The chilly midnight air at the Aoiya blew with a quiet, gentle, breeze - accompanied by the soft, melodic humming of the nightingales. And the people of the inn were soundly asleep in their quarters. It was almost a picture-perfect scene, but for some reasons, the image was torn apart due to most of the sleepers' constant snoring. And actually, one was greatly distressed.
The poor Misao Makimachi could hardly bear the noises. Despite the fact that she herself was also worn down from the day's tough work, she still couldn't sleep. She struggled to turn sideways - trying to achieve the best sleeping position - but to no avail. So, raising her arms high in defeat, she jumped out of her futon using her long, flexible, legs. She slid the shoji door in her room open and, with a kick, she shut it close that it banged loudly against the wall, to the point of waking people from their sleep. She checked all around the hallway to see if anyone has heard, and to her relief, no one was disturbed. "That was close . . . I can't believe that they were a ninja at all," she joked to herself.
She silently walked down the hallways until she reached the balcony facing the garden. From her view, she could sight the lone cherry tree which was on the far end away from the rest of its kind. With a feeling of sadness and loneliness, she stepped down the balcony and joined the cherry blossom. She took a seat under the tree and rested her back in its trunk. She closed her eyes and relaxed for a while. It's refreshing. This is the only place where I can sleep. Besides, there are the fragrant lavenders to keep the pesky mosquitoes from biting me.
The serene scene made her sleep for a few minutes until she sensed a presence near her. She then immediately opened her eyes. In front of her appeared the towering man she was very familiar with. "A-aoshi-sama."
A color rose from her cheeks. She quickly stood up and bowed before the Okashira. "Ah . . . uh . . . um" Misao gulped some air and spoke, "Aoshi-sa-sama, how long have you been standing?"
The man didn't answer. And Misao was getting nervous. Her shoulders were shaking in fear.
Great Kami, what should I do? Oh please, I beg Your help!
"I heard a noise from your room. So I hurried down the hall and checked you, but you were gone."
She suddenly realized what she had done. There was really someone who heard the sound at all! She bowed again and apologized profusely for her mistake. "Forgive me, Aoshi-sama . . . for disturbing you from your sleep!"
Aoishi placed his hand on her shoulder to stop her. Misao did so, and upon lifting her head, their eyes locked: his ice blue ones over her emerald ones. She always knew the look in his eyes was in their usual coldness, and his expression unreadable - but now, it was somewhat . . . different. There was something troubling him, for sure.
Misao shook her thoughts away and averted her gaze above, staring at the cherry blossoms shading the two of them in the dark. "Ah . . . um . . . Aoshi-sama. . . Ah . . . um?" Why is his hand still resting on my shoulder? So she asked again, "Aoshi-sama?"
Aoshi, without any reaction, was still holding her. This was what seemed to be normal to him. Yet, he never understood why the time seemed too short to touch her for a moment.
"Aoshi-sama!" Misao repeated rather loudly and impatiently.
The Okashira had, at least, responded by quickly putting his hand down his side. He was totally driven by her beauty. The moonlight illuminated the silk robe she was wearing - showing the curves her body she's never had; her face reminded him of the young lady who has had a rash and horrible temper before. But behold, that young lady was now transformed into a woman. "Misao," he spoke flatly. "It's getting colder. Let's return."
"What? I mean sure, Aoishi-sama!" she replied. And with a nod from him, she followed. Well, it becomes colder whenever he's around.
As they walked among the stepping-stones, Misao noticed Aoshi's clenching and unclenching of his hand. She couldn't help wondering if his laying his hand on her shoulder for quite a while was responsible for this late response she received. Before they reached the last step, Aoishi stopped and turned his head to her. "Aoshi-sama, is there something wrong? Please tell me so - "
"Misao, before you leave tomorrow, be it known that I can no longer accompany you. You're already eighteen. You can go by your - "
"Aoshi-sama," Misao cut him. "Still, I need your guidance. I know that I already am an adult, but it doesn't mean that you'll just leave me on my own."
Aoshi knew that she would say this on her part. Yet, he should convince her. "Since the age of six, you have started your training as an onmitsu. There are even instances where you, alone , are sent on a mission."
Misao's mouth was hung open in his statement. She tried to compose herself after her shock. By closing her eyes, she knelt to the man she devoted and declared, "If that's an order from my Okashira, I will do it for the honor of you, Aoshi-sama . . . and the Oniwabanshuu."
"Very well. Your training starts at sunrise," Aoshi walked away from her and ended his words by saying, "and I'm certain you have prepared beforehand." And then he continued his silent strides until he was out of her sight.
He has left me again. Alone. Is he that strict, cold and distant to me? She stood up and stretched her arms out. As soon as Aoshi was out of earshot, she hollered, "Great! He turned my 'vacation' into training." As Misao was now back at the veranda of the now 'sleeping' inn - not the 'snoring' one as she had described it before - she discovered that she had quite slept for a few hours under the cherry tree then, by checking the clock.
Two forty-five.
"So he stood there watching me for a pretty good time. And I only have two hours and fifteen minutes to depart."
Unknown to her, Aoshi was still there - only cloaked in the shadows of the dark - covertly listening. With a content sigh, he felt relieved of her decision to go . . . away.
That's it. He quietly strode back inside the inn, but only to be halted by what he heard.
"How come can I enjoy the summer without him?"
I must leave before daybreak, Misao thought as she sent her last kunai straight to the dummy's head. Perfect. Sounds that my kunai hit every weak point for the tenth time around.
The last five years she spent in hand-to-hand combat and weaponry training under the supervision of Aoshi and her late father's friend, Nenji Kashiwazaki, was a success for it greatly helped her in improving her skills as a female ninja. As expected and proven, she was now capable of fighting and defending herself - to the assurance of her family - at alarming situations.
"All right. Time to retrieve my favorite kunai from their victim," Misao spoke as she wiped the sheen of sweat from her forehead with her blindfold. She lit a gas lamp inside the dim training hall. Its fire shone through the sharp edges of the blades pinned to the tall scarecrow dummy she had made the day before. Ten hits in all.
She lit another lamp and held them both in her hands. She has now a better view of her damage. The straws and wool stuffings were scattered all over the floor; the arms which held upward were downward; and its bent head was dropped on its stand, propped by her protruding blade. Her final throw was never that forceful as to mutilate its body.
Taking short steps toward the dummy, she pondered about what might have caused her blow to be powerful and harmful enough to endanger one's life. Was it the effect of her reluctant acceptance of the Okashira's command? When it came to him commanding her, she would at no time question his orders and even be dubious of them. She'd eventually carry out his commands as soon as possible. And she ended becoming his obedient, trustworthy and devoted follower - regardless of her appearing desperate to please her master. His order of sending her away for training sounded reasonable to her mind - but it conveyed nothing more but dumping her heart into the abyss. The thought of her Aoshi-sama abandoning her dawned Misao's mind.
Time check: four fifteen. Forty-five minutes to go.
She let out a long, deep sigh and placed the lamps aside; then picked up the artificial head and cautiously removed the metal. She did the same on the neck, chest, and abdomen of the mannequin figure; another two blades in the shoulders, knees and . . . groins. "I even aimed at them this far?" she gasped in astonishment. She was five yards away from the target - her farthest distance to date was only three yards. Thus, it was an achievement to her.
I don't know why in my head I made a dummy out of his image . . . Oh, Kami! What have I eaten to destroy that beauty so badly?
"Wait, it's just his replica. Somehow, I'm an idiot for overreacting to such a thing whose sole duty is to be stabbed a hundred times to bring up my best."
"Ouch!" Misao was lost in thoughts before she could manage to detach her bleeding hands from gripping the blades. She had had never been slow to the uptake. The last thing she would do for this moment was to pull out the remaining two; burn the dummy, and grab her knapsack then run away without further hesitation to Tokyo.
She immediately tore the blindfold to two portions of cloth and nimbly wrapped them around her red hands. The bleeding had not ceased until she applied constant pressure to the bandaging. Great thanks to Okon and Omasu for my first-aid training.
She sighed, remembering her days with those women who taught her when she was still a ninja on training. Those were the days when she was rather young, carefree and innocent.
Time check: Four twenty-five.
"I've little time. I gotta go." Tensely, with her fully packed knapsack on her shoulders, she took the doll away and scurried out of the room. Such horrid thing would be an insult to the eyes of the Okashira if he saw it.
Treading the hallways quietly and invisibly like the wind was new to her. She was used to being clumsy and careless when several times she attempted to eavesdrop on the conversations of Nenji and the rest of the Oniwabanshuu about something she herself should attend as a member, too - only to be shoved away by Shirojo and Kurojo.
That incident further pushed her into putting it to practice until she finally mastered it that she soon reached the exit after her struggle and management of dragging the doll she assumed lightweight. Sadly, to her dismay, she found the shoji doors latched with thick and weighty wooden bars. "No way! Has my training already begun?" Misao barked. This is unfair. Her shoulders hunched. She couldn't use her injured hands at this time, yet she should find another way to escape the inn just in time the sun placed the dummy aside and proclaimed, "My hands are disabled, but I'm no quadriplegic either!"
Determined as she was, she relaxed and collected all remaining chi she has. With a powerful "hyaa!" she threw a destructive flying kick toward the exit. Soon, a cloud of dust enveloped her as she landed on the lawn. She instantly rose up and got back up to running.
Goodbye, Kyoto. I'm on my way Tokyo!