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Daihannya Nagamitsu's morning begins much like any other. Sun shining. Birds chirping. Hangover raging.
"Brother, wake up! How are you still asleep at this hour?"
And Azuki Nagamitsu looming menacingly over his futon. Daihannya groans, unwillingly dragged into the realm of wakefulness. In a stubborn attempt to stave off an incoming headache, he keeps his eyes squeezed shut as he tries to figure out what Azuki's pissed at him for this time.
Last night's drinking hadn't been too rowdy. He hadn't stolen any of Azuki's sweets as a late-night snack (this time). And he isn't late for any assigned sorties, expeditions, or internal affairs duties-- in fact, unless he's slept through an entire day and a half, this should still be his day off. What could his dear brother possibly have his panties in such a twist about?
Thoroughly convinced of his own innocence, Daihannya unhappily opens his eyes, blinking blearily as Azuki's grim expression comes into focus. Oh, three furrows on his brow and the crumbs of a stress-eaten cookie on the corner of his mouth. Whatever Azuki's upset about, it must be bad. Blameless though he may be, Daihannya immediately racks through his memory for potential crimes once more, before Azuki subjects him to an icy wake up call or physically drags him out from beneath the covers.
Only to realize, Azuki is not in a position to do either of those things with his hands full. Messily wrapped in what appears to be Azuki's jersey jacket and pressed closely to his chest, is, of all things...
A human baby?
Daihannya blinks once. Then twice. Then he looks Azuki straight in the eye, red meeting blue.
"... Congrats on the pregnancy?"
"Brother, none of your jokes!" Azuki flushes so furiously it's like his face is trying to match his hair. None too delicately, he shoves the baby closer to Daihannya, and now it's his turn to look the baby in the eye. "Look closely, do you really not recognize who this is?"
"Well it certainly isn't mine if that's what you're-- wait."
Daihannya squints. The baby looks like... Well, if Daihannya's being honest, he thinks most human babies look like lumps of unpounded mochi, this one being no exception. Not that he's ever seen them but from afar or through a pane of museum glass, and even the shortest of tantou appear much more fully-formed by the time they manifest into tsukumogami. In that sense, getting to inspect a human infant up close is a rare opportunity. Daihannya looks at the human's unruly sweep of thick black hair, the long lashes around its big brown eyes, the way its expression scrunches up into unseemly wrinkles like it's about to cry...
"Don't tell me..." Along with a sense of familiarity arises a distinct feeling of dread. "Our master--"
"--actually managed to knock someone up?"
"--has turned into a baby!"
"What?"
--
As it turns out, early that morning (mere hours after Daihannya had fallen asleep in drunken stupor), Azuki Nagamitsu had taken it upon himself to make sweets for the citadel yet again. With the advent of the twelfth month, shiwasu, sorties against the Time Retrograde Army had trickled to a minimum, due to every department of citadel operations requiring all-hands-on-deck to wrap up their end-of-year duties.
The storeroom division has mobilized every spare pair of hands they could find in its yearly stock take, taking ledger of everything from tamahagane and rice, to soap and clove oil. The cleaning division have been working their way room by room through the citadel, a vengeful whirlwind of feather dusters and detergent, scouting out mold, dust, and unwashed laundry in even the most well-hidden of corners. The education division has been tasked with leading the prayers, rituals, and of course, entertainment for the year-end festivities. And the accounting division has not left their office for a week, receiving daily deliveries of food and energy drinks as they slave away at reports for the year-end close, as well as budget forecasts for the following year.
Azuki's own kitchen division has seen no shortage of work either. With the end of the harvest, onset of cold weather, and corresponding increase in appetites, mealtime duty has become as hard a fight as any battlefield sortie. To say nothing of the five hour "polite discussion" that Kasen Kanesada and Shokudaikiri Mitsutada had held over the new year's osechi menu. Between the staggering demands of a citadel of touken danshi's daily consumption, and preparing for the upcoming feast, Azuki has had precious little free time in the kitchen this past month. Which is why he had woken up so early, before the start of preparations for breakfast service, to do a bit of baking.
It had been a while since he'd had any chance to make desserts, and with the frenetic tension surrounding the citadel, Azuki figured that they all deserve a break and a sweet treat. More importantly, he is sick of prepping meat and chopping vegetables. Thus, stress baking.
By the time sunlight peeked out from beyond distant hilltops, the entire room had smelled gloriously of chocolate and browned butter. Leaving a thank you note and a very unhealthy serving of cookies for the breakfast shift, Azuki headed to the saniwa's room with a freshly baked tray for their master himself. After all, if anyone deserved a treat, it was their fearless Aruji, who had spent the past weeks hounded for so many approvals, confirmations, alignments, and authorizations that those words must have lost their meaning.
There was no way the saniwa would be awake at such an early hour. Their master had never been a morning person to begin with, and with how he'd been burning the midnight oil to catch up on year-end paperwork, Azuki was even more loath to deprive him of his well-earned sleep. But perhaps a plate of chocolate chip cookies at the door would ease the pain, when Heshikiri Hasebe, Yamanbagiri Chougi or some other member of the accounting division inevitably came banging on his door for a document review.
With such generous thoughts in mind, Azuki placed the tray at the saniwa's door and made to leave. But before he had even reached the stairs away from their master's chamber, a thunderous thud came from inside the room.
"Aruji," Azuki had called. "Aruji are you alright?"
No response came. With visions of the saniwa buried beneath an avalanche of paperwork dancing through his head, Azuki resolved to invade his master's privacy for just a brief moment, and slid the door open to take peek.
And there, surrounded by a collapsed tower of document binders, sitting in a puddle of the saniwa's nightrobes, it was.
A naked, human baby.
--
"You do make your stress baking sound so noble, brother," Daihannya chirps, leaning his cheek on his palm in skepticism. During the time it had taken for Azuki to tell his story, he had managed to chug a tall glass of water, changed into fresh clothes, and--most crucially-- extracted himself from his futon. "So you really think the saniwa was turned into this..." he looks at the gurgling bundle in Azuki's lap, "doughy infant?"
"Of course I do," Azuki shoots back without hesitation. "What other explanation could there be? It's not as though Aruji could have disappeared into thin air and left a child in his place!"
"I'm just saying, I still think my secret bastard theory is quite--" Daihannya pauses, then recants. "Actually, no. Our master never would have gotten that far. You're right."
Azuki snorts the way that he does when he's trying not to gloat, but totally is. The baby in his lap coos, and wriggles in its jersey cocoon. Daihannya can't help but wonder if the saniwa understands, or will remember what they're saying about him to his face. Hopefully not.
"But if this really is Aruji, what do you think caused this?" As far as Daihannya knows, their master is certainly full of eccentricities, but spontaneous transformation has never been one of them.
"I've heard about abnormalities in spiritual power affecting us touken danshi, but Aruji isn't manifested the way we are." Azuki rubs his chin. "His form should be more stable, in theory." This theory that Azuki is drawing from is little more than gauche rumors of "mystery cat ears" and "tantou glitches" passed through inter-citadel gossip networks, but to point that out is admitting that Daihannya listens to the same gossip too, so he keeps quiet.
"If it's an issue with spiritual energy, then the kudagitsune should know what to do," Daihannya suggests. "So why don't you run off to Konnosuke and let me enjoy my day off?"
Whatever rebuttal Azuki was about to say dies on his lips. Because the baby-- or rather, the saniwa in baby form-- suddenly coughs and sputters, as if he can tell that Daihannya is trying to drive him away. Then, without further ado, the baby bursts into loud, wailing tears.
Azuki's expression morphs into immediate, visceral panic. There's nothing Daihannya can do for him, even if he wanted to. It isn't as though either Nagamitsu is an expert in human childcare. Daihannya may as well take advantage of not being the one physically carrying the baby, and abscond to somewhere far more quiet and infant-free.
"You know that missing tea bowl of yours, the bizenyaki one with the red streaks?"
Daihannya stops dead in his tracks. He thought he'd misplaced that bowl while drinking weeks ago.
"If you help me stop the crying, I'll tell you where it is," Azuki says.
... Ah dammit.
—
"Remind me again, brother," Daihannya asks, still nursing his aching head. Azuki had mercifully allowed him some painkillers and water before embarking on their babyquest, but it’s still not enough. "What exactly does the education division have to do with singing and dancing?"
Azuki shrugs, stroking his hand down the crying baby's back as they approach one of the dojos, which has been converted into an ad-hoc . "Well, Kotegiri does call these practices ‘lessons’. And I think they've been in charge of the year-end party entertainment since that year Nankaitaro tried to create fireworks from scratch."
Right. Daihannya remembers that year. And the small bushfire that followed. The saniwa had not been pleased, especially considering how many of their comrades have bad histories with fire. Dance recitals do feel much safer, not to mention less incendiary
Of course, any dance practice, no matter how fireproof, would be immediately derailed by the racket of a wailing baby. This is precisely what happens the moment that Daihannya slides open the practice room door, and the dancers inside screech to a halt, freezing mid-movement.
The education division does their best to keep party entertainment fresh from year to year, so it makes sense that the Gous had put together a new routine for this occasion. That said, Daihannya does not remember quite so much… floorwork in their previous recitals. Or shirtlessness. Then again, Daihannya usually is quite drunk by the point that performances start, so it may just be a lapse in his recollection.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, pretending not to ogle the way the Gous’ exposed skin (of which there is a lot) glistens in the interior lighting. Is that sweat, or did they drench themselves in some sort of oil? “But is Konnosuke here? We need to borrow him for a second.”
“That’s fine, we were just about to take a break anyways,” Buzen Gou replies cheerfully from his position between Kotegiri Gou’s legs. “Great job, take five everybody!”
As if on cue, the Gous’ formation shatters in an instant. Murakumo Gou falls instantly to the ground, clutching his stomach– his belly must have gotten cold from the skimpy crop top he’s wearing. Samidare Gou, who was already on the floor, gets on all fours to bark encouragement. Matsui Gou flees to fetch a handkerchief for a nose bleed that has already begun to dribble down his face, while Kuwana Gou follows closely behind, calling out something about “Magical Matsui”. Tomita Gou and Inaba Gou have summoned matching handkerchiefs out of seemingly thin air to dab the sweat off one anothers’ brows, completely absorbed in one another. Kurikara Gou pulls the pleather jacket of his outfit over his head, pretending as though if he can’t see anyone, they can’t see him either. And Kotegiri Gou is already back on costume/makeup duty, reapplying grease to Buzen Gou’s very exposed abdomen.
Amid all this movement, Konnosuke himself, hops off his perch atop a large stack of towels, where he had been supervising the practice.
“Daihannya and Azuki Nagamitsu! How may this humble kudagitsune assist you?” He chirps, before noticing the bundle in Azuki’s arms. His eyes widen comically, taking up almost half his face. “Oh goodness! Are felicitations in order? I was not aware that such spiritual anomalies had visited upon us, but–”
Daihannya shoots Azuki a gloating look, who returns with a glare that would be much more withering if Azuki’s face were not flushing deeply enough to match his hair. Red bean indeed. “No, that isn’t– I mean, there is an abnormality taking place, but it isn’t mine!”
As fun as it would be to watch Azuki stammer through denial of his paternity (or maternity), Daihannya does still have a hangover. And he wants his tea bowl back. “We think the saniwa turned into this baby,” he cuts in.
That silences the burgeoning stage-whispers that had been growing from the Gous’ side of the practice room. Samidare Gou and Murakumo Gou actively give a little gasp. The drama hounds.
Konnosuke, surprisingly, seems the only one unfazed by the news, and gives a tight nod of his foxy head. “Well, only one way to find out,” he concludes matter-of-fact-ly. “Azuki Nagamitsu, please help set down the baby and I will run a quick scan.”
Seeing Konnosuke beam blue lasers out of his eyes always brings up questions of whether kudagitsune are beast, spirit, machine, or some fusion of the three; Konnosuke himself has never once provided a straight answer. But whatever the true nature of kudagitsune may be, their ability to run spiritual diagnostics in moments sure is handy. For better or worse, the steady pan of Konnosuke’s scanner seems to do little about the baby’s crying: it doesn’t stop wailing, but at least it doesn’t get any louder.
After a minute or two, Konnosuke reports his results. “It seems that your guess is correct: this baby is, in fact, the Lord Saniwa.” A few of the Gous gasp in unison once again, and Daihannya isn’t sure whether to be more impressed at their synchronization, or the fact that he can hear them at all over the baby’s racket.
“According to my diagnostics, the Saniwa’s spontaneous age regression appears to be an acute stress response,” Konnosuke continues. “This is a more drastic physiological change than is common for humans, but the saniwa’s spiritual power seems to have caused an exception.”
Daihannya nods along with Konnosuke’s explanation. He’s never heard of this happening to human saniwas, but this sort of stress reaction isn’t entirely unheard of. Touken Danshi have been known to de-manifest into sword form during moments of great distress. One time, Yamanbagiri Chougi’s love letters had been leaked into public circulation, and he’d refused to come out of sword form for a week.
“Let me check with headquarters for other cases of saniwa transformation,” Konnosuke chirps, only now finally turning off his laser eyes. “In the meantime, I suggest you try to reduce Lord Saniwa’s stress levels. That should solve the crying, if not his condition.”
“How do you suggest we start?” Azuki asks, only sounding a little bit desperate. “Our master’s usual methods of stress relief seem rather… Inapplicable, given his current form.” Which is to say, they usually involve the same substance that is behind Daihannya’s hangover right now.
Konnosuke tilts his head in thought. “Well, for human infants, the developmentally appropriate remedies would be food, sleep, defecation, entertainment…”
“Entertainment?” Kotegiri cuts in, eyes sparkling. “We’re just about to run through our finale, if the Saniwa would like to watch!”
As if sensing imminent danger, the baby’s crying suddenly grows in pitch and volume, to the point where Daihannya is simultaneously impressed with its lung capacity and also fearful for his eardrums.
“Ah… Perhaps we will seek out some more…” He smiles as winningly as he can, just short of wincing. “Child-friendly entertainment.”
The last thing the Nagamitsus hear as they exit the practice room is Kotegiri’s excited proclamation of “bring out the poles!”
—
Shlick.
“So the Saniwa has turned into a baby.”
“Yes.”
Shhlop.
“And we’re not sure how it happened, but we need to reduce his stress.”
“That’s right.”
Thud.
“So you want to feed him something and see if it helps?”
“Correct, so Mitsutada, if you could help–”
“Okay,” Shokudaikiri Mitsutada says in English, finally setting down his knife after filleting a tuna so big that Iwatooshi could probably fit inside. “I understand now. I’ll prepare a meal for the Saniwa immediately.”
Having received Konnosuke’s consultation, Daihannya and Azuki Nagamitsu now find themselves in the veritable warzone that is the citadel’s kitchen. After all, their master had always been fond of eating even before turning to a baby, so it makes sense that giving him something to eat would at least occupy his mouth from crying, or so the both of them figured. This decision, of course, has nothing to do with the fact that Daihannya’s hangover has waned enough for him to start getting hungry.
Unfortunately, as timing would have it, that means they show up to the kitchen right in the middle of the clamor before lunch service. While also prepping courses for tomorrow’s new year banquet. And down a chef too, since Azuki is busy running around with the baby saniwa instead of fulfilling his kitchen duties. Under less stressful circumstances he might still get away with it, but if Daihannya tries to steal a bite to eat now, he’s likely to lose at least a few fingers in retaliation. Boo.
“Thank you so much, Mitsutada,” Azuki says, furiously rocking the baby in his arms to no avail. Its crying had reduced to sniffles for a little while, but once they’d approached the kitchen, the noise of a bustling culinary sweatshop seems to have agitated it to tears once again. “Just something quick would be perfe–”
“I have some burdock root I could tempura for an amuse bouche, maybe garnish with some edible flowers or microgreens…” Mitsutada begins to speak at a rapid fire, uncharacteristically muttering to himself. “For appetizers, whitefish from the fishmonger, hopefully they have flounder, and a sauce, something fragrant… Reduction of Earl Gray?”
As Mitsutada goes on, Daihannya notices the looks of dread from the surrounding kitchen staff, and the slight gleam of madness in his single, golden eye. Now he is recalling why he never ever ever asks Mitsutada to make him snacks during this time of year.
It’s tough, making new year’s osechi for a citadel of 125.
Mitsutada doesn’t stop, his speech getting faster and more unintelligible with every word. “The Saniwa likes meat, so we’ll need some as the entree. I can do a chicken in the western style, slow cook it rotisserie style with some rosemary. Or should I spatchcock it instead?”
“Spatch-what?” Daihannya should know better than to ask, but he really cannot help himself.
“Spatchcock. I cut the bird in half and pull out its backbone.” For reasons unknown, Mitsutada has picked up his fish filleting knife, and is walking ever closer to Daihannya in slow, measured steps. It is only now that Daihannya as he backpedals, does he realize that Azuki has abandoned him in favor of holding the baby halfway across the kitchen, and Daihannya is trapped between his revered Osafune ancestor and the hard surface of a kitchen counter.
“Then I push down until the collarbone cracks so I can spread it flat on the pan for even cooking…” Why is Mitsutada brandishing that knife? Forget the baby, Daihannya’s about to start crying himself.
Only now does Azuki, the traitor, try to intervene for his brother’s wellbeing. “Mitsutada,” he calls, from a very safe distance away. “That’s very kind, but no need for all that, just something quick and easy would be fine.”
Despite the terrifying closeness with which Mitsutada is waving around a knife longer than most tantou, his expression remains as cool as always. “Oh don’t worry Azuki-kun,” he says, flashing a grin that would make Daihannya’s knees weak if they weren’t already out of fear. “Compared to cooking 9-course osechi for an entire army of touken danshi, this is quick and easy. It should only take me about a day, maybe two…”
“Mitsutada, I think, the baby might need to eat before then…” Daihannya is this close to vaulting over the counter to escape getting butterflied by his delirious relative, when suddenly a very small, pink, and brave head pops up in between them.
“Shokudaikiri Mitsutada,” Chatannakiri calls, but even the sing-song lilt of his Okinawan accent can’t mask the nervousness in his voice. “That all sounds delicious, but does our master right now even… have teeth?”
This just goes to show that, as much as he dislikes talking about it, Chatannakiri really does have experience with human infants. In all the time he’s seen the baby wailing away with its mouth wide open, Daihannya had completely failed to notice a single thing about his master’s dental situation. Aren’t teeth bones? How are they missing? Sure, humans grow, but Daihannya had always assumed they came into the world a little more fully formed than that.
This sudden comment seems to be strange enough to snap Mitsutada out of his trance as well. He freezes, kitchen knife suspended in the air for a long moment, before he lowers to his side, blinking furiously. Or winking, it’s hard to tell, with the eyepatch.
“No… teeth?” Mitsutada repeats, blurrily. “So… no chicken?” As if in a daze, he finally turns away from the cornered Daihannya, and plods listlessly back to his station. Only to resume mechanically cutting up fish on autopilot once he’s there. Even though they are all blades after all, Daihannya can’t help but wonder if it’s ok to leave him with a knife like that.
“No chicken, but it’s almost time for lunch, so keep up the good work with those fillets okay?” Chatannakiri’s smile drops into an apologetic expression as soon as he turns around to look back at Daihannya. “Sorry, Mitsutada’s been pulling all-nighters making desserts for the party. He’s a bit delirious, but we’ll keep an eye on him.”
Without missing a beat, as if he had not just been about to witness intense Osafune-on-Osafune violence, Chatannakiri turns to call out orders to the rest of the kitchen. “Urashima, get those fillets coated and grilled. Houchou, turn the fire down to low, the soup should be about done. And Hizen, keep chopping those veggies, we’re going to need a lot more!”
Knowing that Azuki and the baby will follow soon behind, Daihannya immediately turns tail and escapes the kitchen before he even hears the responding chorus of “yes chef”.
–
“I still can’t believe you just left me like that!”
“You know I can’t stand up to Shokudaikiri! Besides, you were just fine, brother. I don’t see what you were so nervous about.”
After their visit to the kitchen failed to yield any food for the baby or Daihannya himself, he had suggested that they try to look for something in the pantry that their toothless saniwa could chew– or rather, not have to chew– on. It had taken some digging through the shelves until they found some apple jam, which they promptly tried feeding to the infant. A high sugar diet, for sure, but that had never stopped their master in his usual state. And apparently sweet enough to assuage some of the baby’s crying, bringing it down from full on screaming to relatively subdued sobs.
“Easy for you to say! You were halfway across the kitchen while Mitsutada was trying to spitcock me or whatever it wa–”
“There you are, Daihannya Nagamitsu!”
The pantry door opens with a bang, and the baby immediately bursts into tears again, as if by clockwork. Azuki jumps, fumbling to keep a grip on his swaddled master, and Daihannya nearly falls off the step stool he was standing on.
Oh hells. Even without turning to face the door, he knows exactly who it is that’s been looking for him. He should have known that coming this close to the storerooms would inevitably lead them to the path of the person he wants to see least right now.
Vice captain of the storeroom division, Sengo Muramasa.
Technically, Tonbokiri is in charge of the citadel’s resource stockpiles and logistics, but in the many years serving this role, his companion Sengo Muramasa seems to have self-deputized as the “bad cop” to Tonbokiri’s straightlaced “good cop”. Which is to say, Sengo gleefully carries out the duties of assigning naughty swords to punitive inventory duty, investigating the whereabouts of missing sake jars, and hunting down whosoever is bold enough to skip out on their storeroom duty shifts.
Bold souls like, at this moment, Daihannya Nagamitsu.
“I was wondering what all this racket in the pantry was, and now here you are,” Sengo sing-songs as he saunters down the meticulously labeled shelves, closing in on his target. “Daihannya Nagamitsu, you were supposed to report to storeroom three to help audit our stock of treasure fragments, weren’t you?”
“Brother!” Azuki looks absolutely appalled. “You said it was your day off today!”
“It was! I’m on sick leave!” Not for the first time today, Daihannya feels cornered. Trapped at the top of his step stool, with Azuki firm and unmoving on one side, and Sengo slowly advancing on the other. As well as the baby, whose renewed crying is starting to sound like some sort of foreboding warning siren for Daihannya right now. If only he’d taken the baby and had Azuki climb up to check the shelves for food instead, then he’d still have some hope of escape.
“How many times do I have to tell you, you do not get sick leave by intentionally drinking yourself sick!” Sengo admonishes, having far too much fun being in the disciplinarian role for once. But Daihannya only stays in the hot seat for so long– with the way the baby is crying, it only takes a moment before Sengo turns his attention to the bundle of noisy fabric in Azuki’s arms. “And Azuki Nagamitsu, what on earth are you doing?”
“It’s a human baby–”
“Yes, yes, I can hear that, but why are you just letting it keep crying like that? Don’t you know how to make it stop?” Sengo waves his hand dismissively, seemingly uninterested in where the baby came from or who it is. In fact, when Sengo’s eyes meet the baby’s, he stops for a moment, the expression on his face turning into something tender. Melancholy, even. But it’s gone as soon as it appeared, so fast that Daihannya would otherwise suspect it was just a trick of the light.
“That’s the whole problem. We don’t know how, he’s been crying all morning,” Azuki says, voice bordering on desperation. “We showed him some dancing, we gave him some food, but still…”
Immediately, that look of gentle sadness is immediately replaced by Sengo’s usual smirk, and is followed by much more characteristic words.
“Azuki Nagamitsu, take off your clothes.”
“What? Here? In the pantry?” Azuki gasps.
“What about in front of my brother? I’m right here you know!”
Sengo rolls his eyes so hard it makes Daihannya’s skull hurt to look at. “And Tonbokiri calls me indecent. No, I’m saying, the baby won’t stop crying because human infants want skinship. So take off your clothes and hug that baby already!”
In a matter of moments, Azuki is topless in the middle of the pantry, his exposed pecs reminding Daihannya of the oiled-up Gou performance they’d just borne witness to. But then, Sengo hands the crying baby back to Azuki with firm instructions.
“Press the baby up against your chest, skin to skin,” Sengo tells him. “Just like that.”
Azuki follows awkwardly, evidently not sure where this is going. But the moment that the baby’s skin touches Azuki’s it’s as though a switch has flipped. Warmth floods Azuki’s expression as he gathers the baby in his arms, and holds it more naturally than he has all day. With Sengo’s prompting, he slowly rocks this tiny, unfinished human life back and forth, murmuring softly to it in a voice so quiet that Daihannya can barely even hear it, but the baby can surely feel reverberating through Azuki’s bare chest.
Watching from the sidelines, Daihannya can’t help but wonder. Did the saniwa ever look like this once? Did his master really go from this sort of snotty, doughy thing, to the powerful sage who manifested an entire citadel of tsukumogami?
How precious. How fragile.
Finally, at long, blissful last, the baby relaxes in Azuki’s arms and falls into silence. Not whimpering, not intermittent sobbing, but a deep, even-breathed sleep that should signal the end of their headaches for the day. Not that Daihannya still has one. By this point, his hangover has long worn off, which means it’s time to start drinking again soon.
But for now, Daihannya watches his brother holding their precious, fragile human mortal of a master with a warmth that one would never expect from the spirit of a weapon. With their master finally placated and asleep, Azuki smiles, content.
—
“Hakata, Hasebe, Chougi, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do it! Please, you’ve got to believe me!”
The saniwa wails pitifully as he presses his masked forehead to the assembly room’s tatami floor in a bow of penitence. Daihannya can’t help but think he still sounds rather similar to when he was crying as a baby.
Despite the saniwa’s impassioned pleas, the accounting division remains abjectly unmoved. Hakata Toushirou alternates between fiddling at an abacus and typing numbers into a laptop, too busy to devote his full attention to this apology. Heshikiri Hasebe, whose dark under-eye circles may rival even one of Sasanuki’s panda mascots, seems too tired to even hear his master’s words, having given up the immortal ghost. And their third and final member, assigned spokesperson Yamanbagiri Chougi wears a steely expression that only ever border disturbed pity or open contempt.
“So Lord Saniwa.” Chougi’s voice is clipped, despite his perfect use of keigo. “You are telling me that you have done absolutely no work on the budget forecast for next year’s operational costs. Despite multiple alignment meetings, pushes, and reminders.”
“I mean, it wasn’t no work, I did open the spreadsheet file and stare at it for a while to think, but…” The saniwa trails off into silence as he realizes he’s not making a good case for himself. As if there’s anything he could say that would save him right now.
“And then, realizing that the deadline was today and wanting to escape from reality, you decided to turn into a baby and cry?”
“I mean, I didn’t really decide like that, it wasn’t totally voluntary, you know? I was just thinking that it would be nice to go back to a time when I had no responsibilities and no worries and…”
“I stand corrected. In the face of an imm inent deadline, you chose to shirk all responsibility but age regression into a literal infant who does nothing but cry–”
“Hey! It was pretty scary, you know?” The saniwa whips his head up from the ground, clearly done with begging forgiveness. “Spontaneous transformation is tough on the body and mind, right? Maybe I'm the real victim in this!”
As Chougi launches into a lecture about how many nights the account division had spent awake creating the forecast templates in vain, and the Saniwa ineffectually tries to defend himself, Daihannya and Azuki sit in seiza behind their master. Apparently for no other reason besides emotional support. Perhaps he'll latch on for a skin-on-skin hug from Azuki any moment now.
In the midst of all this, Azuki leans over towards Daihannya to whisper to him.
“Brother, so about your missing tea bowl.”
“Yes?” Daihannya immediately sits up straighter. His lost treasure. The reason he agreed to all this in the first place!
“I used it as a mixing bowl last week and broke it. The shards are buried in the garden.”
—
Five minutes later, the Nagamitsu brothers join the Saniwa in getting lectured, for starting a fistfight in the assembly room.