in his voice indicated he thought the matter a burden.
Hands on her hips, Susato nodded. “If you’d given any warning, we’d have met you at the dock!” she insisted. “How terribly rude of you.”
But her smile hadn’t faded, and it was the sort of tease Kazuma had learned he could match with no effort at all. “Forgive me,” he said with a grin of his own, then offered a bow.
Upon rising, he hesitated, on the verge of saying something he’d thought about for months. Would doing so condemn him in the eyes of ghosts? Would it insult the memory of his father, of everything he’d fought for, including the surname he’d clung to with tooth and nail…?
No—this wasn’t court. Contradictions were, on occasion, a matter of human nature and unable to be avoided. Multiple things, though initially in opposition, were capable of existing simultaneously.
“…I heard somewhere that it was rude to keep one’s family waiting.”