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While the south-western coast of Jouto was known for its year-round seaside breezes and seasonal monsoons, the further inland reaches of the region hosted much more variable weather. The winters were crisp and dry with a wind that pierced all known senses, while the terrain trapped the summer heat and humidity in bowl-shaped valleys1. Thankfully, the Jouto hinterland was enjoying one of its short-lived periods of mild temperature, or 'cardigan weather' as Kojiro would fondly refer to it. This, however, did nothing to soften the trio's crash landing, courtesy of the jari-tachi, or soothe their bruised egos and bodies.
By the time the three Rocket Dan'in had tracked down their punctured hot air balloon and made a few spot repairs, it was late afternoon with only a handful of sunlit hours remaining in the day. They made no hesitation in relocating and hiding the balloon near the base of Mount Shirogane, a short distance from the closest available company-owned cabin and in the direction that the jari-tachi seemed to be heading. Once Kojiro confirmed the coordinates on the map of their jailbroken pokegear, so began the gruelling task of lugging two overpacked traveller’s rucksacks and several reusable shopping totes of supplies several hundred metres through the forest.
Had they been in better spirits, the trio would have found relief in that they were not as overladen with supplies as they had been in the past, but for the wrong reason: since the team's reinstatement to Dan’in, their equipment budget had been cut dramatically. Kojiro had been wise enough not to question this. Musashi, on the other hand, elected to write a lengthy and strongly-worded memo to the Rocket Dan Chief Financial Officer upon their rank being restored. This may not have been the best course of action, as she never received a direct reply. The Finance Department seemed to agree, as their requests for additional resources were placed under even further scrutinisation and often deemed frivolous.
When Musashi heaved one of the aforementioned bags at Nyasu's feet, the feline protested ("I'm a companion pokemon, not your personal kentauros," he had snipped), but still shouldered a small hessian tote. He, however, wasted no time in taking payment for his efforts in the form of a bottle of fruit milk that had been pickpocketed at some point. Musashi shrugged at Kojiro wordlessly, plucked up one bag of overdue laundry and teetered into the woods, leaving her partner to carry the remaining two.
Like the majority of Rocket Dan-owned, but otherwise mostly uninhabited, outposts in Kanto and Jouto, the cabin's door was secured with a combination padlock on its only entrance. Upon seeing this, Kojiro set his bags down, fished a piece of scrap paper out of his pocket and cleared his throat. Musashi sidestepped a creamy paw (that had abandoned its own load and was now stretching up in vain to reach the door handle) and took the padlock into her hands.
"These look like the right coordinates... Ah, 'Base of Mount Shirogane'," he said, turning to her for approval, but only received a lazy blink and a blank, blue stare. Nyasu, who took another audible gulp of fruit milk, had equally little to offer. "Okay. Twenty-two left."
Musashi shrugged her rucksack to a more secure resting position and turned the dial as per Kojiro's notes.
Upon unlocking the padlock on the third attempt and turning the handle to the cabin's door, the team cringed at the harsh squeak of rusty hinges and dumped their bags near the entrance. While the two human members of the team removed their boots in the genkan - Kojiro letting Musashi use the only stool - Nyasu darted between them to inspect the premises.
“A bathtub! An actual bedroom!" his voice sang through the confines of the cabin. "We must be in Sakaki's graces now if we're able to snag something like this, nya.”
“There's little reason for any Rockets to be passing through this area, especially at this time of year,” Kojiro said, pulling off his socks, balling them up and tucking them neatly into his boots. Musashi's own thigh-highs lay in a heap by the door. “I’d be surprised if anyone has been here in weeks.” He swept a thick layer of dust from the disassembled kotatsu's surface as he and his partner stepped into the modestly sized living quarters.
Nyasu waved him off with his free paw, then scrambled past a barefoot Musashi to fling open the door to the sole bedroom.
He had either completely ignored the signage on the door or simply been far too short to see it when he revealed a dimly lit room filled from floor to ceiling with cardboard boxes and stacks of paper bound with string, a desk covered in even more boxes and a vacuum cleaner squeezed into a far corner. Musashi took a step back to inspect the A4 page that she didn't read before.
‘Headquarters file conversion in process. DO NOT ENTER!’ had been written across the paper (in penmanship every bit as sharp and stern as the notice intended to be), sticky-taped to the door and signed off with a name that none of the trio could say that they recognised. Judging by the paper's yellowed border, creases and a tear down one side, these files must have been either of low priority or old enough to become somewhat redundant for the digital database that the team was accustomed to working with. Meanwhile, the room's six tatami mats were so overburdened with corrugated cardboard document boxes that there was barely enough room for one person to stand, let alone set up three futons.
“As much as it pains me to pass up such a cosy room, nya, you two can share this one,” said a scratchy voice to her left.
“Yeah, not happening, cat,” Musashi said, leaning against the doorframe and throwing a sidelong glance at Kojiro, who met it with a smile. Something caught his eye, however, as he looked back into the room to take in more of its contents, and she followed his gaze to a radio control board hidden under the labelled paperwork. While he seemed more interested in the console, her attention was drawn to the word 'Finance' scribbled on the lid of a box in marker.
Before she could gauge its contents, Kojiro spoke: "I've heard about this. Father had investments in a number of Jouto companies when Rocket Dan hijacked every radio frequency. The media theorised that they were trying to signal someone in hiding2." He turned back to Musashi, likely expecting praise at this knowledge, but she was still staring into the room with intent, his words having little effect on her.
The cat pokemon toyed aloud with the idea of perhaps attempting a similar plot to capture the wild ponyta rumoured to roam Route 283. Kojiro joined him at the doorway, squeezing between his partners (Nyasu's scheming still falling on deaf ears) and into the tiny space. He leaned over a tower of archive boxes to slide open the built-in wardrobe, revealing where the radio peripherals had been stored in a heap. In their place were a neat stack of boxes on the desk where they would have been set up years ago, one of which being the paperwork that Musashi seemed so interested in. From the doorway, Nyasu snorted and said that it had probably been in that state for years, perhaps dating back to before company records transitioned to their current digital format.
At these words, Musashi watched Nyasu noisily drain the contents of his bottle of fruit milk and toss it into a small bin labelled 'burnables’, to Kojiro’s visible annoyance. Excitement over the mysterious contents of the room dissipating, he sauntered over to the kitchenette to throw open the bar fridge and paw through any leftovers. Kojiro, meanwhile, stumbled over a box on his way back into the main living quarters.
“Nyasu, how long ago did we transition to digital record keeping?” Musashi asked in as casual a tone as she could, her eyes on the bottle's label.
“I don't know - nine years? Maybe ten? Probably much longer, nya." Nyasu shrugged and returned to scouring the fridge, then continued, saying, “Sakaki-sama may be the greatest leader in Rocket Dan history, but he was always pretty set in his ways when it came t- oh, this Basho guy has excellent taste in cheese!”
Neglecting to check the packaging for an expiry date ("An absolute sham!" he would have said if pointed out by anyone who hadn't eaten from a rubbish bin in their life, automatically eliminating everyone present), Nyasu clawed it open. A sticky taped note bearing the owner's handwritten name floated lazily to the floor. Musashi plucked the bottle from the bin and slipped into the adjoining room, taking Nyasu's lead and assuming that the sign applied to everything except Very Important Business that can only be completed in Absolute Silence; i.e. determining whether their expenses account was truly in negative figures, or if Jinji was as vindictive as the rumours whispered. Musashi was willing to bet it was the latter. If it were the former, however, it'd be a nice start to the fiscal month if their every request for equipment wasn't questioned by Finance. Both reasons piqued her interest enough to carry her across the threshold to feel the cool tatami mats under her feet.
“You're not seriously thinking about trying to set up that radio equipment, are you, Musashi?” she heard Kojiro call from the armchair. He was filling out their details on the cabin's sign-in sheet. They might be criminals, but individual Dan'in accountability was something drilled into them during their training days. While they might not have had the best reputation for acquiring pokemon, Kojiro was too considerate to leave an untidy cabin for the next occupant - a trait that he was quietly proud of.
“I just need to check... something,” she said, her words trailing off. Sakaki might be a touch too stubborn when it came to moving on from paper records, but this might just work in her favour.
"Well, then. Why don't I -," Kojiro started to say, slapping his thighs. As he rose to his feet, she hastily closed the door, letting the rest of his words muffle against wood.
“It doesn't take two people to find something that's likely filed alphabetically,” she justified to herself in a low tone. In truth, she just wanted to have a cigarette or five in peace and devote her attention wholly to finding an accurate ledger of the team's past and current debts owed to the company. She pulled the cord for the overhead lamp, illuminating the room with a dim glow, and slid open the narrow window for ventilation. Not the best conditions for trawling through paperwork, but it was better than nothing.
Locating the filing from Rocket Dan's finance department was easy enough. The single cardboard archive box she saw moments before was balanced on the desk atop the rest, and when Musashi perched herself on the sole stool in the room and leafed through its contents, it soon became apparent why: only a small pile of year-end business statements was contained inside, with the most recent dated over a decade ago. Musashi dropped the box on the floor with a huff and placed the glass fruit milk bottle onto the tiny sliver of space that wasn't taken up by paperwork. As an afterthought, she lit up a cigarette and inhaled a deep draw. Nicotine flooded her veins with a tingle of relief. Calm bloomed from her chest.
She regarded the bottle's label closer as it caught the light, the anthropomorphised strawberry grinning back at her, and raked through her memories for a clue. Induction training seemed like a lifetime ago, and the beverage she supposedly owed Jinji all those years back had long evaporated from her memory's own archives. Sending a delibird cross-region to hire recruits and possessing the administrative privileges to be (unfairly) dismissing existing members smelled a lot like Human Resources. Was that where Jinji had boasted she was assigned to? Musashi certainly didn't consider this vital information upon discovering their deletion from the Rocket Dan database, instead being overcome with blind rage, but surely that department would have been in charge of maintaining...
“Employee files, employee files.”
Thankfully, the boxes in question had been stored neatly under the fiscal records. She relocated the archive boxes devoted to family names A through to Ha on top of the box of finance records, crushing its lid and successfully clearing more space. Excellent.
Musashi’s fingers deftly located the first kana of her family name and from there, the second. “Miki… Mihara… Mi-... Mi-… Miyamoto.”
She stuck her thumb in front of the first folder and index finger at the proceeding name and was disappointed, but not surprised, to find two suspension files for the family name in question.
Sighing, she pulled them both out and laid them flat on the table. She flipped the first manilla folder open and was immediately met with a grainy photo of an unremarkable-looking man with an equally forgettable given name fastened to the upper right-hand corner. A quick scan of the first page told her that this employee worked as a contracted accountant during a time well before her own - she estimated around forty years prior to the year she joined Rocket Dan.
Exhaling a draw, she promptly closed it again and pushed it aside to inspect the second.
While the outside of the first showed no obvious signs of wear and tear, this folder appeared to be heavily used and carried a considerable amount of bulk. It wore a thick rubber band and tears where it dug into the paper. A circular coffee stain marked one of the lower corners, and the edges wore deep creases from being opened and closed countless times. A record of her team's successes, perhaps? She snorted. Lacklustre performance reviews would be the more likely case, but an expense ledger would be helpful. If she just had that, maybe it would give her a clearer insight into her team's spending habits...
Warily, she freed the file from the rubber band holding together its contents and flipped open the folder to reveal the first page. Her eyes darted to the top-right.
A shock of purple hair, eyes the colour of a summer sky and the blue collar of a training uniform told her that this was not her file either. Groaning, she turned her stare towards the ceiling.
Of course. The seventh anniversary of her initial employment had just passed, so it would make sense that her own records would be kept digitally from the very beginning of her tenure.
Even so, her eyes wandered back to the bulky file, curiosity taking over.
Taking one last draw and dropping the cigarette into the fruit milk bottle to let it extinguish on its own, she straightened her back and turned her attention back to the woman's face. The photo, like in the previous file, was held in place with a paperclip. A clever grin was lined with pale pink lipstick that juxtaposed the deep violet fringe framing her features. Orange spherical earrings not unlike her own balanced out the woman's upturned eyes. As far as Rocket Dan employees go, when the photo was taken, she would have been the target age for recruitment. Sixteen or seventeen? Surely less than twenty. Around the same age that Musashi was when she was handed a flyer in Tokiwa City. Strange. While she doubted there would be no connection between herself and this woman, she'd never encountered another person at headquarters with the same last name.
A quick peruse through the woman's vital information gave her an answer alongside a start date some thirty years ago.
Next to the date of birth (She was recruited at seventeen years old, too? Huh. Maybe we have more in common than I thought...), an annotation had been added in red ball pen - “Missing in action: 19--/07/28”, with the year smudged, rendering it unreadable.
Even so, the reports and briefings contained beneath painted an impressive list of accomplishments for a tenure Musashi surmised was cut short well before she herself joined Rocket Dan. This Miyamoto had played a key role in establishing the company's presence in Jouto, was promoted to an executive Class A rank within two years, and seemed to have procured a few pseudo-legendary Pokemon for Sakaki's predecessor.
Just as well she wasn't around any more, she thought. She could hear Sakaki's voice in her head now: Why couldn't you be more like the other Miya- Musashi flipped to the front page again, her eyes seeking a first name, - the other Miyamoto, Shinano4? >She exhaled sharply and felt her brow crease further.
As Musashi’s gaze drifted further down the page to find a list of on-hand Pokemon with countless handwritten amendments made, Yamato's drawl chimed in with: Miyamoto-sempai has a hakuryuu and a kyuukon, while you're stuck with a leather neck warmer and a glorified punching bag. How utterly depressing.
“Ugh!” Fuming at just the thought of Yamato, all focus off Jinji appeared to have evaporated, and Musashi lit up another cigarette, partially out of annoyance, but mostly because it would be her last chance to have a guilt-free smoke break before Kojiro reeled her in for report writing.
She leaned over the file, a cheek nestled in her free hand, propped up by an elbow on the desk, and continued reading to pass the time.
If Musashi was the only Miyamoto currently employed by Rocket Dan, then what happened to this one? She flicked through to the later dates of reports. Curiously, Shinano Miyamoto's briefing notes petered off dramatically towards the year before her disappearance and eventually into none at all for months, with the very last available report hinting at her sudden relocation to a foreign mountain range. Ah, Musashi thought. Anything highly confidential would've either been destroyed or stored elsewhere. Not somewhere as mundane as employee files.
So. An executive before she even hit her twenties. Nice. And with a bone structure like that, surely she would have been snapped up by some handsome, rich suitor.
Musashi leafed through the documents to attempt to locate some sort of information on this woman's marital status. Her search revealed that Shinano Miyamoto remained unmarried until her disappearance, with no emergency contacts provided.
An addition to the otherwise empty 'Family’ section in Sakaki’s angular handwriting caught her eye. She recognised his elaborate hanko stamp that would have been carefully pressed to the page years ago.
‘Daughter - refer to digital record AKA0634.’
Unmarried, but not necessarily single.
Recollection caused the knot across her brow to deepen as her stare drifted back to Sakaki's annotation in deep indigo ink and his distinctive red seal. It had been a while since she had last needed to recall...
My recruitment ID?
The knock at the door jolted her out of her thoughts. Her hand's sudden jerk caused the ash that she hadn't noticed accumulating on the tip of her cigarette to scatter across the file.
“Musashi?” Kojiro’s voice was muffled, but she could tell his face was almost pressed up against the closed door.
“I’m almost done!” In a panic, she shook the file, only for the majority of the ash to fall onto her white uniform skirt and loose papers to fall out of place, a couple of pages falling onto the floor alongside a wayward paperclip. She cursed under her breath, stubbed the cigarette out on the inside of the milk bottle and made an unsuccessful attempt to straighten the contents of the file.
“Would you like an ice block?" Kojiro called. "Nyasu found three in the freezer, so it made sense to ask if-”
“What? No!” she yelled back in a tone harsher than she intended. Kojiro must have thought it was plenty harsh enough, because she didn't hear him press the matter.
Annoyed, she tossed the haphazardly straightened folder onto the desk and went to shuffle the ash off her uniform before it smeared. Shinano Miyamoto's photo smiled up at her from her lap.
There was a sudden gentleness in the woman's gaze that Musashi must have missed before, and she could suddenly make out her own high cheekbones in the portrait. While there were noticeable differences between herself and the older Miyamoto, such as the rounder chin compared to Musashi's more defined jawline and a stare the shade of clear skies versus a deep ocean blue, she desperately sought out more similarities. She recognised the same pronounced cupid's bow curtaining Shinano's upturned lips that Musashi prided herself on and even the shape of her eyes.
Her heart in her throat, she waited for what would be ten regular resting heart beats to confirm that her partner had left. In that time, she felt as if her own pounded over one thousand times.
Once upon a time, years upon years before Rocket Dan, the bicycle gang and nursing school, there had been a definitive maternal figure in Musashi's life. Whenever she had willed herself to remember a face, however, her memory could only recall a tight embrace and a tearful last farewell. Fingers combing through her hair as she would feel sleep take her over. A hand-me-down wooden doll with ball and socket joints. But never, ever more than a shadow of a face. The passages of time overwrote her earliest memories and left only feelings and sensations, but never features to attach them to.
She felt warmth swell in her chest. It leaked into other parts of her torso until it spread upwards, causing her throat to clench, her cheeks to burn and her eyes to soften. A teardrop she didn't even realise was forming splattered onto her skirt.
“Mama.”
Maybe two boxes of dye weren’t enough. Maybe she just had too much hair. That should have come to no surprise, given the sheer length and volume of it. Musashi groaned at the reflection staring back at her. Where crimson locks had once been carefully swept up and away from her heart-shaped features, stands of magenta now framed them in damp waves. Maybe it will be more purple once my hair has dried, she reasoned with a hint of doubt.
Twisting her hair onto her head and fastening it into a loose bun, she turned off the bath tap. For what seemed like the hundredth time, Musashi picked up the dye's packaging and held it up to Shinano Miyamoto's photo. It was a close enough match. While the pharmacy in the nearby small town didn't carry orange earrings, they did offer a modest selection of hair dyes from which Musashi was hoping to pickpocket, but she had spent far too much time agonising over her choices to avoid arousing suspicion. Stowing one in her overshirt and reluctantly paying for the other seemed like a reasonable enough compromise.
The past few hours had passed like a blur, but it felt like days ago that she had flung open the door of the dim tatami room and announced that she needed to venture to the village at the eastern entrance of Route 28.
She had waved off Kojiro’s enthusiastic proposal to accompany her, but accepted the ice block he offered a second time, albeit meekly. When she returned to the cabin some time later, a plastic shopping bag in hand, she had found it vacant. Kojiro had left a note letting her know that he and Nyasu would scout their surroundings and look for something to eat. Just as well, because that left her ample time to occupy the bathroom before they returned.
Shedding her towel, Musashi tested the bath water she had drawn and, finding it to be acceptably hot, eased herself into the tub, Shinano Miyamoto's photo still in hand. She propped the portrait up against the tiled wall across from her and submerged her shoulders, sighing as heat settled across her skin.
The tap dripped, and its splash echoing off the tiles and through the bathroom. That aside, perfect, blissful silence. Who knows where Kojiro and Nyasu had wandered off to, but the hinges of the cabin door and their carrying voices would surely give away their arrival when they did return.
It was some time before she made eye contact with the older woman.
Say something! She's your mother, came a hiss from the confines of her mind.
“Hi.” The single word sounded even lamer spilling out of her mouth than it did when she rehearsed it moments earlier in her head. She was suddenly very self conscious of her own voice.
Shinano Miyamoto could only smile in silence in reply, and Musashi took that as a sign to continue.
“So, it’s, ahh... It's me. It’s Musashi."
A ribbon of magenta fell loose from her bun and landed on the water’s surface, weaving lazy patterns around her collarbone. It was probably never going to be quite the same shade of purple as her mother’s, but she could grow fond of the new colour.
“I'm almost twenty-five now… Mama," she said, testing how the word felt on her tongue. It felt foreign to her entire mouth, like tasting strong, black coffee for the first time. “Mama," she repeated quietly, more to herself than the photograph.
This time, the bitterness melted away immediately and gave way to a pleasant warmth that originated somewhere in her stomach. Like sipping it from a mug while wearing a cashmere jumper during an especially crisp winter’s day. Like pairing it with a cigarette first thing in the morning and feeling her entire head shiver as two cravings are massaged away at once.
“It’s been a while, hasn't it? Twenty years? More than that.”
A hoho's call cut through the silence. Musashi continued, compelled to fill the quiet with words.
"I'm in Jouto right now. I read that you were once -"
The blue of Shinano's training uniform perfectly matched the detailing in the tiled wall against which her photo was set. A thought occurred to Musashi, of news she wanted to share.
“- but, ah! Mama, you'd be so so proud of me. I'm a Rocket Dan'in just like you.”
She beamed with residual satisfaction, and in her mind's eye, her mother's expression matched hers.
"We have a new boss now - Sakaki-sama. He can be a bit temperamental, a little impatient sometimes, but he looks after us and makes sure we're doing okay. That we’re not dead or anything, I guess. We're scheduled to check in with him tomorrow. I hear that he's your boss' son?"
Well, of course. Ownership of Rocket Incorporated and its many subsidiaries remained firmly within the hands of the Sakaki family since its inception. Whispered memories of Madame Boss painted the portrait of an intimidating lady who didn't accept anything less than excellence from her Rockets.
“I couldn’t find out if you had a partner. If you did, they weren't listed in your records.”
Would her mother have expressed disapproval at her snooping? Of invading her privacy? Not a chance, Musashi would have huffed. Her mother would have been proud. Impressed at her cunning and ability to sniff out valuable information.
“I told them I didn’t need a partner, but it seems that times have changed. I have two - Kojiro and Nyasu.”
Musashi lifted a wayward lock of hair out of the water to run the strands through her fingers.
"They're my best friends. We fight a lot, but I couldn't imagine being partnered with two better teammates. I don't know anyone better with technology or at fiddling with machinery than Kojiro. He's got this natural talent navigating and reading maps, and when we brainstorm, I'll throw something pretty crazy out - he just gets it, you know? And wait for it - Nyasu can talk! He's smarter than most humans and gathers a lot of our intel, but don't tell him that or it will go straight to his head."
And you, Musashi? I'm sure your mother would much rather hear about you. Pride tugged at the corners of her mouth.
"Me? Well, give me a needle, thread and materials, and I can create any kind of clothing. Even something I have no experience in making, I can create a functional pattern faster than anyone I know and a full disguise in no time. The three of us can blend into any kind of environment and arouse next to no suspicion. That, and I'm pretty good at both pokemon and human first aid. We've each got our own niche of skills."
Her smile faltered.
"Not that they ever help us succeed at our job… I mean, we're able to send Sakaki-sama field reports filled with the intel that other teams could only dream of uncovering, but we haven’t been able to present him with a pokemon in months.”
Shinano Miyamoto’s own smile remained. Only this time, where it had previously given her an air of cool composure, it had settled into one of kindness. Maybe it was the yellowed bulb overhead, or maybe it was something closer to her heart.
Musashi’s breath caught on her throat on the way out. The air felt thick with condensation, but it made each warm inhale somehow comforting. She continued, this time without hesitation.
“I… I don't really know where I went wrong, Mama. I always envisioned that I would amount to something greater than Rocket Dan,” she sighed, then locked eyes with her mother and added: “No offence… To be fair, though, you were an executive.”
Unwinding it from her fingers, she swept the lock of hair back into her bun and away from her face.
“Do you think I could become one, too? It would be nice if I could wear the same uniform as you.”
Yamato in her own black uniform came to mind.
“Or maybe a variation of it. If we wore the exact same thing, Sakaki probably wouldn't be able to tell us apart! Haha! Hahaha! Haaa.” She laughed a bit too loud, a touch too long and at much too high a pitch to be completely genuine.
Yeah, apart from your terrible hair dye job, she reminded herself.
“I guess what I mean is that I always assumed things would be different. That I would have a career… or be married by now.”
Musashi was almost closer to turning thirty-years-old than leaving her teens. It was only natural that her mind eventually drifted to marriage and the long-term. While these thoughts were generally confined to high-flung fantasies, she was never shy about wanting to fulfil these dreams in the near future.
“They don't necessarily need to be rich or famous, because I am more than capable of achieving that for myself. But yeah, the companionship would be nice.”
Like Kojiro and Nyasu?
She couldn’t tell if the voice reverberated off the tiles or her eardrums. All she knew for certain was that it wasn’t her own. Between snow sashimi and lonely Christmases, Musashi found that she couldn’t remember her mother’s voice any more than she remembered her face.
It was before the words even left her lips that she realised that they had already managed to tumble out and slice through the warm air.
"I just wish I could have what you had. Someone who loved you enough to want to start a family." Realising that this was a fairly wild assumption, Musashi reiterated without missing a beat. "I wish I had love, too."
Do you think I had love?
“Someone loved you enough to have helped create me.”
Love is so much more than that, Musashi.
"I want to be close to someone. To feel their arms wrapped around me as I drift to sleep. Or to have a heart to beat in sync with. Or someone's fingers threading between mine."
Memories in a haze of sepia surged forward. Of teenage crushes. Of unrequited affections. Of placing a person on the highest of pedestals. Of broken promises. Of gifting her virginity too young, too early, too eagerly, to a woman with hair arranged into a pair of golden shooting stars. Of giving in to pressure when a man would slip a hand against a breast or between her thighs and savouring that brief feeling of being desired. Of entertaining every unattainable fantasy. Of an innocent embrace here, a gaze held for just a millisecond too long there.
But they leave, Musashi. They all inevitably leave once they know the real you. You can reel them in with a dazzling smile or a clever, well-timed remark, but don't let them get too close. Once they realise what makes you you and what’s actually lurking under that charming facade, ohhhh - they scarper, running far beyond the hills, and all that remains is a black hole and weeks of sleepless, tearful nights.
“To love me enough to not want to leave. I wish I wasn't alone.”
You're not alone.
There's an exception to every rule, of course. That one person who peered under the veil and wasn't fazed by what was there. Who felt between the gaps in her cracked exterior with careful hands and didn't recoil in disgust.
Empathy, patience - he gave these to her without hesitation or expecting anything in return. But even with all of this, she felt a void in her chest that would tug at her insides, begging to be filled.
Kojiro wouldn’t give her love. Not the way she wanted. Not now. Not with their friendship faltering with each misplaced remark or each careless action or each missed opportunity to mend things.
“No, Mama. Not like that.”
Not like what? Kojiro sounds like a wonderful companion to have around.
“He's my friend and teammate. He'll always support me in whatever I set out to do no matter what it is. I've never gotten along with anyone else as well as him. We… We’re friends.”
She drew her knees up to lay a cheek against.
You don’t seem happy about that.
“We used to be so close, Mama. Things have changed for us in Jouto. Is there something in the water here that I should know about?” She subtly braced herself, ready to leap out of the tub.
No, darling.
Shoulders relaxed. Her spine uncoiled itself. Musashi rolled her bottom lip between her teeth and cast her eyes downward. She reassured herself that it was with every feeling except shame, but it seemed to offer less relief by the second. If it wasn’t the water, then what changed them?
“It’s like he's slipping further away by the day. We don't sit and talk for hours in the evening like we did in Kanto, and we fight. We fight frequently and without hesitation."
You should tell him how you feel. If he really cares, he’ll listen. He’ll understand.
“How? It feels that every time we talk for more than a minute, the conversation either devolves into an argument or I say something awful.”
Why?
“I don’t know. I can’t help it sometimes. The words tumble out before I can even consider whether they were once legitimate thoughts floating around in my head. I don’t think I ever mean what I say, but I don’t know how to stop myself either.”
The cabin creaked. Probably the wooden beams settling in for the night, or branches outside, brushing against the walls. Without waiting for her mother’s disembodied voice to dig further, she continued in a murmured ramble directed at the water’s surface.
“It's usually just mean, little jabs, but sometimes I’ll spit out something just… horrible. And I’ll be left standing there wondering if that’s who I really am. Then Kojiro says he needs a break from me and walks off.”
But even after all this, he hasn't left you.
“He hasn't left me yet,” Musashi said darkly. “I keep pushing him. Push, push, push. The moment might not come tomorrow or even in the next year, but he will leave in his own time.”
No matter how fervidly they expressed their adoration, and no matter how many hours spent skin against skin. No matter how many years spent travelling by her side, and no matter how strong she had heard familial bonds should be. No matter the circumstances, they find an excuse to cut themselves loose from her. To untangle themselves from her. To be free of the Musashi-shaped millstone around their neck. She waited for her mother's voice, but this time it never came. A prickling sensation spread across her eyes and cheeks. Her red-rimmed stare turned upwards to bore holes into the photograph.
“You were the first, you know.”
No reply came, save her words reverberating off the tiles.
Her heart felt like it was pumping mercury, the weight dragging her entire chest downwards to form a tightly bound mass in her stomach. Musashi’s shoulders shuddered as she drew in a shaky breath and blinked away tears.
“Mama,” she said, her words laced with tears, “why did you have to leave me?”
For a moment she didn’t say anything, waiting for the voice to return with some gentle form of a rebuttal. She drew in a sharp breath to demand one, then -
A knock rapped at the bathroom door, and she yelped.
“Musashi! Who are you talking to?” came Kojiro’s voice from the other side. So much for the creaking door announcing her teammates’ return.
“Uh… Sonansu!” she called back without missing a beat.
“In the bathroom?”
Sweeping her legs underneath her into a kneeling position, Musashi's fingers found the bath plug. A red beam of light erupted from her discarded uniform, and a tall, cyan pokemon materialised beside the tub. Sonansu raised his arm in a proud salute.
“Sooooooonansu!”
Musashi almost screamed out in horror as one arm flailed to cover her chest. “Just a minute! Let me get changed,” she yelled to Kojiro. Her free fingers frantically groped for the empty monster ball in the heap of clothing. Nowhere to be found, of course. If Sonansu’s eyes weren’t squeezed shut, they would have exchanged a look. Arbok had seen her naked countless times, but Sonansu had only been in her possession for a very short time. With the frequency that he forced his presence on her, he was going to catch her in some state of undress eventually. She steadied herself and stood. Thankfully, there was no reaction from Sonansu.
As Musashi reached for a towel, her gaze caught the portrait of Shinano Miyamoto. They locked eyes until Musashi felt that she had won the imaginary staring contest.
Don’t let yourself think you’re off the hook.
“Don’t take too long,” came Kojiro’s voice again. “I'm not sure how much longer this cooker can hang on.”
"You mentioned cooking? Dinner, maybe?" asked Musashi as she swept into the living area, with Sonansu waddling in her wake. Kojiro was attempting to reignite the gas cooker with no success while Nyasu collected mismatched cutlery from a drawer.
She took her seat at the kotatsu on a cushion in dire need of repair. Noticing a distinct lack of feeling her legs being bathed in a pool of sunlight, she pulled back the quilted blanket only to find darkness. Typical. The one time in months they can sleep in an actual structure, and the kotatsu’s bulb has blown.
"If you can call unbuttered bread and lukewarm tomato soup dinner, then sure," Kojiro said, setting a bowl in front of her and a saucepan onto a thick cork mat. She peered over and was met with a watery puddle in the most unappetising shade of red.
"... Ah."
Nyasu tossed the cutlery onto the table and crossed his short arms. "You're welcome, nya."
"Thanks, you two," she said. Her smile was meant to be kind, but it landed crooked. Too forced to pass for genuine warmth. Kojiro returned it with much more sincerity as he took his place beside her with his own bowl.
"I'd like to think you have left some hot water," came a scratchy voice from her other side as its owner dropped onto a cushion matching hers in colour and wear. Nyasu arched his back.
"Shut it, Nyasu. You bathe in your own spit."
"I'm sure Kojiro would also appreciate enjoying our bathtub to its fullest while we can, nya."
Midway through ladling soup into her bowl, Musashi spun on her cushion to face Kojiro with a scandalised look, who shrugged at the cat's words.
"Ugh, whatever," she huffed, helping herself to a slice of bread. It was definitely stale, but appeared mould-free and edible enough.
The trio savoured each bite of their meal, putting the day’s failure behind them and moving on to a new approach. They discussed possible messages to broadcast using the radio equipment, certain that the console in the neighbouring room will surely hand them a rare victory. Still unable to locate Sonansu’s monster ball, Musashi allowed him to join them. He interjected here and there when a particularly good point was made.
While Kojiro disassembled the kotatsu and took a brief shower (“Well, there wasn’t much hot water left,” he had countered upon his return), Musashi washed the dishes and laid out three futons. Meanwhile, after rifling through their backpacks, Nyasu stood before them, paws on hips, one holding a map. "Who's going to join me in sussing out Route 28?"
"I just bathed," said Musashi before Nyasu had finished his sentence.
Two sets of eyes turned to Kojiro. A third pair, belonging to Sonansu, were turned in his direction, but being shut, could have been looking at anything just as much as nothing.
"My, ahhh... I need to sort my laundry."
Nyasu rolled his eyes. "Lazy humans. Nyasu's always picking up your slack."
"We'll be sure to give you all the credit for any further plans you concoct," said Musashi in a dry tone, tossing a buckwheat pillow beside Sonansu.
Nyasu regarded the blue pokemon. "Well, some psychic forethought would be useful, nya."
"He is all yours." She pushed Sonansu off her futon and towards the cabin door.
"Come on, nya. We'll see who's laughing when it's Nyasu you’re hearing on every radio frequency in Jouto.”
Being pokemon, there was little for Nyasu and Sonansu to prepare. With nothing notable apart from their map and a battered pair of two-way radios, they set off into the woods. A slam of the cabin door left silence in their wake.
Musashi let out a shaky exhale she didn’t realise she’d been holding in and crossed her legs. Kojiro, meanwhile, didn’t seem to notice as he shifted his futon closer to hers.
“Not that close! I don’t want you snoring directly into my ear,” she said with a sneer.
The regret that followed was instant, sprouting in her chest and creeping across her extremities even before Kojiro could try to conceal his hurt. She willed it away and pulled his futon over to touch hers with a hard tug and a heavy sigh.
“I’m sor-”
He simply looked at her with that same caution he’d come to treat her with only these past months. It was enough to make her falter.
“Just…” she said gingerly, then patted the futon next to hers with more force than she intended. “Just sit next to me.”
Kojiro took his time settling onto his bedding. It had been so long since they had spent more than ten minutes alone, and Musashi wasn’t sure how to fill the ensuing silence. Thankfully, Kojiro did it for her.
“I got you something,” he said, pressing a glass cup of sake 5 into her hand. Whether anything was paid for or not was never questioned or debated amongst the team. It was only ever the thought behind the action that counted.
“You know me too well.” Musashi made a second attempt at a genuine smile and convinced herself it was successful this time. She opened the jar with the pull tab and took a generous swig. The accompanying burn melted into a familiar and comforting heat as her stomach cradled it.
Musashi turned her back to him, peered over her shoulder and extended a wooden paddle brush towards him. “Kojiro, brush my hair for me?”
“Of course,” he said, as if he wasn't expecting anything else.
They sit for a while in silence. Kojiro’s gentle fingers threaded through her long hair, detangling where it was needed in exactly the way Musashi preferred. Years of leaping at the opportunity to brush someone's hair would do that to a person. Every now and then he would pause to sip his sake.
As Musashi finished the last of her own beverage, another full jar appeared at its side. She wordlessly thanked him with a hand squeeze that was returned after a moment's hesitation.
“It's a nice colour, by the way,” Kojiro said.
“You think so?”
He nodded.
“It's called Suicune Amethyst,” she said matter-of-factly, fiddling with a lock of hair.
“Really? It doesn't look that purp-”
She spun around, and raised eyebrows interrupted him, daring him to finish his sentence. He chose not to, instead opting for: “Well, it suits you. Any shade would look fantastic on you.”
“I know,” she tittered, allowing him to resume brushing her hair.
"Is there any particular reason for the change?"
"I wanted to change things up a bit."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He seemed satisfied with that answer, and another silence fell over them, only this time more comfortable. It was punctuated with Kojiro’s humming. While he continued brushing her hair, alcohol in her veins released a buzz that chorused in her head and filled the lapse in conversation. Musashi contemplated telling him about her discovery, about the employee files. About her mother. But that would inevitably steer the conversation towards her childhood, and, in lieu of doing or saying anything constructive, he would fix her with another one of those pitying looks that she hates so much. He just wouldn’t understand. Then she would get frustrated and say something else she’d later stew over all night.
This can stay a secret for just a bit longer. There’s no need to ruin this rare, tiny slice of happiness.
A warmth spread across her cheeks as the sake rose from her stomach to the crown of her head as the older Miyamoto’s voice whispered to her. You should tell him how you feel. If he really cares, he’ll listen. He’ll understand.
“Do you think I'll be truly happy one day?” she asked before fully considering the words.
“You're not truly happy right now?”
“And you are? You're okay with traipsing around from region to region, following a bunch of preteens?”
“Of course.”
“Really?” she sneered, holding back a scoff.
“Well,” Kojiro said, ignoring her drollness. “I'm free to do whatever I want with the only two beings in the world I can be completely myself around. I’m as happy as I could possibly be in the current moment.”
“Don't you want to live a normal life one day?”
“Normal?”
“A normal job where I wake up in one place and return before the day gets too dark. Spending weekends with a wife or husband and two-point-five kids. Rinse and repeat.”
“Meowth, our pokemon and you are my family right now," he said, "and I'm pretty content with whatever modest life we have.”
At these words, she gave a small hum of acknowledgement. When no further reply came, Kojiro craned his neck to study her profile. Her brow and lips were creased into a small frown.
“You're not thinking of leaving us… are you?” he pressed, his tone giving away his concern.
“Of course not!” She narrowed her eyes at the sake in her cupped hands. The nerve of him to even suggest it. “I’m not like that.”
He kept his eyes fixed on her. When hers finally rose and met his gaze, he smiled. Her features softened a fraction.
“I just feel that I missed my chance at living a normal life,” Musashi said. “I expected so much more of myself.”
“You're in your mid-twenties. It's far from too late for you.” Kojiro paused again to take a sip from his jar and smacked his lips with a quiet ‘Ahh’.
“Mm, I guess,” she murmured into her drink. “I just thought I'd be at least engaged by now, not depressingly single.”
“Being single is nice. I have a veritable world of options. I can do what I like whenever I please with whoever takes my fancy.”
Musashi huffed. Whatever, Kojiro. You were engaged. Whether it was on your terms or not, you’re not wondering what could have been. She must have been frowning again, because he gently nudged her shoulder with his.
“That would be you,” Kojiro continued, if only to relish the opportunity to speak frankly. “Ninety-nice per cent of the time, of course.”
“Yes,” she pressed, “but don't you want to find someone to share your life with one day?”
The brush was on the floor, beside her futon. Kojiro had finished detangling her hair some time ago and had been running his hands through it since.
“I'm already sharing my life. With you and Nyasu.”
“You know what I mean,” she muttered.
“Like I said, I'm okay with this. I'm perfectly happy with my freedom, even if it means getting launched into the sky by adolescents, followed by sipping lukewarm soup. I can say with full sincerity that I would continue this chapter of my life for many, many years with no complaints.”
Feeling like she was getting nowhere with this, she groaned. He tried a different angle; when all else failed, flattery usually worked wonders on Musashi.
“For what it's worth, I think anyone would be lucky to have you,” he said, the earnestness in his voice catching her off guard as she clipped her hair back. She felt contact against her shoulder again, but this time in the form of a hand and a gentle squeeze. She expected his hand to pull away after a moment or two, but it remained.
“And I’m not saying this to butter you up because we haven’t been on the best of terms lately. I really mean that.” Heat radiated from his palm and through her nightshirt to bloom across her skin. Common sense whispered in her ear to brush it away and redefine the line called ‘friendship’ between them. It had been many months since he had last made such a deliberate motion to touch her. What should have been comforting felt closer to a tense chest or holding her breath for almost too long. She fought to ignore it.
“I know.” Musashi had little else to offer but a confident facade and something bordering on a light titter.
A gentle lightness spread across Kojiro’s eyes, creasing the corners in just the way that only she was allowed to see. “It’s nice to be able to talk like this again. Like we used to.”
“I know,” she repeated, giving in and leaning into his hand. As she savoured his closeness and blurred that boundary just a little more, the touch elicited a tingle. His hand felt familiar but as if she were feeling his palm anew with a different skin. As if every touch, every embrace and every gaze held too long between Musashi and Kojiro was in rehearsal for this one night.
“I know you know, but you're perfect the way you are. You don't need love to define your happiness or worth.” His fingers loosened and trailed down her bare upper arm. She swore that despite the mild evening, her skin was prickling.
But it's what I want more than anything .
“Well, the same applies to you,” she told him, if only to prompt him to continue talking.
“Me? I genuinely feel that I would be lost without you by my side.” His words caused warmth to blossom in her stomach. She fought to suppress it, but despite her will, the sensation rose to fill her chest, the back of her neck, her cheeks.
He continued running his hands up and down the lengths of her arms. The heady feeling in her head emboldened her, and it wasn't until a gasp shuddered past her cheek that she realised that her fingers were trailing up his thigh.
He didn't yank her hand away. Her chest tightened.
Was that panic gripping her heart? Fear? The sudden need to have him close was almost instinctual.
She turned to slip her legs either side of Kojiro's hips, and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pulled herself into his lap. Before she could shift her position, however, he coiled his arms around her waist and closed the gap between their torsos, letting her ears slip past his and allowing ample space in the crook of his neck for her to nestle her chin.
“Is everything okay?” His words were quieter now and laced with a whisper.
"I just wanted a hug,” she murmured, not quite believing herself.
He gave her an equally low “Okay,” and a gentle squeeze.
You were scared. But this was a different kind of fear. This wasn't a pokemon aiming their attack in their direction or falling into their own pitfall trap. This was something new that she couldn't quite place.
“It's been a while," she said instead.
"It has."
She swallowed, cleared her throat and changed the subject before she could misstep any further. “You're my best friend, Kojiro," she said, thankful that he couldn't see her flushed cheeks. He could probably feel them against his neck, though.
Before she could push this thought aside, he replied. “And you're mine.”
"Ha! You would be lost without me," she said with almost too much boldness in an attempt to drown out her fluttering chest.
"I happen to be quite skilled at pokemon orienteering."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
"Well, I found you." His hand cradled the curve of her waist.
"And just as well you did," she said. "You wouldn't have made it even a day into Dan’in training without -" Musashi pulled back with the intention of giving him a smug look, but her breath caught in her throat at the sight of a dimpled smile that spread up to his eyes. She was always aware of their brilliant shade of green, but very, very occasionally, she would be caught unawares, as if seeing them for the very first time all over again.
Her hands clutched his shoulders in an attempt to keep herself perched on his lap. In return, she felt fingers grasp her ribcage while a soft palm cushioned her jaw.
"I'm so glad I found you again," he said, barely above a whisper.
She chalked it up to nerves and her imagination, but she could have sworn the hand on her jawline was drawing her closer in. Her forehead made contact with his. No, he had definitely applied gentle pressure on the back of her head. Or wait, maybe that was all on her; she saw that pale and slender arms had snaked their way around Kojiro's neck. She didn't remember doing that. Time had slowed to a yadoran's pace, yet passed much too quickly for her to say for sure.
Is this a good idea? The way she felt her lips draw together certainly signalled that something deep down inside of her wanted them pressed against his. The thought made the region below her abdomen feel tense and swollen with pressure that she was suddenly desperate to release. It'd been months since she'd felt that sensation and rarely in response to her best friend.
Eyelashes tickled her cheek. With his face so close, Musashi could see the faintest dusting of freckles across his nose. The almost violent thudding of her heart matched the pace of his with such precision that she almost entertained the notion that this was meant to happen. They were meant to do this right here and right now.
They always leave, Musashi, the disembodied voice attempted to plant some sense into her.
She couldn't think of a solid rebuttal to kick the thought in time, so instead, she let her lips graze hi-
Creaking hinges brought Musashi’s thoughts crashing back down to Earth.
“Tadainyaaaaaa!”
“Sooonansu!”
They were a tangle of startled movements. Musashi recoiled, tearing herself out of Kojiro’s embrace and shoving him away with a panicked jerk. The force behind her rough hands surprised even herself. A mix of crushing hurt and shock splashed across his face, while she was sure that shame burned across her own, hotter than any kiss.
Unable to face either pokemon nor human, she threw herself onto the closest available futon and yanked the duvet over her head. "Could you idiots be any noisier? I'm trying to sleep!"
"With the light on?" came Nyasu’s voice. She couldn’t detect whether he suspected anything. It did nothing to quell her hot, shaky breaths.
"Yes!" Frustration contorted her features and drew them closer together.
There was a moment's hesitation before Musashi heard light footsteps and a ceiling cord being pulled. The room should have been doused in darkness, but with her eyes squeezed shut, she wouldn’t know. It didn’t take long for the rest of the team to follow her lead and turn in for the night.
With their futons pushed against one another, Musashi could sense every one of Kojiro’s movements as he slipped under his own duvet beside her. Soon, the silence stretched long and thin, punctuated by Nyasu’s gentle snores and Sonansu settling at her hip. Once she was satisfied enough time had passed, she surfaced for fresh air and narrowed her eyes at Kojiro, studying him in the dark. Through the dimness, she watched for the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. His breathing was too deep, too even and too deliberate to pass as sleep.
She felt it at first. A whisper of movement from Kojiro. A breath hitched in her chest as his fingertips brushed against her palm, hesitant and careful and almost trembling. For the smallest moment she wanted to let that tiny, seeking touch find her or intertwine her fingers with his.
But instead, slowly and carefully, she rolled onto her side to turn her back to him. In lieu of Kojiro’s warm touch, she reached down and pulled Sonansu into her arms.
Musashi tried not to think of what could have been.
If there was one thing that cemented Musashi and Kojiro's partnership firmly in the realm of 'just friends' it would be the former's pride. In Musashi's mind, if she pretended that each misplaced hand during a hug, every time one would walk into the other in various states of undress and anything vaguely non-platonic never happened, there would be no awkward conversations and especially no admittance of fault on her end. If Kojiro wished to accept blame for whatever nonsense that may have occurred last night, then as far as she was concerned, he could knock himself out. When he set himself down at the kotatsu opposite her the next morning, warily returned her chirpy, "Good morning!" and picked at his plain rice, she assumed that he was satisfied with not addressing it either.
Excellent. No need to talk, no need to argue and definitely no need to disrupt the team's cohesion. All that achieved without even touching upon other reasons, such as her temper or his indecisiveness. And best of all, he'll stay by her side and won't be going anywhere.
Beside Kojiro, Nyasu was seated on a stool, outlining his plans with the radio equipment. This was mostly to Sonansu, who stood off to the side and would nod every now and then in acknowledgement. A small laptop was set up in front of Nyasu, who was eagerly awaiting Sakaki's fortnightly scheduled call to check on their progress.
"Oh, Nyasu, are you still going on about that radio?" Kojiro grumbled, pulling on his overshirt.
"Well, I see that neither of you humans have come up with anything better, nya."
"Sooou," Sonansu said in agreement, giving a single sage bow. Kojiro chanced a look at Musashi; she was touching up her lipstick. Feeling his stare on her, she gave a half-smile, but instead of returning it, he averted his attention to pulling on his socks.
"It'll take at least an hour to shift all of those boxes out and figure out how to connect everything," he said in an irritable tone. Nyasu crossed his arms and looked down his nose at the man, appearing ready with a counter-argument. "That's not including actually figuring out how to use the thing. If it still wor-"
A classic telephone-style ringtone signalled an incoming video call. As Musashi and Kojiro jostled themselves in front of the laptop and straightened up their uniforms, Nyasu squeezed between them. Sonansu leaned on Musashi, hoping for a front seat view as well.
A furry paw smacked the keyboard while Musashi smoothed out her skirt, and they were met with the familiar scene of a well-suited Sakaki behind his desk.
"Musashi. Kojiro. Nyasu." He actually acknowledged them by name. This was practically jovial for their boss.
"Good morning, Sakaki-sama!" Nyasu cried, reading their employer’s mood and relishing the moment. "As always, it is wonderful to see you, nya."
Sonansu went to give a hearty salute, but was deterred with a small, quick slap from Musashi.
"You are near Mount Shirogane," Sakaki said more than asked.
"Yes, sir! Yes, we are indeed!" Nyasu confirmed, his voice adopting that sycophantic tone that made Musashi bristle with annoyance. "We thank you for the wonderful facilities, nya. Sakaki-sama always treats his employees with such kindness! We are eternally grateful to have such an inspiring man such as yourself leading Rocket Dan!"
Nyasu's words seemed to have no effect on Sakaki, whose expression remained as static and stoic as ever, but Musashi swore that his demeanour shifted just the slightest. "And empty-handed, I see," he said.
Kojro gulped, and his shoulders fell forwards into a slump. Meanwhile, Nyasu had suddenly diverted his eyes to the corner of the kotatsu's worn surface and his ears drooped. Musashi pursed her lips; as their de facto leader, the unspoken expectation to report their failings fell on her and her alone.
"Yes, sir," she confirmed, choosing her words with caution. "We were unable to acquire a king's symbol6."
Sakaki said nothing, instead letting silence convey his displeasure.
Seizing an opportunity for praise, Nyasu piped up. "Nyasu and Sonansu, however, have been devising a wonderful plan to hijack the radio frequen-"
"As per usual," said Sakaki, cutting off the cat's rambling, "it seems that you cannot adhere even to very simple written notice."
There was no way they could have known about the radio equipment without entering that room. With no explanation to offer, Nyasu's expression fell again as he bowed his head, his whiskers wilting.
"First, direct orders to procure me a king's symbol, then incredibly clear instructions left by a superior. That's twice in as many d-"
It was not often that Sakaki's words escaped him. In fact, neither the trio or the rumour mill that is Rocket Dan have ever observed it. Musashi felt his piercing grey stare, even through the screen, as he took in the sudden yet subtle change in her appearance for the first time. The seemingly permanent indent between Sakaki’s eyebrows somehow deepened further.
"And it appears that at least one of you has been rummaging through some paperwork," said Sakaki, rubbing his brow in an attempt to ease the growing crease. Kojiro nudged her in the ribs with his elbow, but Musashi didn't need to be reminded.
He knows that I found her file. He knows that I know.
Sweat dotted the back of her neck as she fiddled with the ends of her hair, expecting him to explode at any moment. Instead, he let out a heavy sigh and fixed her with an unreadable, tight-lipped expression.
"What's done is done," he said at length.
Musashi let out a breath that she didn't know she was holding.
"I would like to think that this means that you'll be taking your role more seriously from now," said Sakaki.
A second passed. Then five. Then she realised that he was addressing not the team as a whole, but her alone.
She nodded. "...Yes, Sakaki-sama."
"When you leave, you are to leave that room is as it was, down to the last sheet of paper."
"Yes, sir."
The screen turned black with no fanfare. Before Kojiro, Nyasu or Sonansu could express their confusion, Musashi sprang to her feet and strode to the room containing the aforementioned paperwork.
“Well,” she called, “it sounds like I have a room to tidy.” She closed the door behind her before objections could be raised, leant against the cool surface and slid down to sit on the tatami floor. Her heart had been pounding, but she didn’t realise until she heard it begin to slow against her eardrums.
That went as well as it could have. Small victories, Musashi. Got to take them as they come. With one hand, she fished her tin cigarette case from her pocket and flipped it open. Fastened between the clip and a neat row of tailor-mades was her mother’s photo. Her other hand swept through her hair, testing the contrast of magenta against her pale fingers.
Perhaps Kojiro was right: she mightn't need romantic love to determine her future or her happiness. Sure, that could be something to be considered later, but right now, there was a sliver of a chance that there was a mother out there who just surely had to love her unconditionally.