Suddenly, fashion held as much interest for Keitaro as mail delivery. He dropped the package at Motoko's doorstep, and went downstairs and out into the night air. The humidity felt even worse at night, and he felt short of breath as he walked around the inn, down a path lit by patio lanterns. He followed the lights down to a stone staircase. Just beyond a grove of guava trees, he could hear the roar of crashing waves, and followed the sound down the steps until his feet touched sand. The lanterns ended at the foot of the stairs and it was dark on the beach; but he could make out the outline of a log and he stepped gingerly over the cooling sand to sit on it as he watched the ocean waves roll in, emptying his mind of all things to do with Tokyo U, Naru, and Motoko.

He didn't realise that he'd fallen asleep until he felt something cold against his arm, and jumped. He turned to see Sophia looking up at him with a wagging tail.

"Easy now," he said, backing up.

Noburo chuckled from his perch on the other side of the log. "She's not gonna bite you. Don't think she remembers how anymore, do you, you big teddy bear, you?" he asked, stubbing out a cigarette into a personal ashtray.

Rubbing at his eyes, Keitaro asked what time it was. Noburo told him it was after 10:00. Three hours! He must have been more tired than he had realised.

"You missed the fashion show," Noburo said, helping him to his feet. "That Naru girl didn't want to start without you, but after a while they just gave up and sent me looking for you. Have to admit I was beginning to worry until I thought to check out the beach."

Keitaro said nothing, but followed Noburo back up the stairs and to the inn. The upstairs lights were dark, save for the hallway. Keitaro didn't know whether to feel glad he wouldn't have to deal with anymore questions that night or slighted that none of them had stayed up for him. In the end, he just thanked Noburo and headed upstairs to fall onto his futon and was immediately asleep.

The days passed slowly, but serenely at the Otohime Inn. Naru might have resented Keitaro for not making the fashion show, but the vast grounds provided ample distraction; and, resentment or no, they saw little of each other, except at night. Motoko, naturally, would be the first to awake. From an early age, she would either awake with the sun or the housemaids would pour water upon her head; so, even far from the cares of Hinata and Kyoto, Motoko's body did what came naturally. She would disappear down to the beach and run for miles before returning for at precisely ten minutes before breakfast at 7:30. After a soak in the backyard hot spring, she would join the others at the breakfast table. Not even vacation could dissuade Motoko from her routine.

Keitaro wanted, very much, to talk more with Naru, but she had developed a habit of disappearing with Mutsumi right after breakfast. Together, they would pack a lunch and a thermos of tea, and set off in search of the shrines and Ryukyu ruins that had populated Mutsumi's childhood. The journeys were almost always uphill and over rocky, uneven paths; but Naru welcomed the distraction of the terrain, which kept her out of her head – a much more dangerous neighbourhood at this moment. Anyway, the exertion always proved worth it, when, puffing and panting, they would clear the last hillcrest and emerge from the trees looking out on some magnificent sea cliff, and then spend hours sitting and chatting as they looked out and watched ships sail by, and marvelled at the competing blues of sky and sea. Sometimes, happening upon an out of the way shine, they would meet Motoko, sweeping the dust from the steps and offering prayers. Sometimes, she would be gone before they could say anything, and, other times, they would say hello and sit down to share their prayers and their lunch.

Mutsumi – making up for her lack of street smarts with wisdom that could have only come from growing up among so antediluvian an atmosphere – had an uncanny knack for picking her battles. Trouble hung over the heads of all her guests, that was plain; but Keitaro's was, obviously, a broken heart – a malady for which there was no cure but time. Besides, he seemed determined to hide it behind his polite smiles and speak-only-when-spoken-to conversation at breakfast as he went off on his own journey, like so many others before him, to cleanse himself of his demons in private and amongst nature. Naru, on the other hand, wanted to talk. She required only an opening to begin hinting at what was troubling her. They had not come to it, yet; but Mutsumi was patient. Motoko did not want to talk. If anyone pried further in than the strictest interpretation of propriety would allow, then she could not even be bothered with Keitaro's polite smile as she excused herself from the conversation, and disappeared into the jungle for hours. Mutsumi could only shrug. If Motoko wanted to fight alone, nothing anyone that could do would convince her otherwise. So, she chose her battle and determined to be the best support for Naru that she could.

She was wrong about Keitaro, however. Far from disappearing into the jungle, he was spending his days with Noburo. It had begun a day after their arrival. He had found himself wandering the beach with nothing to do when all of a sudden he heard a bark from behind him, and Sophia ran past him to stand in front of him, her eyes bright and her tongue hanging out.

"Hello," Keitaro said, leaning away on instinct.

Sophia gave a joyful bark, hopping from paw to paw. She bowed forward before springing up to race down the beach. She turned to bark and bow again before taking off across the sand. Keitaro rolled his eyes, but followed after. Sophia clearly had the advantage of him, but every time he started to lag behind, she would turn and wait for him, wagging her tail in expectation before taking off again. Suddenly, she came to a stop and sat next to an old dock with a small white motorboat with red trim. Next to the dock house, Noburo was leaning on a crate, puffing on a cigarette. Noburo looked over at Keitaro as he knelt down to pat his dog.

"Caught me," he said. "Natsumi doesn't like me smoking near the inn, so I sneak them out here." He dropped the cigarette and crushed it into the sand. "What brings you here?" When Keitaro shrugged, he said, "Not much work to be done to day. Help me load the boat, will you?"

Before Keitaro even thought to protest, Noburo had thrust a tackle box into his hands and led him along the dock. When he had dropped the box in the boat, Noburo turned to him.

"There's a second rod in the shed there. Grab it, if you're coming along."

Keitaro had never been fishing in his life, but whether out of boredom, or something deeper, he obeyed; and they set off in the boat, leaving Sophia to curl up and fall asleep in the dock house until they returned, sharing hours of the long, therapeutic silence that has existed between men since time immemorial. Sunburned, but happy, they trudged up the steps to the inn bearing their catch of two yellow fins, both caught by Noburo. Natsumi met them at the back door, thanked them for the fish, smiled at Keitaro, caught Noburo by the ear, and dragged him to the shed for a little chat about neglecting his chores. The next day, they did the chores first before heading out in the boat.

Thus occupied, everyone found what they needed for the moment: distraction and space from the reminders of their troubles, which was, unfortunately, each other. Things continued in this way until Motoko did something she never did, and deviated from routine.

It was lunch time, and Motoko had just returned from a hike to the Shrine of Watatsumi, god of the sea, where she had prayed for a gentle journey home – whenever they made that journey. None of them had discussed it these last three days, and Mutsumi's family had not pushed the subject. Apparently, Keitaro was being helpful enough around the house to lend them some credit.

She wiped the sweat from her brow and adjusted the tank top that Mutsumi had loaned her. Despite being…generous in the chest, it fit her quite well. She felt quite self-conscious about the amount of skin she was showing, but the heat, every bit as unforgiving as Natsumi had foretold, made her yield to necessity. She removed her sandals and placed them in the cupboard provided before heading for the kitchen.

Natsumi was bent over a pot. Without looking up, she said, "Ah Motoko, you're here. Can you do me a favour?"

Setting aside her discomfort at Natsumi's ability to sense her presence, Motoko asked what it was.

Natsumi looked up and gave her a rueful smile. "I've just realised I'm missing a few things for dinner, and that good for nothing husband of mine had taken that boy of yours fishing again. Do you think you could run down into town and buy a few things for me?"

Ojima was a small fishing community, almost as idyllic as the inn itself. The journey took about half an hour on foot, but Motoko was grateful for the walk. The absence of human noise filled her with a sense of calm as she took in the rustling of the guava trees and the songs of the birds. Following Natsumi's directions, she avoided the beach, crowded by fishermen, and took a side street into the town centre. The main street of town was a row of single storey shops, a far cry from the bustle of Tokyo. Outside the grocery store, a pair of old men in tank tops and shorts played Shogi. Their skin was dark and leathery from a lifetime in the sun, but their smiles were kind enough for Motoko to break her stride and greet them as she passed by and into the store. She purchased her goods from a happy looking old couple who asked where she was staying.

"Someone with a complexion as lovely as yours isn't often seen here," the old woman said by way of explanation. Motoko smiled despite herself and told them where she was staying. The old woman brightened. "Well, you must come again, then. Tell Natsumi that Chihiro says 'Hello'."

Outside, the heat hit Motoko full force and she decided to take shelter in a nearby café. She ordered a watermelon juice and sat by the oscillating fan until the heat carried her off into a gentle sleep. She awoke to a bang as a group of boys stomped into the café. They were all wearing uniforms – students of the local high school, Motoko assumed.

"Come on, Banri," one said as they sat down. "Let's see it."

"You've already seen it," the one called Banri replied.

"But, come on, man!" cried another. "We want to hear the story."

Banri sighed, but did nothing as the other three boys kept needling him. Motoko tried not to listen, but the room was too small and their voices too loud to prevent hearing. Eventually, she gave.

"All right," Banri said, and rolled up his sleeve. Running up the length of his bicep was a long stretch of bandage. Wincing he peeled back some of the tape to reveal some of the stitches. Motoko winced and looked away, but the boys, to her disgust, groaned in juvenile approval.

"Tell us the story."

"You've heard it."

"Again! Again!"

"All right, fine."

The trio settled around the object of their affection as he prepared to tell the tale Despite herself, Motoko leaned forward.

"I was in Naha, picking up some supplies for the kendo team for next semester. I don't know what happened, but somehow I made a wrong turn. Anyway, I was on this street I didn't recognise – bars and rundown hotels lining the street – when suddenly I saw this girl being bothered by these guys in Hawaiian shirts. She was trying to get away, but they kept grabbing her by the arm and pulling her back into the crowd. Anyway, I decided to step in with my bokken, and I shouted, 'What the hell are you doing to her?' The other guys turned, looking shocked. Bokken must have caught their attention because one of them pointed to the tattoo on his arm and asked if I knew what it meant."

"Yakuza, right?" one of the boys asked.

"Yep."

The trio hooted. "Man, only Banri would be crazy enough to mess around with the Yakuza!"

"So, I charged and swung my bokken hard on that tattoo of his. He dropped like a stone and his friends sprang back."

"How many were there?"

"Six."

"Didn't you say three last time?"

"Nah, man, he said six. You just weren't paying attention."

"There were six. The first one came at me with a flying kick, but I nailed him in the ribs before his foot got close. Then I spun round and caught one in the shoulder. The next two came at me together, but I stabbed the first in the stomach and caught the other with the pommel of the sword. Then one grabbed me by the shoulders and the last two-"

"I thought you said there were six."

"Yeah, so?"

"But four were already down. Where'd the last guy come from?"

"Nah, man. One of the thugs must have gotten back up and grabbed me. Anyway, he had me in a good arm lock, but I kept hold of my sword and I leapt up to kick the other two back as they came at me. Then I managed to slip out of the last guy's grasp. That's when he drew the knife. We lunged together and I caught him with the forte of my sword just as he slashed me. And that's when I got this. Didn't even hurt."

The boys cheered. That was enough for the café owner, who told them to buy something or to get out. Banri waved goodbye to his friends and went to the counter to buy a drink. He sat down with a sigh and pulled a book out of his bag. Motoko squinted to read the cover: Yukio Mishima's The Sound of Waves. For the first time, she took a good look at the storyteller as he began to read. His jet black hair was cropped short crowning a face with more intelligence than his tale suggested. His blue eyes scanned the pages quickly as his lips quirked upward in a small smile. His body was contained by a wiry musculature that presented rather than boasted itself. His hands were elegant and his legs long. He was, in short, the most beautiful boy Motoko had ever seen; but the moment the thought occurred to her, she beat it back and stared back down at her watermelon juice. She took a sip and grimaced. The ice had melted. Against her will, she looked up at him again and watched him until he finished his drink and got up to put his book in his bag.

As he walked out, the book fell out of its pouch and hit the floor. Motoko got to her feet and knelt down just as he did. They looked up at each other. He smiled. She looked away.

"Thanks," he said, getting up and stowing the book again.

She got to her feet and nodded. As he turned, she asked, "Was any of that story true?"

He shook his head. "You heard that, huh? Nah, it just impresses them. Much more than the truth, anyway."

"You have to lie to impress them?"

He shrugged. "Don't we all have to impress people?"

She frowned. "Deceit is not the mark of a warrior."

He held up his hands in defense. "They made it up themselves the first time, before I could even get my own in. I just repeated their words back to them."

Unconvinced, she said, "So what actually happened?"

He regarded her. "I don't know if I should say. I don't even know your name."

She sniffed, and turned to leave.

"Hold on, hold on." She turned back to see his ingratiating smile. "You're quite tough-minded, aren't you?" He bowed. "I'm Banri, and you?"

She bowed. "My name is Mo-" She stopped short and came upright. "Mo. My name is Mo."

"Nice to meet you," he said, and left her standing there.

Why did I shorten my name? she wondered on the way back. When she returned to the inn, Natsumi was running around the kitchen.

"Where have you been? It's nearly 5:00."

Motoko blinked, and apologised. Had she really been asleep that long?

The next day (purely by coincidence, of course) Motoko found herself in the same café, reading a copy of the same book. She had found it among Natsumi's books and asked to borrow it. At 3:00, Banri walked in, clutching his book bag. He ordered a drink and sat down at an opposite table. For an hour she pretended to read until he got up from his table and walked over.

"Hey," he said. "Mo, right?"

She nodded.

"May I sit down?"

A year ago, Motoko would never have permitted it, but Keitaro's continual presence in her life – at least she assumed this to be the cause – had softened her. She nodded, and he sat down.

"You like Mishima, too?" he asked, tapping the book.

Lying was not Motoko's strong suit, so she avoided it. "I saw you reading it. I thought it might be interesting. How is your arm?"

"Oh." He looked at it as if he had forgotten it was there. "Healing all right. Can't do kendo, but I've got other ways to use up the energy."

"So that part of the story was true, at least?"

"Yes." He paused, and then said, "You're not from here."

"Is it so obvious?"

"Don't get to many people of your dialect down here. You here on vacation?"

Motoko thought about that. As near as she could tell, she was watching her friends run away. Could that be a vacation? "Something like that. I'm here with my friends."

"Have you seen much of the town?"

"No."

"Would you like me to show it to you?"

Motoko felt prickles travel across her skin. Her mouth went dry as she felt herself nod. Someone had taken control of her. It couldn't be her who was standing up with him and walking out the door and down the street.

They walked along the beach together, neither saying much. When he wasn't bragging, Banri seemed to choose his words carefully. He pointed out various buildings and explained their significance. In a small town caught between fishing and tourism, most of them were pretty banal; but she listened anyway, keeping a respectful distance from him, despite any innocent attempts of his to close the gap. If he thought anything about this, he didn't say so. In fact he made no observations about her until he said something that surprised her.

"Do you know what I like about you? I don't have to bend down to look you in the eye."

Motoko bit her lip. She had always been self-conscious about her height.

"It's getting late," he said. "I'd better get home."

Home. Where is home? Motoko wondered.

"Can I see you tomorrow?" he asked.

"At the café?"

"Sure."

"All right."

When she returned to the inn, she met Keitaro at the door. They gave each other a wary look, but absence had calmed the waters somewhat.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I am well, Urashima. You are looking quite red."

"Oh." Keitaro rubbed at his scarlet neck. "Yeah. Noburo took me out fishing again."

"Did you catch anything?"

His expression turned excited. "Yes, actually. I managed to land my first fish today. A Mahi Mahi. Real nice. Natsumi said we could have it for dinner tonight. Right before she slapped Noburo across the back of the head for forgetting to mow the grass again."

Motoko permitted a smile, and made to pass him.

"You were right," he said as she passed. "I shouldn't be interfering with your family affairs."

She turned and bowed her head. "Thank you, Urashima."

"Did you like your gift?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, and made her way inside, unwilling to tell him that the package he'd left her from her mother was still sitting unopened with the rest of her luggage.