The night was quiet in a narrow alley. Heavy rain pattered around, mixing with the soft breaths of sleeping merchants and the moans of the wind brushing against glass bottles stacked on the ground.
A man sat on the sidewalk beneath a dim lamp, wearing an old-fashioned hat that partially covered his head, black strands falling to his eyebrows. He whispered words no one could hear, as if speaking to himself in secret.
From afar, a vendor laughed, turning on his side:
— "The crazy perfume seller—who buys perfume in this cold alley?"
But the truth was far from what they saw. Before him stood a little girl, wearing a short kimono the color of storm clouds. Her eyes were wide like a gazelle's, yet their sparkle was not human. Behind her, a tall man stood, gray-haired, his eyes devoid of lashes, like mirrors reflecting the ancient sky.
The girl whispered softly:
— "His scent… resembles a flower whose name I do not know, yet it makes me unwilling to return to the den of darkness."
The perfume seller smiled and handed her a small bottle.
— "Keep it—you may need it if the night finds you alone."
A lone watcher remained, as the sound of armored footsteps approached the alley. Soldiers wearing iron helmets and swords strapped to their backs appeared. One raised his hand, secretly pointing at the perfume seller, whispering to his companion:
— "That's him. Don't let him escape."
They approached as merchants awoke to the clanging of steel, murmurs of alarm rising among them. The leader stepped forward, his voice sharp:
— "You… the perfume seller, right?"
The perfume seller slowly raised his head. His eyes showed neither fear nor defiance—only quiet certainty. He smiled faintly, his voice calm, like a breeze preceding a storm:
— "Swords reveal blood… while perfumes expose what is deeper. Before you raise your sword, ask yourself… what do you smell in this place?"
The commander scowled and ordered his soldiers to seize him. But the perfumer was quicker. With nimble hands, he gathered his vials into a large cloth and slung it over his shoulder. He leaped and sprinted toward the far end of the alley, the soldiers shouting behind him:
— "Stop him! Don't let him escape!"
He ran along the walls, and when a young soldier lunged, he turned the Japanese instrument on his back and drew from its handle a hidden blade. Thin as moonlight, it glinted in the dim light. With one swift strike, the soldier fell unconscious.
The oud's sound accompanied every movement—a melody that could not be heard, but felt deep within the chest.
Surrounded on three sides by swords, he pulled a small vial from his pocket. A sharp scent spread, light as smoke. Soldiers inhaled, swayed, and collapsed one after another.
From a distance, a rifle fired. Warmth seared his shoulder, but he pressed on.
He disappeared into a crowded market, weaving through the throngs, then slipped into a narrow, dark alley, damp and silent. He sank against the wall, breathing ragged, his wound bleeding, rain soaking the hem of his garment. Slowly, his body surrendered to sleep.
In his dream, he saw a familiar face: a child, drenched, clothes torn, face scratched, emerging from the trees, screaming:
— "You knew I would die! You sent me to the forest on purpose! You knew!"
A huge man appeared, hair disheveled, laughing loudly. Opening the hut's door, he said:
— "And here you are, alive. This means you deserve to learn."
The child trembled, crying, while the man tended his wounds.
— "The forest teaches… more than it kills."
The scene shifted. The teacher sat before a dim fire, muttering faintly:
— "Dream… memories… death… life… this ash will not rest until the truth is known."
Suddenly, the perfume seller woke, gasping. A black shadow, like a hand, reached toward his face, as if to pull his soul. He struck it with a powerful punch, dissipating it like smoke.
Around him, whispers echoed from the walls:
— "Next time, you won't survive."
— "Surrender the ash… or burn."
Blood streamed from his shoulder, eyes ablaze. He faced the darkness:
— "I will not surrender it… I will not allow it to be buried in hell."
When the rain finally ceased, he rose, carrying perfumes on his back, the sword hidden in his instrument, and the ash in his heart.
The perfume seller emerged from the alley, marked by the night's confrontation. In the village market, villagers' voices mixed with vendors' calls and children's laughter. Yet something had changed. At the alley's end stood a young man unlike the locals. His aura shimmered faintly like a shadow.
Simple but suspiciously clean clothing, a Japanese stringed instrument on his shoulder, and eyes that searched for what others could not see. He inhaled the air as if following a scent unseen by the breeze.
Some watched cautiously; others ignored him. Only a small girl lingered, approaching with quiet steps.
— "Are you… a seller?"
He nodded without smiling.
— "A seller of what?"
— "Perfume," he replied calmly.
Her mother pulled her away with a worried glance.
Amid the crowd, he noticed a plump man behind a pie cart, eyes glinting with cunning. He smiled, winked, then vanished behind the cart—like a ghost.
Tanuki.
Elsewhere, in a mist-shrouded palace, the stout man reported to his master, Odaki Maru, Lord of Black Mist.
— "I found him. The perfume seller… he was in the market. He saw me, but did not chase."
Odaki Maru remained silent, then said calmly:
— "Strange… the spirits did not catch him. There is an unseen presence… his perfume conceals them even from my rain."
Tanuki laughed lightly:
— "He's not like other humans. I think he can create something beyond perfumes… something that awakens spirits."
Odaki Maru's tone grew cold:
— "Who does he think he is? He has killed some leaders of the yokai. For no apparent reason."
Tanuki replied:
— "I heard why from some… he makes only one perfume. A perfume that calms spirits, born from the restless soul within him."
The perfume seller wandered through the market, watching spirits mingle with humans. Only those with an "open eye" could see them. Passing a woman with a pungent, fox-like scent, he realized she was not human. No words were exchanged—only a glance.
Kitsune, he thought.
Later, he entered a small pharmacy in a side alley. A thin, hunched old man peered at him through thick glasses.
— "Medicine for stabbing pain or bleeding?"
— "Both, if possible," the perfume seller replied with a faint smile.
The old man handed him a small bottle and a herbal wrap.
— "You don't seem the sickly type… take care of yourself."
— "Thank you… I will try."
He returned to the alleys, hiding among the crowd, avoiding soldiers searching for him. Children ran past carrying candles, laughing joyfully. He entered a dilapidated wooden shop.
— "I would like to deposit this bag until tomorrow. It contains only my perfumes. If you doubt me, open it yourself. The trade of magic and spirituality is common these days… but I am not one of those. I am just… a perfume seller."
The old man scrutinized him.
— "If you are honest, it's fine… but know they are searching for a perfume seller. If you don't return by morning, I will sell it."
The perfume seller smiled, patting his shoulder:
— "A fair deal."
Suddenly, the old man whispered:
— "Beware… those searching the alleys for a runaway perfume seller. If you do not return by morning, I will consider you dead."
Later, wearing a mask covering half his face, he stood in the square, playing the benzaityn. The music was soft, spiritual, drawing humans and spirits alike, as if the city itself paused to listen.
Soldiers approached, moved by the performance. Then, suddenly, they seized him.
— "Playing in the streets is forbidden," one shouted.
Then… winds. Strange currents swept the square. Spirits trembled. People stumbled. Incomprehensible sounds swirled around.
Seizing the moment, the perfume seller grasped the handle of his instrument. Its wooden body cracked, revealing a hidden blade. Moonlight glinted on its edge. He stabbed the leader's chest without killing him, then sprayed a perfume that rendered him unconscious.
He dragged the leader into a narrow alley, pressing the knife to his neck:
— "Who sent you? Odaki Maru?"
The leader spat in his face:
— "Kill me… I will not betray my oath."
The perfume seller fell silent, then said:
— "Then it is Odaki Maru. The fog… obedience… control over the rains. He uses rain for domination—that is why he saved this region from drought."
The leader laughed maniacally. Before he could speak again, the perfume seller severed his head in silence. A licking sound drew his attention.
Inside a nearby building, a small red creature licked the ground. It raised its head, teeth black as night:
— "Your scent… like filthy bathhouses."
— "Thanks… I don't know if that's a compliment or insult. You are Akaniyame, aren't you?"
The creature smiled:
— "How did you know me? No one has ever spoken my name before."
— "I read about you in a manuscript. I never expected to meet you, yet here we are," said the perfume seller.
Akaniyame laughed:
— "I've heard of you… the perfume seller. Some call you a devil, killing souls mercilessly."
— "I do not kill indiscriminately," he replied. "Only those who deserve it. I seek one perfume… one wish. Perhaps it will calm the souls."
Akaniyame's expression darkened:
— "Liar… the souls are not angry with you, but with what you carry. Something taken from their world. You seek their forgiveness… not to rid yourself of it."
The perfume seller paused, then asked:
— "Will you help me?"
— "Of course, if I can," Akaniyame replied.
— "I want to know where Odaki Maru is," he said.
Akaniyame's features hardened:
— "I do not know. You are an intruder. No reason to reveal the palace's location."
— "I know Odaki Maru controls humans through hallucinations and dreams. He cannot control yokai. You have no connection to him. Tell me where he is, and I promise a perfume that will hide you. The area will be under your control starting tomorrow."
Akaniyame remained silent, then said:
— "Odaki Maru lives in a palace at the village's edge. Surrounded by a temple and long stairs. He appears godlike, yet spreads a fog of obedience that makes people see him as savior. His eyes are gray, but when angry, they glow like embers. Only those he chooses may enter."
The perfume seller handed him a small bottle:
— "You will remain hidden from all eyes. I have kept my promise."
He turned and continued toward his next destination.