04/13/2012, Kuoh's Antique Store, Afternoon.
A delicate, resonant chime, its tone as clear and golden as a forgotten bell, sounded through the cramped space of the antique shop as the door swung inward.
Ryoji Mochizuki stepped across the threshold, leaving the quiet, sun-dappled lane of the shrine district behind him. The air inside was a stark contrast—thick, still, and heavy with the accumulated scent of decades.
It smelled of old paper, drying ink, lemon-scented polish, the faint, sweet decay of dried flowers, and the underlying, unmistakable odor of dust that had settled into permanence.
The shop was called "Whisper in the Breeze," a name Ryoji found poetically at odds with its cloistered, silent atmosphere. After Makoto had declined his offer to hang out, citing his music club duties, a restless energy had compelled Ryoji to revisit this peculiar place he'd discovered on his first exploratory walk to the shrine, the same day he'd met the bubbly Momo Hanakai.
He let the door click shut behind him, the golden chime tolling once more before falling silent.
He feigned a casual interest, his hands shoved in his pockets as he let his gaze wander over the cluttered shelves. Every available surface was a carefully arranged chaos of history: faded ukiyo-e prints leaned against stacks of leather-bound books; a suit of samurai armor, its lacquer chipped with age, stood sentinel in a corner; glass display cases held collections of intricate netsuke carvings and fragments of ancient pottery.
"Oh, Young Mochizuki! What a pleasure to see you again. You decided to visit this old geezer? Ah, you flatter me." The voice was a dry, hoarse rasp, like pages turning in a long-unopened book. It came from the shadows at the back of the shop.
Ryoji turned to see the owner, Chomei Kegawa, emerging from behind a beaded curtain. The man was a portrait of advanced age, bent slightly at the spine, his movements slow and deliberate. A shock of thin, gray hair was swept back from a deeply lined forehead, and his eyes, a pale, watery gray, held a tired kindness.
He was dressed in a traditional, well-worn orange kimono that seemed to blend with the shop's warm, dim lighting, provided by dozens of flickering candles placed in safe nooks, their flames dancing and casting long, shifting shadows that made the antiques seem to breathe.
"Sir Kegawa! Don't say things like that," Ryoji joked, his own vibrant energy a stark counterpoint to the shop's stillness.
He moved forward and gave the old man a gentle, careful pat on his stooped back. "You're still young inside, and that's all that matters!"
The old man chuckled, a sound like gravel shifting. "A young man saying things like that to an ancient relic like me... ah, what a world we live in, Mochizuki!" He feigned a wince, holding his back as he slowly, painfully, lowered himself onto a worn wool cushion placed on the tatami-matted floor.
"Don't be shy, sit down with me. Rest these old bones demand conversation as their price." He gestured to another cushion nearby.
"Thanks," Ryoji said, his usual flamboyance softening into genuine politeness. He folded himself onto the cushion, sitting cross-legged with an easy grace.
"What tales can you tell a bored old man like me to pass the time?" Kegawa asked, a faint, mischievous smirk playing on his wrinkled lips.
He reached for a small lacquered box nearby, opening it to reveal a selection of perfectly formed, dusted with rice ppowder, mochi. "Feel free to eat as many as you want. I made them myself this morning."
Ryoji's face lit up. "Awesome! Thanks!" He gladly took one, the sweet, soft confection a delight. But as he chewed, a shadow passed behind his bright eyes, a sorrowful look he quickly hid behind a smile.
He knew why Kegawa was so kind, so eager for company, even if the man himself was only subconsciously aware of the reason.
'Poor man,' Ryoji thought, his heart aching with a familiar, profound sadness. 'He's so lonely. He's just waiting... waiting for it all to be over.'
He had asked around the quiet district. Chomei Kegawa was known as a recluse, a man of few words, anchored in a past he refused to leave, deeply distrustful of a future that seemed to have passed him by. The only people he spoke to with any regularity were his infrequent customers and the owner of the fruit seller across the lane, where he bought his favorite blueberries.
Ryoji could feel it—a lone, regretful voice whispering from within the man, a quiet, persistent call for an end.
'I'm sorry, sir,' Ryoji murmured to himself, the mochi suddenly tasting bittersweet. 'I'm not who you're waiting for. I'm not a reaper—not anymore.'
"You have many hidden talents, sir! You're a pastry chef, too!" Ryoji said, forcing his voice to be light and cheerful, wanting to dispel the melancholy that threatened to settle over them.
"I have more secrets than you can possibly imagine, young man," Kegawa replied, his smirk widening slightly, those old, tired eyes glinting with something unreadable.
'For example, I'm not human...' he imagined saying, the thought a private amusement. A deeper, more bitter thought followed.
'If I hadn't messed things up so spectacularly with Lord Nurarihyon, I wouldn't be here, hiding in this human skin, seeking comfort in the company of a human child. Stupid Chomei. So stupid.'
Ryoji laughed, a warm, infectious sound that seemed to push back the shadows in the cramped shop. "I don't doubt that for a second!" he said, and his laughter, genuine and bright, managed to draw a real, if weary, chuckle from the old man.
"You are an odd one, Mochizuki," Kegawa sighed, shaking his head in bemused wonder. "Coming here just to cheer up a forgotten old shopkeeper."
"Don't say that, sir! And besides, I didn't have anything else to do," Ryoji responded with a playful shrug.
"Is that so?" Kegawa asked, his sharp gray eyes studying the boy beside him with a curiosity that went beyond the mundane.
Before Ryoji could craft another easy-going reply, the golden chime above the door sang out once more, its clear note cutting through the intimate atmosphere. The sound seemed to physically deflate Kegawa, the brief light in his eyes dimming as the duties of a shopkeeper reasserted themselves.
"It seems my peace is at an end. I have customers, Mochizuki. Thank you for passing by," he said, his voice regaining its raspy distance. He placed his hands on his knees and began the slow, arduous process of pushing himself back to his feet, a soft grunt of effort escaping him.
"This place is... plentiful," commented a young, unfamiliar female voice, filled with open awe.
Ryoji turned to see three girls entering the shop. His eyes quickly found Tsubaki Shinra, her presence calm and authoritative. Behind her, a girl with vibrant red hair tied in twin tails and another with glasses were gazing around with wide-eyed curiosity at the crowded shelves.
As Kegawa straightened his kimono, Ryoji also rose to his feet, intending to slip out and leave the old man to his business. He met Tsubaki halfway across the shop floor.
"Hi, Shinra," he said with a friendly nod.
The Queen of the Sitri peerage looked mildly surprised to see him there, but her expression quickly smoothed into one of polite neutrality. "Hello, Mochizuki. Do you know where the owner is?" she asked, her tone all business.
"I'm here," came the rough voice of Kegawa as he finally made his way over, using a display case for support. His eyes flickered from Ryoji to Tsubaki, assessing the situation.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Kegawa," Tsubaki said, offering a formal, respectful bow of her head.
The old man acknowledged her with a slow nod before turning his gaze back to Ryoji. "Have a nice evening, Mochizuki," he said, a clear dismissal.
"Goodbye," Ryoji replied, offering a final, warm smile to the old man before turning towards the door.
"Senpai? Hello!" Momo Hanakai's cheerful voice piped up as she noticed him heading for the exit.
"You're here too?" Ryoji joked, pausing with his hand on the door handle. "This place is getting popular all of a sudden."
He laughed, a easy, carefree sound.
"I better get going. I'll leave you ladies to your shopping." With a final wave, he pushed the door open, the chime ringing his departure, and stepped back out into the gentle afternoon light.
Momo waved after him before turning her attention back to a fascinating collection of hand-painted fans.
"Mr. Kegawa," Tsubaki began, her voice low and serious once Ryoji was gone. "Lady Sona asked us to speak with you regarding the information you uncovered about the recent oni attacks on the town."
Kegawa nodded, but his ancient eyes were not on Tsubaki. They were fixed on Tomoe, who was peering at a series of delicate scroll paintings depicting famous Japanese landscapes.
"Hey, you! Girl with the twin tails!" he barked, his raspy voice suddenly sharp. "Close up the shop!"
Tomoe jumped, startled out of her reverie. She turned, pointing a hesitant finger at her own chest. "M-me?"
"Yes, you! The sign, the lock. Now. I don't want you to gawk at art!" he grumbled, his annoyance seeming to ease some of the age from his posture.
Flustered, Tomoe hurried to the door, turning the hanging sign so that the side with the elegantly painted "Closed" characters faced the street. She fumbled with the old, heavy key for a moment before managing to shoot the bolt home with a solid thunk.
The sound seemed to finalize something, sealing them in the shop's private, timeless world. She scurried back to stand beside Tsubaki, her cheeks slightly flushed.
"Now," Kegawa said, his voice dropping into a gravelly whisper now that they were shut away from the world. "We can talk."
He reached into the wide sleeve of his orange kimono and pulled out a single, perfectly preserved cherry leaf, its veins a deep crimson against the green. He brought it to his lips and blew upon it softly.
The leaf didn't flutter to the ground. Instead, it dissolved at the edges, transforming into a fine, shimmering pink mist that expanded rapidly, enveloping the old man completely in a fragrant, sweet-smelling cloud. Momo, who had wandered closer, gasped. "What's happening?" she whispered, her glasses reflecting the swirling pink haze.
The cloud held for a moment, obscuring Kegawa's form, then began to dissipate as quickly as it had appeared. Where the elderly human shopkeeper had stood, there now was a tanuki.
He was about three feet tall, covered in thick, grizzled gray fur. His most striking features were his intelligent, piercing purple eyes, set above two large, distinctive white patches of fur that ringed them like spectacles. His tiny, clever hands were adjusting the miniature version of the orange kimono he now wore.
The yokai let out a soft groan as he stretched his limbs, working out the kinks from maintaining his human disguise for so long.
"Hnngh. Better," he grunted, his voice now a higher, rough chatter, though it still carried the same ancient weight. He cleared his throat, a series of short, sharp barks.
Tomoe and Momo stared, their mouths agape. They had seen devils, fallen angels, but a full-fledged yokai in its true form, revealed so casually, was a new and startling experience.
"What's your problem?" the tanuki—Kegawa—snapped, noticing their stunned expressions. "Never seen a yokai in your life?"
The two girls could only mutely shake their heads, still processing the transformation.
"Argh, I should have imagined it. Sitri's girls, sheltered. Well, the shock's over. Sit down, all of you. We have much to discuss, and my legs are tired."
Tsubaki, maintaining her composure, gracefully knelt on a cushion opposite the tanuki. Tomoe and Momo quickly followed suit, sitting seiza-style with less practiced ease.
"My King sends her deepest apologies for not being able to speak with you in person," Tsubaki began, her diplomatic training taking over. "Her responsibilities—"
"It's fine, it's fine," Kegawa interrupted, waving a dismissive paw. "At least the Sitri heiress is smart enough to send competent delegates."
His sharp purple eyes scanned Momo and Tomoe again, his gaze lingering on Tomoe's posture, the latent strength in her frame. "Are you two her Knights?" he asked pointedly.
"Only I am, Mr. Kegawa, sir," Tomoe said, swallowing hard under his intense scrutiny. She could see his expression shift, a spark of professional interest igniting in his gaze.
"Very good," he chattered, a note of grim satisfaction in his voice. "I'll deal with you later." The statement did nothing to ease Tomoe's growing apprehension.
"Young Shinra," Kegawa began, turning his full attention back to Tsubaki, his manner becoming all business. "From the few remnants of the oni's body that didn't dissolve, I could only discern one thing of note: his weapons carried the deep, clinging stain of Yomi, the underworld. My guess is they were stolen or plundered from its depths. However," he continued, his voice dropping into a low, serious growl, "when you told me his name, it was not a guess. I recognized it instantly. Kazan Ishikagawa was once a respected general in the Kanto yokai army. A brute, but a effective one."
"Why would he attack us, then?" Tomoe blurted out, unable to contain her confusion. "If he was a general, why target a city controlled by a faction we're not at war with?"
The tanuki's head swiveled towards her, his eyes narrowing. "If you would refrain from interrupting," he said, his tone dripping with irritation, "perhaps I could tell you why. Youngsters these days, too hasty for your own good. You swing a sword before you even know who you're swinging it at."
He snorted, a puff of air blowing his whiskers. Tomoe immediately fell silent, chastened.
"It happened almost thirty years ago," Kegawa began, his voice taking on the rhythmic cadence of a storyteller recounting a painful memory.
His gaze grew distant, looking at a point somewhere in the past. "Kazan Ishikagawa betrayed our leader, Lord Nurarihyon, the master of the Kanto yokai faction. His goal was to steal the Yomi no Kagami, the Mirror of Yomi. An artifact of immense power, forged from the first shard of obsidian birthed by Mount Fuji's very first eruption."
He paused, his sharp teeth gritting at the memory.
"That day, we discovered the truth. Kazan was no mere traitor; he was a cultist, a devout follower of Izanami-no-Mikoto. And her worship, especially of the darker aspects she embodies in Yomi, is severely prohibited by the Shinto gods themselves. It is a path of blight and corruption."
The tanuki reached for a small ceramic bottle and a matching bowl. He poured a measure of clear saké and downed it in one quick motion, as if to wash a bad taste from his mouth.
"We stopped him. We prevented a massacre. But not without a cost." His voice grew heavy. "Many good yokai fell that day. Kazan's death was never confirmed. The Yomi no Kagami vanished into the chaos. There were no sightings of him after that... until now."
Tsubaki listened intently, her face a mask of solemn understanding. "Thank you for telling us this," she said softly, recognizing the pain and conflict the story stirred in the old yokai.
"Senpai," Tomoe ventured, more cautiously this time. "Why don't we just contact Lord Nurarihyon and the yokai faction? If we have a common enemy now, wouldn't an alliance make sense?"
Kegawa let out a short, harsh bark of laughter. "Lord Nurarihyon officially dismissed this matter decades ago. To reopen those wounds on the word of a devil? On the word of a few youngsters who think they saw a dead man? And we have no body, no concrete proof it was truly him. For all we know, it could have been a fanatic wearing his name like a cheap mask."
"Do you believe it was an imposter?" Tsubaki asked, cutting to the heart of the matter.
"No," Kegawa stated flatly, his purple eyes hard. "No yokai in Kanto, no matter how foolish or desperate, would be stupid enough to take on the name and likeness of the greatest betrayer in modern Japan's supernatural history. The taboo is too strong. The fear is too real."
"Wait," Momo interjected, pushing her glasses up her nose. "There was the body, though. President Gremory's peerage defeated him. Isn't that proof enough?"
"The body," Kegawa said, his voice laced with a grim finality, "disappeared. It dissolved into shadows and was consumed by the very darkness it served. Devoured by Yomi, I'd wager. There is nothing left to show."
A frustrated silence fell over the group. Tsubaki disliked dead ends. "What do you suggest we do, Mr. Kegawa?" she asked, her tone respectful but pressing. They needed a course of action, however small.
The tanuki was silent for a long moment, his whiskers twitching in thought. "We prepare," he said finally. "We remain vigilant. We watch for signs. When—if—Ishikagawa's affiliates strike again for a third time, we will be ready. It is the only card we have to play until they reveal their hand."
Tsubaki nodded slowly. It wasn't much of a plan. It was a holding pattern. But without more information, it was all they had. "I understand."
A strange, sharp-toothed smile suddenly appeared on the tanuki's muzzle. His eyes locked onto Tomoe. "Our preparation could start immediately. I'm sure the Sitri heiress would agree, seeing as she sent you here with Shinra," he whispered, the sound a sly rustle.
Tomoe's eyes widened. She looked to Tsubaki for confirmation.
"Yes," Tsubaki confirmed, her expression neutral. "It was Lady Sona's explicit idea to bring Tomoe with me."
"Senpai?" Tomoe gasped, a mix of shock and betrayal in her voice.
"Don't look so frightened, girl," Kegawa chattered, a glint in his purple eyes. "I can be a very good teacher when I choose to be."
His words did little to reassure her. Tsubaki, however, offered a small, reassuring smile. "Mr. Kegawa is right. His guidance was invaluable during my own naginata training. I am certain you will see significant improvement under his tutelage."
"Oh, really?" Tomoe asked, the words slipping out before she could stop them, a reflex of her surprise.
"'Really'?" Kegawa mimicked, his tone instantly shifting to one of affronted irritation. "What does 'really' mean, girl? Do you doubt my capability?"
"No! Sorry, sir!" Tomoe apologized immediately, bowing her head deeply. "I didn't mean it like that! I'm just... surprised!"
"What about me?" Momo asked, not wanting to be left out of whatever was about to happen.
The tanuki looked her over. "If you have any skill with healing magic, you'll be doing your friend here a great favor by staying close," he said cryptically.
Momo nodded, though she looked increasingly unsure about what she had just signed up for.
The tanuki got to his feet with a grunt. "I'll fetch two practice blades. You two," he said, pointing a claw at Tomoe and Momo, "wait for me out back. We are going to a nice, quiet training spot I know." He shuffled towards the bead curtain leading to the back rooms of the shop.
Tsubaki also rose. "I will take my leave now and report to Lady Sona. I hope you two do not annoy Mr. Kegawa overmuch," she said, a subtle, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips.
"Wait, Senpai!" Tomoe said, grabbing Tsubaki's sleeve as she made to leave. "What should I expect? Honestly."
Tsubaki paused, her expression turning serious. "I was entirely truthful when I said he is a good teacher. But it will be hard. Very, very hard." Her words were meant to be encouraging, but they sent a fresh wave of nervous anticipation through Tomoe.
"Don't worry, Tomoe!" Momo said, grabbing her friend's other arm, her optimism undimmed. "I'll be right there with you!"
Tomoe looked at Momo's bright, supportive face, then took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. The nervousness was still there, but it was now mixed with a spark of determination.
"Yeah," she said, a hesitant smile finally breaking through. "You're right! Okay, I'm ready!" She wasn't entirely