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In our short seventeen years together, I have given you nothing but worries.
***
At the age of three, I first learned how to call you “Mama”.
That was quite late, by Oni or humans’ standards. I must have worried you greatly. Although, I only came to know of this when Lady Saiguu told me. You asked for the best physicians in the country, didn’t you? And all of them brushed your concerns off, because it’s probably normal for a mixed child of a human and Oni to have slower speech development.
I can hardly imagine how angry you must have been. When I first brought this up to you, you only laughed it off; but even someone dull and stupid like me could catch the bitterness lingering in the air, Mother.
***
At the age of five, I got my first rival.
Calling him my rival is perhaps a bit mean-spirited and doesn’t convey my actual feelings toward him all that well. If my poor choice of words troubles you again, I apologise sincerely, Mother.
It took me a while to notice that Nagamasa was there. It took me longer to register that, unlike Lady Saiguu, he was going to stay here permanently.
I found him weird at first. In his stumbling baby steps, or sometimes straight up crawling, he followed people around, especially you. He spoke almost as well as I did despite being so much younger than me. But most of the time, he simply babbled while clinging onto your clothes. Nagamasa simply wouldn’t stop until you dropped everything to hold him, and if you weren’t home, he would cry so loud that my ears felt like they were falling off.
Such an odd child. I never had these problems before, did I? I was never so loud or needy. I simply minded my own business and played alone.
But despite it all… you loved him more, didn’t you, Mother?
***
At the age of seven, I had fights with you constantly.
It was incredibly silly, in retrospect. Why would I, a seven-year-old, be so angry all the time?
I wasn’t really angry at you, I think. All the little things that ticked me off – the slight change in texture of my favourite dish when you hired a new cook, the difference between the fabric of my usual clothes and the ceremonial clothes, the way Nagamasa didn’t stop nagging me every waking moment – have all irritated me before. Yet only at the age of seven did I find the ability to voice my frustration.
To voice my frustration wasn’t the accurate way to word it, you would say; because all I did was throw away my food, tear down the expensive ceremonial clothes, and lock myself in my room so that Nagamasa couldn't reach me.
When you confronted me about all of this, my tears just kept streaming down my face even before you raised your voice. I would open my mouth, gasping for air, but no words ever came out.
“Please, if there is something wrong, you have to tell me,” you said.
“If you don’t say anything, how could I possibly help?” You asked.
“Is it me? Is it my fault? Why don’t you talk to me? I beg you, just let me know how to help.”
You pleaded, over and over – yet I only cried louder.
No. It’s not your fault. I wanted to say: I was a stubborn and spoiled child. I wanted to say: I was too old to be throwing tantrums like this. I wanted to say: I should be more like Nagamasa – smart, cheerful and active. I wanted to say so many things.
But, if you remember, Mother, not a single word came to my lips; I simply cried and cried until you and I both passed out.
***
At the age of nine, I ran away from home for the first time.
You have really high standards, did you know that?
Two hundred perfect sword strikes every day is very tiring for a nine-year-old, did you know that?
Of course you didn’t. If you had known, I wouldn’t have been in such a predicament.
That summer day, my arms were already numb and sore from practising. But the first session wasn’t over yet; I still had at least three final strikes until my first break.
You glanced over at me, expressionless. That always scared me. You paused for a brief moment before slightly shaking your head.
“Forty-seven.”
I felt like my arms were falling off my shoulders, but I tried to grit my teeth through the pain, trembling silently.
"Forty-seven."
My arms felt ready to pop out of their sockets.
"Forty-seven."
Sweat dripped into my eyes. I ignored it.
"Forty-seven."
A rising tide of heat, of exhaustion, consumed me. Yet my strike was still not good enough.
"F-o-r-t-y-s-e-v-e-n."
The practice sword broke in half. I wish I was usually that strong. If I was, I would not have disappointed you over and over again.
I always hated it: the way you grabbed my arm. Your long fingernails never actually drew blood, but it still hurt. I know you never meant it, though. Whenever I told you it hurt, you would keep apologising.
But I would prefer it if you didn’t apologise that much.
I hated the way you grabbed onto my arm whenever I did something wrong. I hated your frantic apologies after the fact, but what I hated the most was the way you demanded an explanation. What did you expect me to say? I already apologised. Though I admit you might not have heard it through my shaky sobs.
I ran away that morning. I didn’t know where my legs would lead me. I didn’t know why you didn’t catch me before I reached the gate. I didn’t know how much time passed behind the stone statue, where I cowered.
…
Eventually, the night fell. Yet I could hardly tell the time. After all, Chinju Forest was always so dark.
My younger brother retraced his steps as soon as he realised where I was. His eyesight was quite impressive. Or perhaps it was because my silver white hair, much unlike yours, stood out too much?
He sat down next to me, his round, curious eyes fixed on my face as if trying to decipher an ancient text. I didn’t react at all, but we were aware of each other’s presence. If only Nagamasa could be this quiet more often.
I silently contemplated what he was going to tell me.
Honourable Mother is worried about you, perhaps? I didn’t want to hear such a thing, at least not at the moment. I know you are always worrying about me. Saying such a thing would be redundant.
Let’s go home. He might say that. It’s not like I didn’t want to, but if he were to say that, I think I might’ve gotten up and ran even deeper into the forest. I was still so childish.
Please don’t cry. Maybe? Nagamasa had always been the first to offer me tissues whenever I cried. I think he had no idea how much this upset me.
Nagamasa stayed in silence for longer than I thought, to the point that I considered breaking the silence. But just when I was about to open my mouth…
“I caught an Onikabuto!” The boy held the small bug inside his tiny palms as he called out to me, clearly excited. “Michihiro, duel with me tomorrow! Please, please, please?”
I completely understand why you would love him more, Mother: unlike me, a child like him is very easy to love.
***
At the age of eleven, I learned how much I embarrassed you.
Due to the nature of your divine duty, we didn’t live near your family – the proud War-Oni tribe – but instead the great palace of Tenshukaku. The older I became, the more I realised how much of a good thing this was. I sincerely apologise, Mother, but I couldn’t stand our relatives, nor were they fond of me.
That day, they arrived later than we expected. That wasn’t a big deal at all, no; but it bothered me. Everything from that point on seemed to go wrong.
The formal clothes you put on me wore me down, your anxiety only adding to the weight. “Pay attention to your appearance, Michihiro.” “Greet your aunts and uncles loudly and clearly, Michihiro.” “Try to at least have a conversation with your grandparents, Michihiro.”
It was rare to see you fussing around like that. You were ostensibly focused on me, but really, it reflected your poorly-concealed stress. It was so noticeable, Lady Saiguu had to give you a pep talk.
I am not very smart, I think, because that was the first time I considered whether I was the reason why you were so worried.
And they arrived. Some muttered apologies for being late in a dialect I could barely understand while hugging you, some looked around and inspected the house with no intent to conceal their judgemental gazes. They were such a boisterous bunch. I knew it. I braced myself for it. Yet I still couldn't stand it.
“Ah, Michihiro, you’ve grown so much!” Someone hugged me from behind. My heart almost jumped out of my chest. “Do you still remember me?”
I turned towards her. It was a woman who looked about your age, or maybe a little bit older. I could never really tell with the Youkai. She might be in her thirties or two-thousands for all I knew.
I bowed, but I couldn’t manage to utter a proper greeting. No matter how much I practised, no matter how hard I tried, the words got stuck in my throat and refused to leave.
“Michihiro, say hi to your grandniece ███.” You forced a smile. You had no idea that the name you just uttered was but gibberish when it reached my ears. Besides, how could she possibly have been my grandniece?
“Already forgot about me, Michihiro? That’s a shame.” My grandniece… what’s-her-name still hadn’t let me go. “You know, when you were a baby, I was the one to change diapers for you.”
…How would I remember that, exactly?
It was silly, but I was terrified. All I did was bow deeply, then run off to my room.
Everything about our relatives scared me: the way I couldn’t remember their names, their faces, or their relation to me; their loud, unabashed voices; their audacious and confident demeanor; their battles scars which they bore as badges of honour; their long, defiant horns that stood tall and proud, silently mocking the roundish, pathetic looking of my own.
“Is he really an Oni? Would it be okay? He is supposed to be your heir, right, Chiyo?”
Or so I overheard; but perhaps the speaker did not intend to hide his disdain for me in the first place.
“Come on now, ██. He’s still a child.”
“When I was his age, I ran away and lived in the forest for a full week, didn’t I?” The laughter pierced my ears. “Hey, Chiyo, back me up on this. I wasn’t budging no matter how hard you tried to drag me home, was I?”
You didn’t respond verbally, only politely laughing along with other people.
“I read about this,” another voice joined in. “It’s probably because of that human’s inferior blood.”
Other people were still laughing, but you stopped. I couldn’t imagine how you were feeling back then, but as for myself, I have never felt more ashamed.
“You shouldn’t say that.”
“But it’s true. Because humans are short-lived, they are cowards by nature.” Yet another voice chimes in. “There is an easy fix, Chiyo. Just be rougher with him! Hit him if you must! Never fails for me.”
“Yeah, he has your blood too. You just have to…force it out!”
Their obnoxious laughter suffocated me. But what about you, Mother?
“Um, I’m sorry to interrupt, everyone.” The familiar youthful voice rang out, and the laughter came to an awkward halt. “I thought you guys might want desserts!”
“…My, how considerate.” Our grandniece responded after a long pause. “Who are you again?”
“He’s Michihiro’s younger brother, Nagamasa.” You calmed yourself down, unwilling to let him face those people alone. “He’s turning eight this year.”
“Oh, isn’t that the human child you picked up…?” A short pause. Then, the awful chatter resumed, albeit much quieter. “You still keep it around, I see…”
“Chiyo really likes the mortals, doesn’t she?” The one who claimed to have read about ‘inferior human’s blood’ speaks. “Hey, kid, what are you up to these days?”
Without a second of hesitation, Nagamasa answered proudly.
“I am studying magic under Master Reizenbou, the Yougou Tengu chieftain.”
A round of oh-s and ah-s. The crowd seemed to warm up to him a little; but not everyone in the room was sufficiently impressed.
“Magic is no good.” Exclaimed that person again. “See? Your arms are practically sticks. Can you even wield a blade?”
Nagamasa could, in fact, hold a blade. He was struggling, and you weren’t too keen on teaching him your swordsmanship, but the fact remained that he was somewhat proficient in the art of the sword for a child of his age. If I were to be in his position, though, I would not be able to muster any kind of answer to defend myself.
“I study with Master Reizenbou on weekdays, and Honourable Mother teaches me the basics of bladework on weekends. So, of course, I can handle a sword.” Nagamasa answered, and there was a hint of both irritation and pride in his voice. “By the way, ████, you are my grandnephew, aren’t you? Should you really be speaking to me with that tone?”
The other person, our grandnephew, did not respond, or perhaps the roaring laughter surrounding him already drowned out any kind of response he had to offer. It was kind of mean, so forgive me, but I felt some kind of satisfaction with how the table turned.
Just when I was about to distract myself with something else, a knock on the door pulled me back.
“Michihiro.” A soft feminine voice, but it wasn’t you. That voice sounded much too stern to have been yours. “I get that you are scared, but this is not the time. You have to get out there.”
“You are old enough, Michihiro. Be brave. Get out there and speak to them.” She lowered her voice, as if not wanting anyone else to listen in. “Your mother prepared a lot for today. So, let’s not ruin it.”
My heart sank, and my vision darkened. I was well aware of that even before Lady Saiguu told me, but being told directly was scarier than I had imagined. Once again, the cowardly me couldn’t utter a word in return.
I curled up in a corner of my room, rocking back and forth in an attempt to comfort myself. Yet I could still hear that child’s voice, conversing so confidently with the people whose lifespans surpassed his by thousands of years.
If only he was your heir instead, Mother.
***
At the age of thirteen, I realised you had given up on me.
It was supposed to be a day of joy and festivities, but I could hardly bring myself to smile. To be perfectly honest, I have always struggled to connect the concept of joy and festivities together. Hence, it should be no surprise that I had never really been excited with the idea of attending the Hyakkiyakou.
It was always loud. The lights were blinding. The food tasted off, if not outright disgusting.
At the very least, the festival-goers paid us no mind most of the time.
I still hated it though. I hated the atmosphere. I hated the way your breath reeked of alcohol afterward (I would never say that to you out loud). Even more than that, though, I hated the uncertainty slowly growing in my heart – the uncertainty of whether or not I belonged there.
Indeed, their attention wasn't on us per se, but occasionally, I could still feel their gazes fixed on me – or, to be precise – my feeble-looking horns. Teruyo, who was two years younger than me, was already spreading her jet-black wings, leaping from tree to tree. Would my little horns make me a good enough Youkai, Mother?
Unlike me, Nagamasa wasn’t allowed in Hyakkiyakou, for it was an event exclusively for the Youkai. When he was younger, he was always huffy about this. As he grew up, he seemed to have abandoned the idea of sneaking in, although the melancholy when he parted with us at the entrance was very much apparent. If it was possible, I wanted to trade places with him.
I really… Don’t want to be here.
I blurted that out loud. I tried to cover my mouth, but it was too late.
“What do you mean, Michihiro?”
I stared back with my mouth wide open for a good moment. It’s fortunate that no one else was around to listen.
“I…” I asked myself, what should I say? Should I voice my distress, or should I pretend that nothing was wrong as usual?
“I don’t like Hyakkiyakou.”
“Um, right,” you nodded absentmindedly, unwilling or unable to meet my eyes. “You have never liked Hyakkiyakou, right, Michihiro? Yeah, my Michihiro never liked loud, crowded places.”
Your reaction wasn’t nearly as scary as I anticipated. I was still nervous, but I knew I should leverage this opportunity.
“May I… stay home next time?” Realising how terrible that sounded, I frantically added: “I mean, Nagamasa would be terribly lonely if we are both at a festival without him, so–”
“He isn’t the lonely one here, but sure, Michihiro.”
You couldn’t help but laugh at my dumbfounded expression. Poking my cheek with your newly trimmed fingernail, you looked at me with an expression that I was too scared to learn the name of.
“You can stay home next time, if you wish. But calling Nagamasa lonely is a bit inaccurate, isn’t it? He still has friends.”
I didn’t care if you were mocking me. All I felt was relief – a huge weight had been lifted off my chest after so many years. Yet that feeling was short-lived.
You averted your crimson eyes again, unwilling to look at me. This time, there wasn’t any scolding, persuasion, or so much as a frown. Indeed, it had been a long time since the last time you tried to persuade me to do anything at all. You obliged me so easily, yet neither of us were happy about it.
Normally, you would chatter on and on after drinking, but on that festival day, we walked home in complete silence. Draped around us was a heavy curtain of sorrow that blocked out even the clearest laughter echoing from the festival in the distance.
That was when I realised you had completely given up on any expectations you ever had of me, Mother.
***
Regardless, at the age of fifteen, I thought everything would still be fine.
“Uh, Mother, can you pass me the–”
“Here, your water.”
“Thank you…and also the–”
“Ketchup. Here you go.”
I lifted my face off the table to meet your eyes. I didn't know what I felt. Wary? No. It was more like…fond.
“How did you know?”
“Come now, Michihiro. I wouldn’t be your Mother if I didn't know, right?”
Your smile put me at ease. It always did, Mother. Your genuine smile could soothe every fear I had.
It was a normal weekday. Nagamasa was off studying in Mt. Yougou, and you had a rare day off from your duties at Tenshukaku. It had been a while since the last lunch time we had with just the two of us.
“How does it taste?”
“It tastes good.” I avoided your gaze. “Did you make it yourself?”
“Ah, so you noticed?”
“Honestly, it's such a waste of my cooking talent. Just making Omurice…” You sighed, but your smile was fond, not annoyed. “But as long as you like it, I’m glad.”
“…Is it really worth the effort?”
I promise, I didn’t mean to say that. For some reason, my mouth moved on its own.
Your smile vanished in an instant, and a grimace came to replace it. “You ask the strangest questions sometimes, Michihiro.”
I looked away, forgetting to even apologise. If I ignored this, maybe you would too, as usual. But you didn’t let this one go.
You reached over, pinching my cheeks with that serious expression. It hurt a little bit, but I didn’t let out a single sound.
“You are my child, Michihiro – his greatest gift to me.” Your eyes softened as you spoke. “Everything and anything I do for you is well worth the effort.”
You know, Mother… over time, I internalised something. You loved Nagamasa more than you loved me. That part didn’t trouble me. But… you worried about me way more than you did for him. The thought had tormented me for years, but at this moment, I selfishly thought maybe it wasn’t totally a bad thing.
I have never been good with expressing my feelings.
After that lunchtime, I offered to help you take care of the plants you attempted to grow in our make-shift garden. You were absolutely terrible at gardening, Mother. But if spending time with you like that made you happy, then the garden wasn’t as useless as I thought.
Even if I couldn’t be your perfect heir; even if there was something inherently wrong with me; even if you did love my brother more; even if all I had given you in my short life was a mountain of worries; even if I am doomed for solitude forever, rejected by the Youkai and humans alike, it would be alright. As long as most of our days passed by like this – quiet, peaceful, and undisturbed by the world at large.
I naively believed things could stay like this forever, Mother.
I naively believed we could continue living like this for a little while longer, Mother.
After all, Mother, my dearest Mother – at that time, everything in my short life was at least bearable, and for that, I have to thank you most sincerely.
***
Then, at the age of seventeen, I unlearned how to call you “Mother”.
The room they dragged me into for questioning was quite damp.
It was the first time someone pulled me by the horn, I think. It couldn't have been too efficient. My guess is they were trying to make a point.
Nausea churned low in my stomach. I really wanted to puke, but I knew they would yell at me if I did that again.
See, back then, whenever I did something wrong and you demanded an explanation, what you wanted was indeed an explanation for my actions – regardless of whether I could offer you one or not. This time, though, I soon realised that the things they were after wasn’t really an answer, but an admission. Yet their attempts were futile, because no matter what they wanted me to confess, all they earned was my heaving breaths during their attempts to force-feed beans to me.
“When will her next attack be?”
“How long has she prepared the assassination for?”
“Are you her only accomplice? Did she involve anyone else?”
The questions became more and more ludicrous over time. You? Committing treason against Her Excellency? I still couldn’t make sense of what flashed before my eyes on that day. I was certain that you loved Her Excellency – that you loved this nation more than your own life. There was no way you would bare your fangs against the Eternity that you so fervently believed in, the One who had the power to overcome the destiny of life and death.
I am a Youkai – fundamentally different from humans, so of course I am cunning and unpredictable. That was why they had to resort to this method to get information out of me.
I have Oni blood running in my veins, so of course I am violent. That was why they had so many people guarding this interrogation room.
But I am also part-human, so of course I am not as allergic to beans as regular Oni are. That was why they had to use so many beans for this ‘interrogation’ to be effective.
I felt like my skin was burning. My body itched all over. You always said that my allergic reaction to beans was even more intense than that of most Oni. That was why you never allowed me to taste a lick of the fried tofu that Lady Saiguu enjoyed so much no matter how good she said it was. When things had come to this, I realised that you were right about absolutely everything.
I felt like I was choking to death, probably because I was. My grasp on consciousness was about as tenuous as the flap of a butterfly's fragile wings.
“There is one thing you could do, you know.” My interrogator whispered directly in my ear, in words that I could barely comprehend. “Denounce your mother. And we shall reduce your sentence, or perhaps even grant you bail.”
In the corner of my blurry vision, there was a glimmer of light. Maybe it was hope – in some perversion of the word. Thinking back, I still wonder why they left such a sharp knife right at the interrogation table, somehow within my grasp. Maybe an officer just forgot their weapon there. Maybe they just didn’t care enough. Whatever the case, it was there – so I used it.
I said the knife was sharp. Maybe I should take that back.
The cut was jagged, and hurt as if divine punishment had finally come for me. Blood spilled all over the wooden table, soaking my clothes in deep crimson. Like the colour of your eyes – how reprehensible of me it was, to think of you at that very moment. Please forgive me.
That was when they finally thought of calling the medics. It was a bit late for that, I think. My horns were not growing back, but I had hoped that they would at least treat my allergic reactions.
…
That was when I truly betrayed you. I betrayed any and all hopes and expectations you had for me. I betrayed even the blood flowing in my veins. Nagamasa would pray for my torment until he draws his last breath. He would never forgive me for this. But you are different, Mother. You would forgive me, wouldn’t you? As loving and kind as you are, if even you wouldn’t absolve me of my sin, I would surely be haunted by what I’ve done for the rest of my life.
In my dreams, your lullaby never ends. But now, I must beg for your forgiveness, Mother – for betraying you, for abandoning my duty, and for the seventeen years of worries I have brought you. And please, please allow me to call for you one last time!
Farewell, farewell, dearest Mother! From this moment onward, I shall be your child no more.
Centuries later, long after his blood had run dry, along the abandoned trail where even the toughest of flowers hesitate to bloom, where none but the disgraced Serpent God remains – rests a mechanical swordsman who once bravely paved a new path for himself. He deemed himself a traitor until his very last breath, but guarding him is undoubtedly her, his dearest dearest mother.