April 14th, 2012, Whisper in the Breeze, Morning
The first, tentative rays of the morning sun pierced the dusty air of the second-floor bedroom, cutting through the gaps in the drawn curtains like golden blades.
They illuminated countless dancing dust motes and fell across the still form of Tosen, the shisa yokai, as he laid on the bed recuperating in the bed. The room was small and spartan, furnished only with the essentials, smelling of old wood, healing herbs, and the faint, coppery scent of faded blood.
Chomei Kegawa had made the decision to keep his shop closed for the day. The "Closed" sign was turned firmly on the door, the lock securely engaged. His priority was not profit, but vigilance.
He needed to be present, to watch over his former student, and to be there to provide calm and context the moment the younger yokai awoke, preventing a panicked and potentially dangerous reaction to unfamiliar surroundings.
The old tanuki was seated on a simple wooden chair he had pulled up to the bedside. In the quiet, sun-streaked stillness, his mind inevitably drifted back through the decades, pulled into the warm currents of memory.
September 1st, 1989, Nikko National Park, Morning
The memory was vivid, crisp as the mountain air itself. The slopes of Mount Nikkō-Shirane were blanketed in a deep, pristine layer of early-season snow, glittering under a sharp, azure sky. The world was silent but for the crunch of their boots and the whisper of the wind through frosted evergreens.
A much younger Chomei Kegawa, his stride confident and sure, led the way. His face, less lined by the weight of years of regret, was often touched by a smile in those days—an expression that would become a rare commodity in the years to come.
Behind him, struggling valiantly but beginning to flag under the weight of a heavily laden backpack, was a teenage Tosen. The shisa's breath plumed in the cold air, his youthful features set in a mask of determination mixed with growing fatigue.
"Master," the young Tosen puffed out, his voice strained, "how much longer to the summit?"
Kegawa paused, turning to look back at his student with an expression of patient amusement. "Do not fret, Tosen. A hike is like a battle. You must learn to pace yourself, to study your movements and your environment. If you feel tired, you slow down and conserve your strength. If you feel a surge of energy, you use it to quicken your pace. The only true failure is to stop entirely. The mountain does not care about your haste; it only respects persistence."
"Yes, Master," Tosen replied, taking the lesson to heart. He visibly adjusted his pace, settling into a slower, more sustainable rhythm, his breathing beginning to even out.
"When we reach the summit," Kegawa said, his voice carrying a note of promise that made Tosen's ears perk up, "your real training will begin. I will start teaching you the Way of the Wind."
Tosen's eyes, previously dulled by exhaustion, widened, beaming with sudden excitement. "Really? Will you... will you also help me develop the lightning ki affinity Lord Nurarihyon said I have?" The question was filled with the eager, unjaded hope of youth.
Kegawa nodded, a genuine, warm smile gracing his features. "Yes, Tosen. It is my duty, and my privilege, to help you become the finest version of yourself. To hone the raw potential I see in you into a disciplined, formidable power."
Emboldened by his master's faith, the young shisa straightened his shoulders, the weight of the pack seeming to lessen.
"I won't let you down, Master!" he proclaimed, his voice ringing with earnest conviction clear in the thin mountain air.
April 14th, 2012, Whisper in the Breeze, Morning
A faint, wistful smile touched Kegawa's lips as the memory faded. The echo of Tosen's youthful promise seemed to hang in the quiet room. He bit down on a stalk of celery he'd been absently chewing, the crisp sound loud in the silence. "It's already been more than twenty years, huh," he grunted to himself, the sound a low rumble of disbelief and regret. The hopeful boy on that mountain felt a world away from the wounded soldier in the bed before him.
Suddenly, the rhythm of Tosen's breathing changed. A sharp, ragged intake of air, and then his eyes flew open, wide with panic and disorientation.
He jerked upright, his head swiveling frantically, taking in the unfamiliar room, the sunlight, the figure in the chair—
"Tosen! It's me! Calm down!" Kegawa's voice was firm, a command forged from decades of authority. He placed a steadying hand on the shisa's chest, gently but insistently pushing him back down onto the mattress before he could aggravate his injuries.
The younger yokai's wild eyes focused, locking onto Kegawa's face. The panic receded, replaced by a wave of sheer exhaustion and confusion. He sank back against the pillows, his chest heaving.
"M-master...?" he exhaled, the word a hoarse whisper. He brought a trembling hand up to his head, wincing as if the movement pained him. "I'm sorry... what happened? Why am I here?"
"You were found unconscious and severely wounded," Kegawa explained, his tone matter-of-fact, though a deep concern underlay his words. "I brought you here to my shop. You are safe."
Tosen's mind seemed to be working slowly, piecing together fragments of memory with his current reality. With a grunt of effort, he tried to push himself up again, managing this time to sit upright, leaning his weight heavily against the wall behind the bed.
He looked down at his torso, his fingers gingerly probing the bandages that covered the worst of his injuries, noting with surprise that they were clean and the flesh beneath, while sore, was knit together. The healing had been potent.
"Master," he said, his voice gaining a sliver of its former strength, though it was laced with urgency. "I have to go back. I must report to Lord Nurarihyon immediately. The things I saw..."
Before he could even attempt to swing his legs over the side of the bed, Kegawa was there again, a firm hand on his shoulder. "Not now," the tanuki stated, his voice leaving no room for argument. He guided Tosen back down onto the pillows with an ease that spoke of his strength. "You nearly died. Your body has been pushed to its absolute limit. Before you go anywhere, before you report to anyone, you will rest. That is not a suggestion."
Tosen opened his mouth to protest, a stubborn fire in his eyes, but Kegawa cut him off. "Today, the devils who govern this town will likely come here. I will be the one to speak with them. Your only task is to remain here and recover. Do not do anything reckless."
The word "devils" acted like a spark to tinder. Tosen's weary expression instantly hardened, his lips pulling back from his teeth in a silent snarl. He looked at his master, and this time, the look was not one of confusion, but of dawning, bitter understanding.
"Devils?" he grunted, the word laced with venom. "Did you... did you really accept that offer, Master? From Woland Sitri?" His tone was heavy, not with anger directed at Kegawa, but with a profound, personal disappointment—a disappointment that seemed aimed inward, as if he were chastising himself for his own powerlessness in the face of his master's choices.
Kegawa's own expression became a stoic mask. "We are not here to discuss my decisions, Tosen," he said, his voice flat and final. "The choices I have made are mine and mine alone to bear. Your only concern now is to rest."
With that definitive statement, he turned and left the bedroom, closing the door softly but firmly behind him, leaving Tosen alone with his thoughts and his frustration.
Silence descended upon the room once more, broken only by Tosen's ragged breathing. He lay there for long minutes, staring at the ceiling, his mind a whirlwind of pain, fragmented memories of shadowy claws, and the sting of his master's words.
'Master...' he thought, the single word a torrent of conflicted emotion. 'You are right. Now is not the time for that conversation. My duty is clear. I have to get back to Nikko. Lord Nurarihyon must be warned.'
Gritting his teeth against the protest of his muscles, he tried again. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, then attempted to swing his legs over the side of the bed.
A sharp, lancing pain shot through his core, and his arms, weakened and trembling, gave way. He collapsed back onto the mattress with a frustrated gasp.
"Fuck!" he cursed into the empty room, the word a harsh expulsion of air. He tried once more, and then a third time, each attempt ending in the same result: his body, broken and drained, refused to obey the commands of his will.
Finally, the fight drained out of him. He lay still, staring blankly at the patterns of sunlight on the wall. Defeated by his own physical limitations, he had no choice but to surrender, for now, to his master's decree.
With a long, weary sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, Tosen closed his eyes, yielding to the oppressive weight of his exhaustion. He would rest, but his mind continued to churn, plotting his next move the moment his strength returned.