Chapter Eight: Rebirth

"Earlier today in downtown Tokyo, a potential tragedy has turned into a miraculous feat of heroism," a young reporter announced, her manner polite and professional. "A man saved a boy from a delivery truck by using his body as a human shield. An act that would without a doubt, seriously injure or kill anyone who tried to do it." Taking a step back, she turned to the side and with a wave, she revealed a web of yellow police tape and just beyond it, the crushed front end of a large truck. "But as you can see, there's no body to speak of. Just a few drops of blood, a mangled hunk of metal, and a mystery."

The scene flashed to a thin businessman whose ill-fitting suit made him look bigger than he really was. "I was crossing the crosswalk when I saw the boy just jump out into the road. I thought he was dead for sure. I mean, there was no way the truck could stop in time or even swerve out of the way."

Another flash. Balancing a baby on her hip, a frazzled mother struggled to hold onto her other child who tugged relentlessly on her hand. "There was a silver flash, and the truck crumpled up like it had hit a wall. Some sort of man had grabbed the boy and stopped the truck by just getting in front of it. I've never seen anything like it."

Two high school students giddy with excitement. "It was crazy. The guy just stood up like it was nothing. And this is even crazier." They pulled out their smartphones. "We took a dozen pictures of the guy, and they're all the same." They turned the screens to face the television cameras and held them close. Taken at a distance, the boy was difficult to see from the angle, but the man's face was completely blurred. "Every single one is like that. It's impossible. It's like he's a demon or something."

Sesshoumaru snorted indignantly. Sitting cross-legged, he regarded the television with mild disgust. "I am not a demon."

Kagome squeezed out some ointment onto her finger from the metal tube in her hand. With a light touch, she dabbed it over one of the deep cuts on his back. "Youkai. Demon. What's the difference?"

"One is a pejorative term and the other is not."

She frowned. "Really?"

"I'm not an ogre or some base creature obsessed with vengeance."

She hummed thoughtfully. "Well, if I didn't even know the difference then you can't expect the public to know any better. Youkai. Demons. You might as well be a ghost."

He snorted again.

She tore open a packet of gauze and laid the bandage over the cut. "And by the way, I didn't realize that I would have to use my priestess skills again so soon."

"Your tending is unnecessary."

She reached for the roll of soft white tape and snipped a piece off with a pair of scissors.

"I will heal on my own."

"If that's the case," she remarked as she adhered the tape to the edge of the gauze, "Then hurry up and heal, so that I don't have to keep tending to you."

Silence.

"That's what I thought," she said with a kind smile as she cut off another piece of tape. "Besides, I'm not sure how you planned to get the pieces of metal embedded in your back out."

The television flashed back to the reporter. "There is one other unusual development. The driver of the truck is missing. It's believed that he fled the scene right after the accident, and for a good reason. Stolen televisions, smart devices, and other electronic equipment have been discovered in the hold of the truck, and it is believed that he might have been involved with the Kuro-Sakura Gang. As of right now, the police are currently investigating all leads and optimistic that they will catch the perpetrator."

Souta scoffed. Sitting beside them at the living room table, he crossed his arms. "Not likely."

Sesshoumaru looked at him. "Stealing is against the law here, is it not?"

"Yes."

"The police have pledged to uphold the laws. They will catch those responsible. Their sense of duty and honor won't permit them to do otherwise."

"It's not that simple," Kagome explained. "The police have been trying to squash the Kuro-Sakura Gang for years, but they're yakuza."

"Yakuza?"

"Organized crime."

He blinked.

"Like a crime family. Or the bandit gangs from the Sengoku Jidai."

"Ah."

"Well, they think they're samurai," Souta muttered. "Some are even willing to die rather than betray their gang. And if that means getting into a shoot-out, they'll do it." He shook his head. "It's messed up."

"If they believe that they are samurai," Sesshoumaru said, "Then they must have a master. A lord whose orders they'll follow even to the death."

"They do. Every yakuza gang has a family head. A father. But they're not easy to reach in the way a lord isn't easy to reach," Mama said as she walked in, a dish of pickled vegetables in one hand and a tray of sautéed fish in the other. "Souta, can you please fetch some bowls and the rice cooker."

He stood up and left for the kitchen.

"They're very well protected," she went on. "Even if it means a shorter prison sentence, members who are caught won't betray their father or even their other brothers easily."

"The corrupt cops don't help either," Souta said bitterly as he returned.

"We don't know that," she said, taking the bowls and the rice cooker from him. "You can't make blind assertions about people, Souta."

"Well, if they're not corrupt, then they're cowards." Anger shook him, and he looked at Sesshoumaru. "They're not heroes. Not like you." With his jaw clenched, he left and went to his room, his steps thumping up the stairs.

Mama sighed, and she began to pile rice into the bowls with a spoon-like spatula. "Too much has happened today." She caught the Sesshoumaru's bewildered expression. "I don't know how I ended up with two of them, but he's idealistic just like his sister."

Kagome looked up quizzically at the reference, her hand sneaking out to grab the first bowl.

"He wants to believe that evil can be vanquished, and he idolizes his sister who was able to do just that."

Sesshoumaru nodded, remembering the battle. His hand felt for the spider-shaped scar on his chest.

"But the world isn't that simple. Good and evil aren't carved in stone but written in sand. And now he's reached the age where he has to face that fact."

"The father of the Kuro-Sakura Gang is lucky though," Kagome said as she picked up some pickled ginger with her chopsticks. "He has his entire family between himself and the police. He can even hide his face. The police can't. If it only meant placing themselves in danger, maybe a few cops put their lives on the line. But the yakuza will go after their friends and family. They'll stalk them or beat them up. Sometimes they kill them. It's horrible. The last gang war was really bad. I think that's why Souta feels the way he does."

Mama picked up the remote. "I think that's enough." She flipped through the stations until she found a silly sitcom. The stiff jokes and canned laughter played in the background as they finished their meal in silence.

OOOOOOOOOO

Sliding the door open, Sesshoumaru stepped out into the shrine's courtyard. He took in the pleasant night air as he rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, trying to rid it of the sour taste. At Higurashi-san's insistence, he had tried the pickled vegetables. He felt no regret. Every experience is an opportunity to learn something, and he learned that they were revolting. Too often human food presented itself as a chance for him to challenge and strengthen his fortitude. Although, the fish had been satisfying.

His mind steeped in thought, the ground crunched under his sandals as he walked towards the woodworking shed. He entered it and pulled the cord to the lone light bulb hanging inside. Under the incandescent glow, he surveyed the workshop. Clean and polished, his tools hung on their hooks or sat neatly in their drawers. And the floor didn't have one feathery bit of sawdust on it.

At the center of his worktable, a block of wood lay. Cream-colored with a pleasant grain, it was leftover scrap from another project. Sesshoumaru stared at it. The future was strange, but the more he learned, the more he understood it. The more he felt it. There were still lords and there were still samurai. There were still families with fathers and brothers. Their names and laws may have changed with the world, but the conflicts never did.

Sesshoumaru stared at the block of wood. And even without eyes, it stared back. It called to him. He picked up his flat pencil and started to draw.

OOOOOOOOOO

Towering conspicuously over the humans squeezed in around him, Sesshoumaru waited in the crammed elevator. Pressed into the corner, the metal handrail dug into his back and hip. He ignored the discomfort, preferring it over being at the center and completely surrounded by people. Their strong, starchy scents curdled in his nose, the fabricated odors of their industry. It clung to his clothes and skin where they brushed up against him. But the more he endured, the less he noticed as his senses slowly acclimated to them.

The elevator slowed before hiccupping to a stop. With a cheery ding, the doors opened. A few people piled out, and he squeezed through the rest as he escaped from the claustrophobic cube. Next time, he would take the stairs.

As written on the sign hanging from the ceiling, the men's department spanned out around him. On hidden speakers, a benign, classical tune played as he walked down one of the gridded walkways. On either side of him, he passed by closely spaced racks of clothes. And at every corner, blank-faced statues posed, confidently dressed in the clothes featured behind them.

At a loss, he wandered between the racks. Every so often, he glanced up to watch the shoppers around him. While they perused, he tried to deduce what was best to buy. The men were always quick, snatching up what they wanted and promptly paying for it, while the women sauntered between the racks, comparing colors and styles with a critical eye. Neither proved to be much help.

"Can I help you, sir," a bubbly voice asked behind him.

Turning around, Sesshoumaru stared blankly at the smartly dressed man in black slacks and a button-down shirt.

"I'll take that as a yes," the associate said when an answer didn't seem to be forthcoming. "Do you know what size you are?"

Recalling the codes written on the hangers, Sesshoumaru replied, "I don't know what number or letter I am. I've not bought clothing before."

"Ah," he said at the revelation, "I must say, it shows. Well, aside from the aimless wandering." He pointed to his pants. "Those awful pants are a huge clue. They're all baggy in the butt and they barely reach your ankles. I mean, the whole look screams old, stuffy schoolteacher from the nineties."

Sesshoumaru looked down at his clothes, mystified by his descriptions.

"Who dresses you?" the associate asked.

"A woman?"

He shook his head in disappointment and clucked. "Don't worry. I'm here now and I'll save you from anymore fashion disasters." He reached up and squeezed his shoulder for reassurance. "Oh my, "he gasped. "Do you work out?"

"Work out?"

"Never mind," he said, his hand drifting down to Sesshoumaru's forearm as he gave it a gentle tug. "Let's get you to the dressing room, and I'll take your… measurements."

The associate guided him towards the far wall. Near the back, were a series of fresh racks that were being prepped for display.

Sesshoumaru stopped abruptly.

"Did something catch your eye, sir," the associate asked in bewilderment.

Spotting a rack of coats still early for the season, Sesshoumaru began to tow him towards it.

"Winter is still a ways off," he insisted. "We need to worry about what you're wearing now."

Ignoring him, he picked out a long coat. Blazingly white under the glow of the fluorescent lights, it was made from a thick, khaki material. A stylized design of red flowers tipped the cuffs and rose up from the hem at the bottom.

"You have flashy tastes," the associate said approvingly. "I like it."

Sesshoumaru nodded and held the coat up.

"Why don't you try it on?"

Sesshoumaru put his arms through sleeves and shrugged it on.

The associate took a few steps back, his finger at his lips as he looked him over. Then he grinned. "It's perfect. As if it was made just for you." He pointed towards one of the pillars. "There's a mirror over there. Go see for yourself."

Sesshoumaru's eyes widened when he found it. In the reflection, he saw a glimpse of the old warrior he used to be. Confidence surged in his chest, emboldening him. He thought about the finished piece of wood back at his workshop. There wasn't any doubt anymore. He knew for certain that this is what he wanted.

"What do you have in the way of white pants?" he asked the associate without looking.

The associate thought, then nodded eagerly and sang, "I know just the thing. Come this way!"