As always, I am eternally grateful for your continued patience with my slow update times!


CHAPTER SEVEN

男女

Nanjō

I had promised Nagihiko the rest of my explanation, but I did not count on the repercussions of staying up all night. The next morning gained on me like an approaching train: a thousand pounds of steel and dread, approaching my face at unthinkable speed.

My eyes flew open to too-bright light. Immediately, I fought the temptation tooth and nail to let my eyelids fall blissfully shut again. It felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds, and everything outside my body was cold. Very cold. Why was it so cold?

This was the time at which I usually woke up; there was no reason for me to be dragging my feet like this… or eyelids, I should say. Except that there was, because… I rubbed my eyes blearily. Because we had helped Utau sneak out, and then punished for it, and then Nadeshiko had me up all hours of the night explaining corporate law to her— that saucy minx. This was all her fault.

I sat up on an elbow, and immediately winced with pain. The scabs on my back stretched menacingly over my skin. I spent several agonising minutes attempting to find a comfortable position to no avail.

I gave up, falling back onto my stomach with a soft fwump. On my far right, Nagihiko's dark head struggled to break the surface of his bedcovers, like a cormorant drowning in the ocean. Beautiful. My eyelids drooped shut.

I couldn't stay focused through sleepiness and a more subconscious feeling of dissatisfaction. There was something remarkably odd about today's morning; something felt different. I had never woken up at the same time as Nagihiko before; he was always gone in the mornings. It felt rather intimate to be waking up together—wait.

Nagihiko was still here.

Nagihiko was not supposed to still be here.

The covers rustled. Nagihiko sat up, squinting into the sunlight and looking all the world like an old-timey woodblock. I was interested to note that his hair was still stick-straight and looked freshly combed, even though he had been burrowing in his bed like a rabbit. How did it do that?

"Hello," he said groggily, as if speaking through a mist. "What a disgusting morning."

I had a moment of silence for this solemn proclamation, before remembering my sense of urgency.

"Nagihiko," I mumbled, "You have dancing."

Being not much for enunciating at the crack of bloody dawn, it came out sounding like "Naghlkl… youha danding?" I did not bother to correct myself, being too tired, and busy debating the merit of faking tuberculosis for two more hours of sleep.

Nagihiko did not seem particularly bothered by this.

"Oh, yes," he said vaguely. His eyes were closed but his back was straight, like he was having a tea ceremony in bed. "Yes. Yes."

"Stop."

"Yes."

"Stop it."

"Yes."

"Your mother." I said, sharply. Nagihiko's eyes opened a crack. I could see a strip of ivory white under his dark lashes.

"Dancing. You have lessons before class. What time is it?"

"Hmmm." Nagihiko rolled over, thoughtfully, so that he was facing away from me. Rude. "I don't know."

"Then check."

Silence. He had fallen back asleep.

As always, men were completely useless. With difficulty, I wiggled into an upright position, wincing all the while, and grabbed my dressing gown from the hook by my bed. Wool wrapped tightly around me, I walked with tottering, uneven steps towards the clock on Nagihiko's nightstand to inspect the time.

Immediately, I knew I had made a mistake. Instead of a time-telling device, I was greeted by a brass face lined with two rows of numbers and zodiac symbols, rotating lazily inside a glass case. The two revolving pistons at the top made an unconvincing tick-tick-tick noise, which seemed all the world like a dog doing a poor imitation of a cat's meow.

Like everything else in the blasted Fujisaki arsenal, it dated from roughly five hundred years ago, and was thus incomprehensible to my modernized mind. I could no more read it than I could decipher German.

I looked down on Nagihiko's sleeping face with disapproval. His mouth was open. Repulsive.

"Nagihiko," I hissed, "Your clock's all funny."

I pressed up on the underside of his chin, trying to close his mouth, but it kept falling open again. I could practically see his tonsils. Was that normal?

"Five more minutes," yawned Nagihiko. His mouth stretched open. Disgusting.

"No, not five more minutes," I growled back, absolutely outraged at this blatant impudence. "Now. What has gotten into you?"

"Sleep deprivation."

Thoroughly fed up, I hunched my woollen shoulders around myself like an affronted sheep. "I told you that you'd be tired yesterday, but you didn't listen to me because you are stupid. Get up this instant, and decipher this worthless timekeeping device for me."

Nagihiko finally closed his mouth, but his eyes refused to open. Instead, he shifted to lying on his side, rubbing his cheek. "Tell me where the arrow is pointing."

Temporarily quelled, I glanced at the clock again. It took me several minutes to work this out; the arrow was tiny.

"At the character for 'dragon'," I finally said. "Are you telling me that it's dragon o'clock?"

"Yes." Nagihiko was now rubbing his entire face with both hands, like a rat grooming itself. "If you look at the inside circle, they have the Western time symbols—"

"This is ridiculous!" I squinted at the face, realized that wasn't dignified, and straightened up. "Six."

"Definitely not six o'clock," said Nagihiko sleepily, narrowing his eyes at the window over my bed. "The sun's too high for that…"

In the time it took to steep a cup of tea, his face drifted from placid indifference, to one of surprised realization, to horror. I took voracious pleasure from watching his concept of time sink in. Eyes flying open, he scrambled for the clock with both hands and turned it to face him. Evidently, he could read dragons better than I could.

"Rima— how long have I been sleeping?"

Having already told him eighty billion times that he had missed dancing lessons, I instead folded my arms coolly and stared. He could work it out for himself.

"Has class started?" he added quickly, throwing the covers back.

I shook my head, deliberately. He relaxed, only slightly.

"It can't be helped," I commented, turning so that my mat of curls narrowly missed slapping his face. I took down my uniform from where it hung in the wardrobe. It wasn't me missing dancing lessons, after all. "Will sensei even care? She kept you up late."

Up late, punishing us for no reason, I implied silently.

"She will." Nagihiko grimaced, wrenching his yukata off and lunging for his uniform shirt. I made a startled squawk and tottered back, like a ruffled flamingo.

"Excuse me?!" I spluttered, holding my collar's scarf up over my eyes. "What happened to the modesty rule?"

"The modesty rule?" Nagihiko fluttered in his worst Nadeshiko voice, cadence diving up and down the scales. He yanked his shirt over his head in record time. "Is that the rule where I remind you that my eyes are up here?"

Nagihiko raised his eyebrows, and looked down at himself pointedly. I realized I was staring directly at his chest over the top of my scarf, eyes slightly glazed over.

"No. No," I snapped, averting my eyes and flouncing behind the screen set up in the corner. "It's the one where you don't ruin my marriage prospects!"

"Mashiro-san, treasured colleague, light of my life, blooming rose of the business market, I hate to be the one to tell you this—"

"Perhaps you ought to first ask yourself if you should say anything at all?" I asked gently from behind the screen.

"—But your marriage prospects have been ruined ever since that time you swatted that poor boy's arm away and went... what was it? Please don't pilfer my sleeve with your peasant hands, it's an inconvenience."

Was this another scare tactic? Why was she bringing this up? Who... who even was that?

"That must have been years ago." I took a moment to compose myself behind the screen. "I don't remember it at all. Perhaps you are making it up."

I reappeared from behind the screen to tie my scarf in the mirror. Nadeshiko leaned over my shoulder, straightening hers.

"You wouldn't have, I suppose," she said sagely, pulling her hair on top of her head. "But I did. Kirishima-san… was that his name? He was besotted with you."

She smiled, smugly, having successfully pulled one over on me. I gave her a taken-aback look.

"Do you really not remember?" Nadeshiko said, surprised. "Hmm... well, you do have a reputation that precedes you for attracting men and repelling girls."

She let the proclamation hang tantalizingly in the air, before taking her leave.

I stewed. For attracting men and repelling girls? Who did she think she was? I trotted after her briskly, hair ribbon still clutched in my hands.

"Did Yamabuki-san tell you that? Because she couldn't get a man to look at her if she was covered head to toe in Kobe beef and oiran paint, it's fairly clear that she's just sinking to desperate measures—"

"No, she didn't," Nadeshiko laughed. "Which one does that make me, then?"

My walking rhythm broke, and I had to stop and start again. "I don't follow."

Nadeshiko pointed at her own face, smiling beatifically. "Which am I, Rima-chan? You always bully me like I'm a girl, don't you? But I'm actually a boy, aren't I? So, which one do you think I am?"

Was this some sort of fairy tale riddle I had to answer before I could cross a bridge? I made a face.

"I refuse to dignify this with a response," I said evasively, squinting out onto the sunny lawn. I couldn't tell what answer Nadeshiko had expected— her expression had returned to her default masklike smile.

Falling quiet, I watched a bird nest in one of the trees. "That reminds me…"

Nadeshiko blinked at me, holding the door to the dining hall open. "Hm?"

"The letter Hoshina-san got a few days ago," I murmured, more to myself. "It had a crest on it, like yours."

Family crests, more roundels than anything, functioned as identifiers for prominent families and business companies and dated back to the age of the samurai. I, falling into neither category, did not have one. The only reason I remembered was because they had been the only spots of white on Nagihiko's dark clothes last night. Three white circles, bobbing in front of me, trailing wisteria on every one.

"Mine?" Nadeshiko pointed to herself, giving me a puzzled look. Then her eyes suddenly widened with understanding. "Ah— on my haori, you mean!"

I nodded.

"Oh, yes. That's the Fujisaki clan seal. Falling wisteria." Nadeshiko mimed two dangling wisteria branches with her arms, and then dropped them, crestfallen. "It doesn't look as good without the props.

"But the Hoshinas wouldn't have one… why would it be on an envelope?" With a bite of snobbery— "Only old merchant and samurai families have crests, Rima-chan."

"You can be such a prig. This is the twentieth century, you know," I sneered back. "Companies have crests too, that's what I'm talking about— it's an identifier, on stamps and such— I was thinking about what Utau-san was saying last night, and—" It all came out in a jumble. I tripped over my words.

"Slowly, slowly. Take your time."

Nadeshiko pulled me through the doors, crouching down so that she was on my level. Like a condescending uncle, she put her hands on my shoulders in what she probably thought was a comforting motion. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hīragi and her glasses roommate jostle through the dining hall doors, giving us curious looks.

I took a deep breath, eyeing her hands mistrustfully. "Zaibatsu have family crests, too. There was one on the envelope Utau got... the sideways crescent moon with a dot in the centre. It's almost certainly the business's crest, is it not? And at first I wondered why they would be mailing Utau-san, until last night…. she said…"

"'They're still trying to force me to sell my shares back to the company,'" Nadeshiko finished for me, encouragingly.

"Yes," I furrowed my brow, concerned. Sleep deprivation was muddling my cognitive ability. "Utau and Ikuto-san collectively own so much of the company because of stock they inherited… so… I suppose that's troublesome for Miss Hoshina's new husband."

"How so?"

"Well," I said, very quietly. "If Hoshina Souko-san doesn't have another child, Utau's brother will be default heir to the company. And even if he isn't… she said they owned over fifty percent of the company collectively."

"So together, they're essentially co-directors?"

"Yes," I said, shrewdly. "No wonder the director wants to make them sell their stock back. They've got a great deal of power in their hands"

"… Crikey," Nadeshiko breathed.

"Oh, hello."

Utau was standing there: hip cocked, eyebrow raised, as perfect and impressive-looking as ever. We both jumped apart and straightened up. Nadeshiko snatched her hands from my shoulders like she had been caught touching precious china.

Had Utau heard us? From the look on her face, she most certainly had. I remembered what had happened to the last girl who was caught talking about Utau's mother— verbally lashed to tears was the phrase I used, I believe.

"You two are friendly, for a pair that used to snap at each other like feuding chickens," she observed with suspicion. Not exactly my preferred simile.

"Good morning, Hoshina-san." Nadeshiko raised an eyebrow and looked over her shoulder, as if she was expecting to see a fantabulous rooster tail trailing behind her. "Perhaps you're right, but even two feuding roosters will cooperate when they're staring into the eyes of a cat."

"I'm not a chicken," I said.

"How very poetic," Utau replied, acridly. "Both of you, sit down."

She sounded so uncannily like Sanjō-san that we both immediately dropped onto the closest bench.

Utau walked around the table like a formidable general surveying her troops, taking a seat opposite us rather gingerly. I remembered, all of a sudden, that she was probably more sore than I was— and that aside, she didn't have a roommate with an illicit medicinal drug supply. I exchanged a worried look with Nadeshiko, who seemed to be temporarily absorbed in her own lap.

"Well, then," Utau said abruptly. "Let's make this quick before Amu and Yuiki come down for breakfast. I want to make this absolutely clear: what happened last night was none of your business."

It was almost funny how much I had anticipated this. Nadeshiko looked very intimidated, but I felt bored, at best. I had a suspicion that Utau's bark was worse than her bite.

"It's a bit late for that, don't you think?" I replied disinterestedly. "My back's already bleeding."

"Rima–" Nadeshiko began placatingly. Utau's eyes flashed.

"You came out of your own volition, knew what you were signing up for. I didn't ask you to do so, nor did I ask you to get wrapped up in this."

"Yes, well, here's the kicker, see?" I pulled a bowl of rice towards myself, drawling. Nadeshiko looked scandalized, as if talking and eating at the same time was a greater concern than confronting Hoshina Utau. "It's our business because you made it Amu's business."

"She's… not wrong, Hoshina-san," Nadeshiko murmured back into her skirt in her most feminine voice, trying her very best to have a backbone. "Of all people to bring into this…"

"Amu—" she began, furiously.

"—Is the only person you see as a friend, which is why you asked her," I cut her off, vehemently. I felt a pang of unwilling sympathy, although I kept it from my voice. "I understand better than you give me credit for, Hoshina-san. It is seldom easy to trust others when you've had to keep secrets. Do you fancy the two of us so terribly different?"

A muscle twitched in Utau's jaw. Nadeshiko twisted around to stare at me incredulously. I tucked a thick curl behind my ear, self-consciously.

"… It is not pleasant nor easy," I added, slowly, "To swallow your pride and place your confidence in people. One isn't always rewarded with a favourable outcome. But as you can see, I've learnt to tolerate Fujisaki-san, and the world hasn't yet ended."

"Goodness gracious," Nadeshiko said, visibly touched. "From Rima-chan, that's like I love you."

"Ho ho," I said in a bored voice. "Don't get a swelled head, or you won't be able to jam your hat on. Look—if you wish, Utau-san, I'll never bring it up to your face again. But you can't stop me from understanding, for Heaven's sakes."

"How could you possibly?" she replied, through gritted teeth. "You have no idea what it's been like for me and Ikuto."

"Of course I don't, don't be presumptuous," I said dismissively, waving a hand carelessly. "But I can use my bloody imagination, can't I? I don't like Hoshina group's Director Ichinomiya any more than you do."

Evidently, this was a more gravitational pronouncement than I had reckoned. The man was a storybook villain, but Nadeshiko was giving me a confused, sympathetic look as if I had proclaimed my distaste for something completely incidental and irrelevant, like a head of cabbage.

"Is that…?" Nadeshiko began tentatively, looking from me to Utau. Utau was the one that answered, narrowing her eyes at me mistrustfully. "My mother's second husband, yes. Why would you have a reason to hate him, of all people?"

"Nobody at this school pays attention to those outside the top tax bracket, do they?" I commented, offhandedly. This was the second person in twenty-four hours who I was trusting with secretive company business. I had clearly gone insane from lack of sleep, but a lady must practice what she preaches.

"My family exports silk," I added, robotically. At this point it was a mantra. "We're not even your competitors, mind, but your new leadership's been causing my own family trouble for months now. Do you think they appreciate accusations of Western fraternization being thrown left and right by the Hoshina Group?"

"What?!" Nadeshiko spluttered, whirling around to stare at me. "Western frate– Rima-chan– you didn't tell me that!"

"You didn't ask, and you'll hear no more of it," I said sulkily. I was regretting this already. "What I'm trying to say is that it is in my own best interests to keep my mouth shut about this mess. None of us told sensei, did we?"

Nadeshiko waved her hand across her face in a delicate no. Utau shook her head.

"Good." Throat dry, I said in a whisper, "Nadeshiko, teapot."

Nagihiko, the eternal doormat, picked up the teapot and poured me tea. Taking a dainty sip, I fixed Utau with a stare over the rim.

"The Hoshina Group, as of late, is threatened by the smaller businesses that operate outside the realm of the all-powerful zaibatsu. Frankly, I'm thoroughly bored of it. I'm on your side."

"As much as I'm loathe to say it," Nadeshiko said, sliding another cup of tea across the table towards Utau, "So am I. The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

"You must not have that many friends," I said, unable to help myself.

Nadeshiko folded her hands under her own chin, smiling beatifically. "I serve only the emperor, Rima-chan. I scorn mercantile companies and governments that muddy his divine authority."

"Fujisaki, you're even more of a freak than I thought." Utau put down her cup, sardonically. She paused, and then muttered.

"… Thank you."

Nadeshiko smiled mysteriously. I turned my head and crammed more rice in my mouth.

Amu and Yaya finally appeared in the dining hall not long after, near the end of breakfast. Amu's face was worried, drawn; the minute she saw us, it broke forth with relief.

"Nadeshiko! You're never here for breakfast, is everything okay– y-you and Rima, I was so worried!" Amu wrung her hands like a distressed raccoon, working herself into a frenzy. "Sanjō-sensei just told me to go back to my room last night and refused to tell me anything! I had no idea what happened, and—well—what… happened?"

For the briefest moments, I made eye contact with Nagihiko; he bit his lip, guiltily.

"Just a few slaps on the wrist," I said, taking another sip of tea. "I got lucky. Sanjō yelled a lot, though."

Amu wailed and threw her arms around us. Yaya, not to be excluded from an opportunity to be noisy, wrapped the side of Utau's head in a tight hug. I was very grateful when Kichigai-sensei flew off the handle at them, shrieking like a deranged vulture and forcing them to relinquish their grip.

In Amu's hand, I saw a bunch of letters were grasped; I looked at her enquiringly.

"Oho," said Nadeshiko, coyly, seeing it too. "Has someone been flirting with the post-boy?"

"D-don't be ridiculous!" Amu stammered, face going red. "Just because he's sort of cool… I-I mean, I figured since I was the late one, I might as well bring the post, instead of, well–"

She looked at Utau, nervously. Utau stared back, impassive.

"I figured it was better for me to give this to you, rather than Watarai-san, given the, erm, circumstances," Amu mumbled. She slid the envelope across the table. The same family crest I had described earlier was clearly visible on the front: a crescent moon enclosing a dot. Nadeshiko looked at me. I gave her an I told you so look.

"Another one?" Utau hissed. "It's only been a week. Dirt is certainly persistent."

"Figures, since money and power's on the line. Old men are simple-minded," I said, conversationally. Amu placed a letter next to my bowl. "Hm?"

"Tokyo's on the return address." Amu pointed to it. "Is it your mother?"

I picked it up with two dainty fingers, scanning the address briefly. A familiar Chūō-dori Ginza address stared back at me like a friendly face through a window, and my heart leapt. Nadeshiko leaned to read over my shoulder, the faint scent of camellias wafting over me.

"Bother," I muttered, turning it over. "Surely she couldn't have written back to Fujisaki-sensei's letter this fast, could she?"

"Can't be," said Amu, with her mouth full. She was trying to eat breakfast as fast as she could, because class was in minutes. She chewed, and swallowed. "I mean, even if she sent them express, they'd only be getting there tomorrow."

So this letter had already in the post for a while, I thought. I struggled to open it neatly, and finally settled on tearing it open raggedly with a fingernail.

"Odd– ah!"

More clumsy than usual from lack of sleep, my finger slipped on the edge of the thick paper. The pad of my thumb stung, and I gasped a little. A bloody papercut, of all things! This would be the first thing I complained about in my return letter—Dear Mother, you may be rest assured that your letter arrived safely. The same cannot be said for myself, as your choice in paper proceeded to slice open my precious flesh...

"Rima-chan?!" Nadeshiko jumped like a startled partridge, watching a tiny bead of blood drip onto the envelope. "Are you alright? E-eurgh, you're bleeding all over the place! Let me—"

With my unscathed hand, I was already fishing in my front pocket for my handkerchief. But in my rush to get dressed this morning, I had forgotten to take one; my pockets came up empty.

Nagihiko always had one — or two, or three. I automatically looked to him expectantly. Without missing a beat, he procured one from his breast pocket and yanked my wrist towards himself roughly.

"Oy!" I hissed at him, offended by this manhandling. "I'm a delicate woman, not a fish you're about to boil!"

Nagihiko ignored me in favour of trying to stop the blood with his handkerchief, dark eyes focused away from my hand, at some point over my shoulder. I recalled how he seemed to lose his will to continue hitting me last night when I began to bleed. Was he queasy at the sight of blood?

I privately filed this away, and briefly mourned the alliance that kept me from abusing this newfound weakness.

"I can do it." I took pity on him, tugging my hand from his cooler one. "I'll return your handkerchief, I promise."

Nadeshiko relinquished me far too quickly. "If you say so," she said, nervously.

We both looked up to see Amu, Yaya and Utau all staring at us like we had proclaimed our undying love for each other.

"Class," said Utau, brusquely.


Class turned out to be music, which was great for Utau and terrible for the rest of us. Despite all that had happened, I had to admire Sanjō-sensei's poise; she barely acknowledged us as she walked in, and certainly did not have the face of a woman who had been kept up late.

In fact, the only one who seemed to be paying any kind of bodily toll for sleep fatigue was me, much to my own outrage. On my right, Nadeshiko had impenetrably white, puffy lower eyelids and thick skin that barely showed expression, never mind dark circles. On my left, Utau's skin stretched tight across her cheekbones, giving her a similarly impassive face.

One that looked… remarkably good for someone who had been beaten worse than I was. Leaning forward suspiciously, I saw a barely-iridescent powdery texture visible on her hairline. Was Utau wearing makeup? I cursed her acumen. Had I known that makeup was an acceptable cheating method, I would have used it to my own advantage!

Discreetly edging behind Nadeshiko's wide shoulder, I pulled my folding compact mirror out of my pocket to survey the damage. Wide eyes the colour of milk tea stared back at me; my normally-rosy cheeks were stark and my under-eyes darkly bruised, like a peach's flesh. Ugh. My eyes narrowed.

"Mashiro!" Sanjō cut in sharply, folding her arms. The entire class turned around to stare at me. Enjoying the audience, I stared into the mirror and patted my fringe down fussily.

"When you're quite done preening, would you kindly take your place with the koto section instead of hiding behind Fujisaki's shoulder where you think I can't see you?"

There were a handful of titters. Nadeshiko glanced down at me, amused. I snapped my mirror shut, tucking it back into my pocket and glancing up.

"I can't, sensei," I deadpanned, holding up my thumb wrapped in colourful flowered cotton. "I'm wounded."

"Is this true, Fujisaki-san?" Sanjō said, not bothering to glance up. If she had, she would have realized that the thumb isn't needed for plucking koto strings. Thankfully, Sanjō was too busy trying to avoid eye contact.

"It is," Nadeshiko responded, folding her hands in front of her in a perfect teacher's pet manner. "There was blood everywhere. It was unpleasant."

"You're unpleasant," I added, kindly.

"Both of you are unpleasant," said Sanjō, sounding thoroughly fed up with the banter at this point. "Very well— Fujisaki, take Mashiro's place on koto, Yukina, take Fujisaki's place on shamisen, just for today, and try to play along as best you can. Mashiro, you can stay where you are in the singing section."

The finality in her voice left no room for argument. I wondered what the hell she was thinking; my voice was soft and hoarse, like an owl's. From the moment I stepped into her class, Sanjō had sensed my lack of vocal talents and placed me in the stringed instrument section. I didn't mind playing the koto most days, but I had hoped she would say something like "very well, Mashiro, since you have a papercut on your finger, you can go back to your dormitory room and nap for three hours." Unfortunately, Sanjō was an irredeemable twit. What was this totalitarian state I was living in? This was oppression. I sulked.

Over the sound of my sulking, Sanjō cleared her throat, rustling her music sheets.

"Now, as Mashiro so splendidly indicates with her convenient injury, now is not the time to slack in your musical education. As the older students should already know —"

Oh, sod off, Sanjō!

"—we perform every July at the local tanabata festival in front of a considerable crowd. That's roughly a month and a half from now, so we will begin practicing today. I expect you all to be keeping up and practicing in your off-hours; I hear a great deal of giggling at night, but not nearly enough string-twanging."

Everyone collectively made a guilty face. Misaki twisted around in her seat to stare at me with a huge frown; I stared blankly back, to assert my dominance.

"… At the very least," Sanjō droned, "You should work hard to support your classmates with singing and dancing parts."

At dancing, our heads automatically snapped to Nadeshiko, who was tuning the strings of my koto in her lap with a beatific look. Sanjō rolled her eyes, exasperatedly. "Fujisaki-san is one of them, yes, as you might have guessed."

A few girls threw Nadeshiko glowing looks and murmured congratulations. I gave her a dubious side-eye.

"Whaaaat? The Tanabata dancers been picked already?" Yaya shouted out, anxiously. "Who are the others, sensei? Tell us!"

There was a desperate clamour of voices, and several girls leaned forward eagerly.

"It's me, isn't it? Isn't it, sensei–?"

"It's obviously me!" Yamabuki Sāya crowed over the din, like an incoming ham.

Sanjō slammed her fist down on the ground like a judge's gavel. Everyone fell silent faster than a gunshot.

"Yuiki is one."

Yaya gasped theatrically, lungs heaving like they were full of saltwater. "Hhhhhhhhhhggggkk!"

"The others are Hinamori, Himekawa, Kirimori..." Sanjō pushed her glasses up with a finger, droning on a list of roughly fifteen people. "… And Watanabe. Are we done here? May I move on?"

"E-ehhh?!" Amu's eyes went wide. Not a chance.

One of Amu's other, less cool friends— Manami, maybe— put her hands on Amu's shoulders like a proud mother, boasting. "As expected of Amu-chan! So cool!"

"I never expected–" Amu spluttered, but she was drowned out. The classroom henceforth burst into debate over whether or not Amu was good enough for the part. I acted swiftly.

"Which one's Himekawa-san, again?" I asked whomever could hear, despite not particularly caring for the answer. Just as planned, Watarai Loudmouth Misaki heard me and repeated my question at the volume of a freight train.

"Hey!" she bellowed. "WHO'S HIMEKAWA?"

Yaya answered the classroom's curiosity, eagerly. "Himekawa-senpai's in the other class! I hear her mama's a professional ballerina, so she's really good!"

"I really don't care, Yuiki," said Sanjō dismissively. "Anyway, as I was saying, there will also be a member of the prefectural school board there observing the proceedings. Your best behaviour is recommended."

Sanjō pursed her lips at this, as if she had swallowed a lemon. The classroom continued to buzz.

Why were we being inspected by government stooge at a festival, of all things…? Well, it wasn't any of my concern. Hopefully it would give Fujisaki-sensei something to do, besides ruin my life. I made a face.

"On that note, we'll start with Kimi ga yo. Shamisens up, ladies. On one, two–"

My finger twitched against my leg, silently counting the koto section in. I whispered the entire national anthem, and allowed Utau's belting to drown me out.


At lunchtime, I ate with a bunch of small-time celebrities. Much to my unending annoyance, a constant stream of people kept coming over to congratulate my friends on landing the dancing parts in the festival. But mostly, they just showed up to lick Nadeshiko's boots.

"I mean, it figures, of course," gushed Hīragi's roommate, clasping her hands together like a stringy idiot. "With a father like yours… my family always goes to see Fujisaki Aoi IV's plays when he performs in Ginza. His Oiwa gave me chills."

I almost grinned to myself, remembering that Nagihiko's father hated Tokyo.

"I couldn't sleep for weeks," she added, eyes going maniacally wide. Was that a good thing? "But then, we hardly ever see Nadeshiko-san dance. I'm really excited! I'll give it my undivided attention— um, but I'll still make sure to play my koto, though."

"You'd better," I remarked, giving Marimo the Roommate the grumpy side-eye. She was the best koto player we had, and had a solo portion. If she was too busy drooling over Nadeshiko's delicate feetsies, we'd all go under.

Everyone ignored me.

"You saw Father in Ghost Story of Yotsuya?" Nagihiko's eyes lit up a little, putting his chopsticks down. He smiled bright enough to rival the sun; Marimo blinked dazedly at his face. "When I was a child, I loved watching the scene in Act Two when Oiwa just picks up the sword and stabs it through her own throat, my heart starts beating so fast and I—"

"Alright, Nadeshiko-san," I cut across her smoothly, stepping on Nagihiko's foot, hard. Marimo's face had rapidly gone from dreamy to terrified, and Utau was staring at Nadeshiko like she had committed a murder. "You'll have to beg her pardon, Hakenake-san. Nadeshiko is a little tired today."

"I'm Hatanaka," she said, earnestly. "We play the koto together."

"I know," I said, blankly. She gave me a crestfallen face.

Once Hatoneko was out of earshot, I whirled on Nadeshiko. "What are you doing?"I hissed.

"What do you mean?" Nadeshiko made a pouty face, like I was yelling at her.

"She's right," said Utau, staring at Nadeshiko with some amusement. "Girls don't act like that about ghost stories. It isn't cute."

I was suddenly fidgety. Utau couldn't possibly know that, could she? Heavens. I needed to relax, and stop acting like a paranoid mother hen.

Yaya laughed with her mouth open, rice falling onto her shirt. "Usually Nade-chin puts some effort into it! She'll cover her mouth and go 'ara-ara, how spooky!' "

"No, no, Yaya, you're putting too much gusto into it." I pushed my shoulders back and held a finger against my throat like I had seen Nagihiko do sometimes. With a hum, I forced my voice out at a terse pitch. "Goodness gracious! How terribly chilling! The ghosts are as energetic as ever, it seems!"

"What are you, a myna bird?" said Utau, sounding far more disturbed than impressed.

Amu jumped to her defence. "You guys, stop bullying Nadeshiko! It's not her fault she's kind of a weirdo and into scary things, like g-ghosts!"

"I'm not like I'm into them… I just find them beautiful," Nadeshiko said modestly, turning her head away from us with a soulful look in her eyes. "There's nothing more striking than a crazed dead woman, bent on revenge."

"Oh, is that why you enjoy manners class so much, Nadeshiko?" I said, snidely.

The entire table cackled. I sat back, pleased with myself.

"If you want a woman bent on revenge, you'll be glad to know that your favourite class is after lunch," said Nadeshiko, eyes glittering maliciously. Immediately, my brief pleasure evaporated, and I scowled.

"Eh- you mean dancing lessons?" Amu said sympathetically, leaning over the table around Nadeshiko. "Oh, oh no, that's right— Fujisaki-sensei wrote home about it!"

Her eyes went round, and she pointed at me with a shaking finger. "So that's why your mama sent you a letter in the middle of term like this! I-I'm sorry, Rima, I totally forgot until just now!"

Whoops. So had I, to be frank.

"Is she super angry with you?" Yaya whispered, like I was already on my deathbed.

I gave Nagihiko a cursory glance, as if to silently remind him of the hole his lies had dug us into.

"I haven't read it," I said— and this part was truthful. I wanted some privacy. When Mama wrote, it was serious business, and I was wary about people looking over my shoulder. "But probably not. She sends me here so that I can become a marriageable woman, not a dancing prostitute."

Yaya whistled. "So scary."

"So offensive," lamented Nadeshiko behind her sleeve.

"Why should I even go in the first place?" I got up and gathered my dishes. "We do the same dance. Every year. We can all do it in our sleep."

"Mashiro-san's got a point," said Utau, seriously. "If we dance too much, we might turn into prostitutes."

We all looked in unison at Nadeshiko.

Nadeshiko winked suggestively.


In the end, I followed the others to the dance classroom with dragging feet and a heavy heart. I hardly wanted to face Fujisaki-sensei, but the longer I pored it over, the more I realized how suspicious this would look; she would certainly notice my absence. So, with no choice in the matter, I went.

Nadeshiko's mother taught dance class herself, and monitored it very closely for girls who showed signs of promise. So far, her search had proven fruitless. It was true that Amu had stage presence, and Yaya had clumsy skill honed through months of blood, sweat and tears. But neither were particularly talented, and neither showed very much interest in it as a career. I didn't blame them. Once upon a time, being a dancer meant prestige and, with luck, patrons. But with the economic depression came a decline in the old arts. Only the established old families like the Fujisakis remained in the trade, to hang on for dear life and pray that they outlasted the drought.

And it was a wonder they had held on as long as they had! Classical Japanese dancing was tepid, dragging, painstakingly tedious. It was little movements, tiny shuffles, gentle turns, less like dancing and more like a toy figurine moving on a rotary motor. In contrast, the dances of kabuki were quick, bombastic and sweeping— based more in pantomime and slapstick than in beauty, riddled with jokes and exaggerated gestures. But kabuki was masculine, and deemed useless for girls.

"It's unlikely that you will ever dance again after you graduate," Fujisaki-sensei often sighed, in a grim disapproving sort of way, "But you'll thank me when you're married. Dance makes your steps tiny and graceful. If it wasn't for this, you would all walk like peasants."

If I had my way, I would still be tromping around like a hulking peasant. But Fujisaki-sensei was right: three years of lessons had given me small steps, straight posture, and not a lick of talent.

"Mashiro-san, lighter arms!" The witch herself sang out across the room, over the sound of the tinny recording. "Buoyant and aloft like a butterfly, not wobbly. You are not a bowl of noodles!"

You're making me wish I was one, I thought. For good measure, I made my arms floppier, like a chicken making a desperate bid for flight. The shamisen recording scratched and twanged through static fuzz, reminding me that I could be practicing koto.

"You're just not trying," Utau said from my left, giving me a now-familiar how dare you complain stare. She continued to turn on the spot like a figurine in a music box. It was a very half-hearted motion; Utau danced like it was an afterthought.

"Neither are you," I pointed out, arms flopping.

"I practice," she shot back. "It improves work ethic, to do things one hates."

If that was true, I'd have the work ethic of a carpenter ant. It wasn't my fault that dancing was disinteresting, and that I would much rather think about what was for dinner than continue to hobble along like this.

Nadeshiko whooshed behind me, ponytail nearly slapping the back of my head. I turned my head to snap, like a cocker spaniel flushing out a duck, when Fujisaki-sensei's crocodilian voice rang in my ears.

"Mashiro, head forward!"

I grit my teeth behind closed lips.


A lady did not slam doors, but the walls shook when I shut the door behind me. The empty dormitory room rang with silence. Nagihiko was still at dancing lessons. Normally, I cherished this hour to myself; but today, I longed more than anything to see Nagihiko's wan face waiting for me at the writing-desk, ready to listen to me hurl vitriol about lessons and his toxic mother.

Well, that was fine. I had more productive things to do, anyway. Taking my koto from its substantial lacquer case, I arranged myself at Nagihiko's writing-desk. No sooner had I poised the pick in my hand when I heard the sound of paper crumpling from my skirt.

Mother's letter! I dropped the pick and pulled it out of my pocket, turning it over with loving hands. In all of the ruckus at breakfast, I had forgotten it was there. But now that I was alone, I could read it.

To my surprise, three sheaves of paper fell out of the envelope, all in differing tints of white. Mother did not mince words; she was laconic on paper and in-person. So why…?

The first sheet was clean, off-white business stationary, the likes of which mother wrote on, but the writing was an endless line of English loops. My English literacy was still poor, and I could no more read cursive handwriting than I could backflip out the bloody window.

I read it anyway, hands shaking slightly; every restrained loop of the G's, every skitter of the lowercase M's on the invisible line. I touched the words at the very top, from the curly tail of the R to the trailing wave of the A. Rima. Dear Rima.

I turned it over and over again, feverishly, several times. Then, I peeked at the piece of paper behind it. This one was stiffer, whiter paper. A lion and a unicorn fought each other on either side of the shield at the top of the page, but the script was clean and vertical, stencilled Japanese.

With embarrassment, I realized that I was holding the paper only several inches from my face. I flattened it over the table to read.

Notarized by sworn public translator 29th May—

That was irrelevant. I jumped down a line.

Dear Rima,

It's been some time since my last letter. Things are busy in London, with this and that—there are many letters to write, not least of which to you. I trust that your mother to forward this to your address, as I do not recall the name of your school. Due to very recent

"Rima?"

I pressed the letter to my chest, turning around. Nagihiko's eyes jumped suspiciously from my breathless face to the letter.

"Forgive me." Innocently, he placed his hand on the doorknob. "Would you like some more time alone so that you can finish rea…?"

"I don't care," I said, impatient from interruption. "This is your room, too."

Cautiously, he closed the door behind him and went directly to the wardrobe. I realized I was still clutching the letter to my breast.

"It's nothing weird," I added, defensively.

"I never said it was," Nagihiko said, maddeningly calm.

My lips tightened. I couldn't tolerate him thinking whatever he wanted, so I goaded him into striking. "You're in no place to judge me."

Nagihiko turned over his shoulder to smile dazzlingly at me, the picture of pleasantry. "Oh, come, now. Having a paramour outside of school jurisdiction is hardly odd at our age, Mashiro-san. Why would I judge you over something so trivial?"

I had never met a man so full of himself that he'd jump to any conclusion on the puffed-up assurance of his own perceptiveness. I narrowed my eyes at him, curling my lip. "Shockingly, it's not a paramour. How deluded can you be?"

Without waiting for a response, I turned back to the letter.

Due to very recent developments, I have compelled myself to write and alert you of such matters in your interest. You must forgive me for my brevity— for even now I cannot spare much time to write this— and also my vagueness, for the walls have eyes.

"Who is it, then?" Nadeshiko said intensely, as if unable to stop herself from jamming her Roman nose into my business.

"Shhh!" I hissed. She shhhed.

Your mother and I have long sustained an understanding that, should your living conditions become less-than-ideal within Japan, your passage overseas would be taken care of. By all means, I do not say this to startle you; I understand that you are still in school, and I fully expect you to complete your education. I broach the subject only to assure you of its verity, and allow you some time to grow used to the idea, as it would be a considerable adjustment.

I would hardly expect you to arrive as soon as the coming year, especially when your schooling remains incomplete. If, however, you should consent, you can always send word through the embassy in Tokyo, which has a direct wire to my offices.

All my love—

Father.

He always signed that way, because Daddy was too juvenile and his name too formal. Father, father. I gazed at the letter for a few minutes, breath heaving in my chest. Join me here… passage overseas—

When I looked up, Nadeshiko was staring at me across the room like an eager cat waiting to be fed.

"It's family," I told her, trying to divulge only the barest of scraps. Despite myself, my eyes shone.

"I take it your mother is well?"

"She'd better be," I murmured, quickly turning back to the desk. Behind Father's letter lay a sheaf of pretty rice paper, the cleanest white of all. This, most certainly, was mother, and it was no more than two tiny lines.

I am forwarding this letter to you. It was held up unusually long in customs at Nagasaki, arriving a few weeks ago. We will talk in July.

Stamped. Brusque. Short. I wanted to smile, but kept my face stoic. "She seems to be in as good health as ever. Did you need something besides reassurance that my mother is not close to dropping dead?"

"As a matter of fact, Mashiro-san, I do." Nadeshiko turned around, tying her obi jauntily in front of her so that she looked like a teahouse tartlet. "I see that you were going to practice your koto. I have an efficient proposition for you."

Her eyes were heavy-lidded and seductive. My stomach jumped like a frightened jackrabbit.

"I'm not going to traffic drugs for you," I said, very fast.

"What?!" Nadeshiko burst out into hysterical giggles. I caught a flash of white teeth before her face vanished behind her yukata sleeve, shoulders silently shaking. "I was going to ask if we could practice together. I'm stuck on a difficult part of the wandering song."

"Nadeshiko-san, stuck on something?" I said, feigning shock. "Surely, it can't be."

Clearly my voice was full of more bitterness than I thought. Nadeshiko looked at me, surprised.

"Yes, that's correct. I'm experiencing difficulty with the steps."

"… And so, you're going to practice in this tiny little room?" I raised both my eyebrows. "I thought that's what your after-school practice time was for."

"It is! But when Mother let me leave, I still hadn't gotten it right…"

"So try again tomorrow," I suggested.

"Why bother waiting if I can get it right, now?" she said, pigheadedly.

Once again, I had been verbally danced into a corner by snakeface Fujisaki. I had hoped to pore over Father's letter, and perhaps draft a response, but that would have to wait. I slumped over my koto in defeat. "… The Nagasaki Wandering song, is it?"

"Yes, that one. Thank you, Rima-chan," she said, sweetly.

I lay my koto across my lap and plucked the string, testily. "What did you do to my koto?" I said, unhappily. "It sounds queer."

"I tuned it." Smarmily. "That's what an in-tune koto sounds like."

Rubbish. I played the first smattering of notes. Reluctantly satisfied, I pulled the koto closer, giving her a final mutinous look before I started playing.

It wasn't the easiest of pieces, which required me to keep my eyes on the strings at all times. Yet, almost compulsively, my eye was drawn to Nadeshiko's form. Her dancing was unlike anything I had seen her do in class before—her body was fluid and her arms were weightless. I had compared it to dolls on a rotary motor before, but this– this was hardly robotic, even if it was deliberate. Before my very eyes, her face went from a burdened mother to the wide-eyed face of a child, and my fingers stumbled.

"Rima-chan?" Nadeshiko froze, surprised.

"Whoops," I said, tonelessly.

"Do you want to start again?"

"One moment. Let me take a moment to figure out where my skill went." I rolled my eyes and sat back on my haunches, letting out an uncharacteristically deep sigh. Nadeshiko took a cautious seat across from me on the floor, watching me anxiously as I studied the music sheet with some distaste.

"… Bit of a dull song, isn't it?" I said, conversationally.

Nadeshiko swished her head side-to-side, noncommittally. "It's alright. You know, this song actually originated in a brothel during the Tokugawa period?"

"What?"

"Oh, yes." She seemed pleased. "Mother likes to say that anything of worth was created by the water trade."

"I didn't know the pleasure districts invented money," I said, in sarcastic surprise.

Nagihiko winked at me, lecherously. "Even older. They pioneered the concept of currency. Supply and demand, you know."

"Disdainful."

"Must you be so materialistic?" Nagihiko said, condescendingly. "There are things of worth besides money, you know."

I hadn't been talking about the money. "You're correct, of course," I said, gravely. "There's also the value of attention—"

"—water trade—"

"Favours—"

"—water trade—"

"And allegiance!" I said, louder.

Nagihiko paused, in frustration.

"Hm?" I said, sweetly.

"… The samurai class," he said, reluctantly. "But bought allegiance is worthless."

I groaned. This felt like school. "Elaborate?"

"The things one will do for money are finite."

"Wrong. Greed is infinite," I said, almost enjoying myself.

"Not so!" Nagihiko said. "It is far safer to hold a man's allegiance through love. Or sex. Or the exchange of favours. Pleasure districts."

"Oh, so this is how you hold my loyalties?" I asked, contemptuously. "With cheap favours? What a fascinating insight into your twisted mind!"

"No," said Nagihiko, with a roguish grin. "I believe that's with love."

Something hot flashed behind my eyes, but it didn't feel like anger. I pelted the music sheet at him. Predictably, it hit a gust of wind and blew back in my face.

"A poetic metaphor for most of your endeavours," Nagihiko observed.

"Sod off!"

He got to his feet, grinning, and smoothed down the front of his legs. Once again, I put my koto back across my lap, swallowing.

"… You are a very good dancer," I added, begrudgingly.

I did not pay compliments very often. I expected Nadeshiko to smile modestly at this, dismiss it as nothing, or say that she had so much more to learn. Instead, Nagihiko grinned at me arrogantly, raising his chin ever-so-slightly.

"This? This is child's play. Wait until you see me perform this winter."

Why did he think I'd see him perform at all, never mind in winter? And if he fancied this child's play, why did he need me to practice? There was no end to this boy's idiocy.

When I started to play again, it was with light and nimble fingers. Nadeshiko turned in front of me in a dizzying blur, fan outstretched. In the blood-red light of the setting sun, her face was radiantly both male and female, light and dark, love and hate.