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The problem with good things was that, inevitably, they always and without fail ended. Everything ended, really; it was a condition of mortality, and one that Ogami Banri hadn’t really minded up to this point. The first thing that had ended for him was the period, when he was a small child, during which he had been consistently amazed at being a human, born only to die, mortal and fragile and bound to the responsibility he had been born for; the amazement had ended but the responsibility had stayed, and had coupled itself to a casual loneliness as he’d gotten older and realized that the duties he was bound to as the mayor’s son and heir kept any and all kinds of friendship far away. As the mayor’s heir, everything he did was bound up in his duties, which required him to stay at arm’s length from everyone, because a mayor couldn’t show favoritism, couldn’t allow his own personal feelings to impact his policy or his decisions, and everyone who tried to befriend the mayor’s son wanted some form of favoritism from him. This loneliness and this belief ended upon befriending Sunohara Momose, whose reaction to finding the mayor’s son crying in the forest when he was supposed to be studying in the schoolhouse had been to extend a hand of genuine friendship to him, and then Banri hadn’t been so completely alone anymore. When he was with Momo, he didn’t need to be the perfect mayor’s son who carried every expectation with pride and assurance. With Momo, he could simply be himself, and simply himself was enough.
Over the next several years, that friendship had only grown deeper. Banri and Momo would meet late at night when the village slept, and between the cracks of their days; they passed messages through Momo’s sister, a girl Banri’s own age kind enough not to draw attention to the wrapped meals that Banri would slip to her under the guise of helping out the town’s orphans, even though he never would have dared to such a thing without the mayor’s explicit permission before meeting Momo. They found excuses to bump into each other at the market, or to exchange glances at town meetings; they arranged for Momo to get a job as a messenger for the mayor, and Banri had the pleasure of giving Momo the messages in question and—occasionally, when he was certain nobody else was looking—the distinct pleasure of pressing a kiss to the back of Momo’s hand when he handed the messages over.
This had been the birth of another of mortality’s beautiful changes, though he hadn’t realized it at the time. Some months after this as they met one evening at their spot in the woods, the ancient tree where they had first met, Momo had quickly pressed a kiss to Banri’s lips, face flaming red even before the action was begun, and Banri felt his weak mortal heart suddenly beating quite strongly in his chest.
“Oh,” he said, entirely breathless, all too aware of his lips and his heart and Momo’s warmth so close by under the forest starlight. “Oh—are we—we’re—”
Momo’s eyes widened in horror, his blush deepening. “I–I’m so sorry, I thought you wanted—please don’t hate me—”
“I could never hate you!” Banri said. “Momo-kun, I love you—”
“I love you too,” Momo gasped.
They stared at each other for a few moments. Momo’s face was vividly pink, and Banri felt his heart beating against his chest like a prisoner straining against his chains. He thought about Momo’s lips on his, and about kissing the back of Momo’s hand, and he thought about the various couples in town who would walk out together in the evenings. His heart helpfully provided images of himself and Momo walking out together, talking, laughing, not having to hide, maybe even holding hands.
The thought was overwhelming; Banri took a moment to steady himself, and then said, “Momo-kun. Would you be interested in…” me courting you, asking your sister for your hand in marriage, being together forever, loving me, me loving you “…entering into a relationship with me?”
“I would do anything for you, Ban-san,” Momo said, a strange fervor in his eyes. In the light of the moon and their lantern, he looked almost feverish; as he and Banri met eyes, the reflection of the lantern’s flame reflected in his irises and danced like the fires of hell. “I would love to be with you.”
Things had been amazing, after that. Banri and Momo had continued meeting in secret—it was easier that way, and what they were used to. There was no need to risk anything, after all; Banri knew for certain that the mayor wouldn’t approve, which could be troublesome, and Momo didn’t want to have to explain their relationship to his sister. They were able to be happy together, just the two of them, and things were good. And all good things come to an end, eventually. It was the way of the world, the rule of mortality. Nothing mortal lasts forever; everything mortal dies, even—and especially—mortal happiness, for only through death can one be born again. That was how mortal joys proliferated—they died and were reborn, over and over and over again, so that no mortal lived a life without happiness being born again just around the corner.
The death of this happiness came like this: one day, a couple of months after Banri and Momo began courting, Banri got too bold. He had found an excuse to have Momo accompany him on an official trip in the city, and there had convinced him that they should sit for miniature portraits; he had taken those to a silversmith and ordered a pair of lovers’ lockets to be delivered secretly with the next market date. This had worked well enough; they had exchanged locks of hair to go inside and each clasped the locket onto the other’s neck. Unfortunately, however, the exchange had been witnessed by a farmhand, and the information had made its way all around the village by noon. Momo learned that they’d been spotted soon after he and Banri parted ways and spent the morning waging unsuccessful war with the rumor mill until he was called in to speak with the mayor; Banri learned about it that afternoon when he was called away from his work to speak with the mayor.
Though this was not a usual occurrence, Banri thought nothing of it and went where he was bid, still reviewing the work he’d been doing as he went. The demon who ruled the forest was doing something, though it was unclear what—all the wild beasts had become far more active of late, and were creeping closer and closer to the village, and as denizens of a demon’s forest, these beasts had a taste for human flesh. Banri continued mentally reviewing the hunters’s reports of this phenomena as he walked down the hall, and didn’t wonder about what the mayor had summoned him for—that would become clear soon enough, and if it wasn’t related to his present duties he would have a moment to reflect before answering. He didn’t even consider that it might be anything related to his personal life; he had kept his relationship with Momo so far from his parents that it had never occurred to him that they could find out in any manner outside of his deliberately revealing it to them. After all, he had never failed a single one of their expectations before; they had no reason to look any deeper into his life.
He reached the mayor’s office door and knocked; after a moment, the mayor said, “Enter,” and Banri opened the door and stepped inside to see the mayor, some of his advisors, and Momo, physically restrained between two of their hunters, a gag in his mouth.
Ice curled around Banri’s ribcage, crackling and hissing, and he stepped forward almost involuntarily. “What’s going on?” he demanded. “Sunohara’s done nothing wrong.”
Sunohara not Momo-kun, because he had to be impartial, couldn’t show favoritism, and he knew that the moment the mayor found out that he cared about Momo, he would immediately lose any and all credibility that he had. He would have to tread carefully here— he knew Momo’s character, knew there was no way he could ever have done anything wrong, but his testimony as to this was less than useless, because it came from how well he knew Momo, and how much he loved him, and not from the impartial distance that he was supposed to keep as the mayor’s son.
“I would thank you not to lie to me,” the mayor said coldly.
“I’m not lying, sir,” Banri said, reigning his emotions in, making his voice as soft and even as possible. “It’s impossible that Sunohara could have done anything wrong…and especially anything that merits being restrained here like this. There’s clearly a misunderstanding here.”
“A misunderstanding?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Explain to me what you believe this ‘misunderstanding’ is.”
Banri did not glance around the room for evidence of what was going on here, or to look at Momo to give or receive support. He kept his gaze evenly fixed on the mayor, staying perfectly within the bounds of the perfect heir.
“I’m afraid that I don’t know why he was brought in here,” Banri said, “but surely the misunderstanding is that certain people incorrectly believe that he’s done something wrong.”
“Incorrect,” said the mayor, and Banri felt his shoulders tense up. “There’s proof. And I know that you know about it.”
“I do not know what you’re talking about,” said Banri carefully. Whatever it was that had brought Momo here, if he was supposed to know about it…had somebody misinterpreted their relationship? Had they used that to falsify some accusation or other about Momo? If so, it should be easy enough to disprove the accusation—as the mayor’s perfect heir, Banri’s word carried a lot of weight. He just needed to learn what it was in the first place, so that he would know the proper steps to take here.
“I already told you to stop lying,” said the mayor.
“I’m not lying,” Banri said. “I know for a fact that Sunohara would never do anything wrong, and has done absolutely nothing to merit this treatment. I have no idea what people think he’s done, or what proof you believe I have, but I can assure you, sir, that whoever gave you the information you are currently acting on was incorrect.”
“What are you wearing around your neck?” the mayor asked, and Banri felt his stomach drop. Inadvertently he reached up to touch the chain around his neck; the flash of satisfaction in the mayor’s eyes told him that he had done exactly what was expected of him—and had most likely made the wrong move.
“I don’t see how that’s relevant here,” Banri said, forcing his hands back down.
“You don’t? I thought you were more intelligent than that,” said the mayor. “That’s the evidence.”
“Evidence of what ?” Banri said. “What’s so wrong about—”
“He needs to know his place, ” said the mayor.
“His place?” Banri echoed, confused. Momo was an orphan who made his living doing various odd jobs around the village; he had no expectations to fulfill, no place to be trapped in. He was beautiful and brilliant and fearless and adorable and free, free to do or be whatever he pleased, and somehow he still loved Banri anyway. “What do you mean by tha—”
“He doesn’t have one,” said the mayor. “He’s useless, worthless, a waste of resources—”
“That isn’t true!” Banri shouted, and then froze. He had never in his life raised his voice before, to the mayor or to anyone else; he took a deep breath, and then tried again. “That isn’t true. Momo-kun is better than anyone else here, and there is no reason why he should be treated like this.”
The mayor looked angry now, and angry at Banri, which was new; Banri had never so much as stepped a toe out of line in his presence before, and had never dared to defy him in any way, shape, or form, but Momo was more than worth it.
“You don’t love him,” the mayor said—an order, and one that, as his son and heir, Banri shouldn’t have denied.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business, Father,” Banri snapped. “It’s unbecoming of you to—to abuse your authority in order to harass my—in order to harass Momo-kun—in order to harass one of our citizens. Of course I love him. He—”
“Is beneath you!”
“He’s better than I deserve! He’s the best person I know, and—”
“Enough,” said the mayor. “You are dismissed.”
“Very well. I’ll escort Momo-kun out.”
“Absolutely not. I still need to speak with him.” When Banri showed no signs of moving, the mayor sighed, frustrated, and muttered, “You were supposed to be obedient. That bastard…if I don’t get a return on this investment, then…”
“What investment?” Banri asked. If he could turn whatever investment the mayor was referencing to his favor, that might become leverage he could use to protect Momo. He wasn’t quite prepared to go fully against his family, but if there was a way that he didn’t have to, that he could convince them of how good Momo really was…
“You,” said the mayor, and Banri flinched. “You are an investment into this town’s future, but you are not living up to any of that at the moment, and this boy has absolutely no merits that can bring you any closer to where you need to be in order to be a satisfactory investment. You know that your position isn’t one in which you can recklessly interact with the citizens.”
“I know, but—”
“Go reflect on that. You are dismissed. The boy will leave, unharmed, after our discussion. I give you my word.”
“Thank you, sir,” Banri said, and bowed at the waist, and left. His heart was beating hard again, he noticed, but it wasn’t a good feeling, not like it had been when he and Momo had gotten together. He felt sick and guilty for leaving at all, but his feet continued carrying him away from the mayor’s office, as though pulled by invisible strings, and he lost himself in his work for the rest of the day, the beating of his heart in his chest weakening and dying down by the second. He left as soon as he was able to, stopping by the mayor’s office just long enough to confirm that Momo was no longer inside, and then he was out the door and into the evening air, already frantic with searching.
“Momo-kun—” he called, once he was out in the open air and could breathe for himself again, hurrying down the road and looking all around. “Momo-kun—Momo-kun—!”
“Ban-san!”
“Momo-kun!”
Banri and Momo ran towards each other and embraced, even though they were in the gardens in front of the town hall in full sight of anyone who happened to be passing by. Momo pressed his face into the crook of Banri’s neck; Banri curled his fingers into Momo’s shirt and buried his face in his hair.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Momo-kun, I’m so sorry…are you alright? He didn’t hurt you or anything, did he?”
“I’m okay,” Momo said. “It actually went really well.”
“Really?” said Banri, who could not imagine any way in which that conversation could have even gone neutrally, let alone really well, but who knew for certain that if anyone could have turned the tables in that office it would be Momo. “You’re incredible, Momo-kun.”
Momo flushed. “It wasn’t me, not really,” he said. “Your father offered me—a deal.”
Banri’s mouth went dry. The mayor loved deals, and was good at them, too. When he was in a good mood, and they were interacting casually, he was apt to joke that if he really needed to, he could even take the demon in the woods for all it was worth—and Banri knew that it was only barely a joke, that the mayor fully believed it was possible and so did everyone who heard it.
Once upon a time there was a lonely woodcarver who longed for a son, and so he carved a puppet and made a deal and in the morning a child sat where the puppet had been…
As a child, Banri had studied that story to learn contract law; the puppet’s transformation from wooden to real boy had not been told as a victory but rather as a failure: now that he was real, he could lie, and what use did the woodcarver have for a son who could bleed, a son who could lie?
What use did the mayor have for a deal that actually benefited Momo in any way?
“…What sort of deal?” Banri asked.
“A really good one!” said Momo. “Ban-san, he said that if I kill the demon in the woods then I’ll be allowed to court you properly, and as long as I’m trying to kill it. It’s wonderful!”
“No it isn’t!” said Banri. “You could die ! The demon—it’s a monster, I doubt anyone could kill it—he just wants you to walk willingly to your own death!”
“That’s what he wants, but that doesn’t mean it’ll happen!” Momo said hotly. “A thousand years ago there were two demons, but one was slain by a hero and the other was sealed away in this forest. It’s going to be a hundred times easier for me to kill it than it was for the heroes of a thousand years ago!”
“Nobody’s been able to kill this one for a thousand years, though, and it isn’t like nobody knows where it is,” Banri argued. “It’s not exactly easy pickings.”
“But isn’t the reason nobody’s come that nobody who seeks to harm the demon can get through the seal?” Momo said. “The legends say that the other demon cast a protective spell while dying, and when our demon fled to this forest the wizards were able to alter the spell so that the demon was sealed within its confines. But our village already existed in the forest, so we’re unaffected by it—so I might be the first person to properly try in a thousand years. Isn’t that exciting?! And Ban-san, you know that nobody in this village can beat me in a fight. I can definitely do this!”
“There’s a major difference between the demon and our hunters, though…” Banri said. “Momo-kun, I know I have no right to ask you not to do this, but…please, if you do go into the forest to hunt the demon, please mind your own safety before all else. The demon isn’t the only danger in there, and it’s been riling up the wild beasts for some malicious reason. There is no reward anyone on earth can promise you that’s worth more than your own life.”
Momo beamed at him. “Don’t worry, Ban-san!” he said. “I’ll be careful. I won’t go dying for nothing!”
“Don’t die at all, okay?” said Banri. “Nothing’s worth that.”
Momo’s smile softened, and he kissed Banri on the cheek. “I’ll stay safe,” he said. “I promise.”