The night rain's pitter-patter on the roof gradually mimicked the sound of groaning. As storm fell upon Musutafu's night, within this house with vast gardens and warm walls, a woman and a girl clad in kimono of the highest quality, sat face to face in its deepest confines, unbothered by the storm's cry.
It was the girl's 12th birthday. In the morning, she was served a lavish set of breakfast that she enjoyed with her family; a bowl of warm and plump mixed rice with sides of egg drop soup made with dashi broth, a grilled salted salmon perfectly cooked to an orange color, stir-fried green beans dressed with sesame-soy sauce, and pickled radish and carrots with sweet vinegar were the main course. Not only that, she was given a special sakura tea, mildly sweet in flavor but extremely floral in scent.
That afternoon, while she was just preparing to train, her younger siblings came to her in secret. Their flustered smiles and disheveled appearance had the girl worrying that they had caused troubles, but then they presented to her a humble slice of white cake covered with white frosting and colorful sprinkles. The smell of vanilla overpowered a faint citrus. The cake was rather dry, and she could taste more lemon than vanilla in it, but her siblings' love made it all the more sweeter.
By the time dinner arrived, so too, did their mother. She was not present when the girl woke up, and she was more than overjoyed when her mother arrived before the day ended. They gathered in the dining room, the smell of grilling marinated meat overpowering the faint petrichor, a sign of the oncoming rain.
Lastly, with their stomachs full and hearts content, came the time for the girl to open her presents. From new poem collection books to beautiful handcrafted hairpins, every single gift she received was precious, second only to those who gifted it. It was a joyous day- a perfect birthday.
Now, without the sun's gaze and the moon's embrace, the atmosphere between her and her mother has become solemn. The girl could not remember the soft flavor of vanilla mingling with citrusy lemon, nor the excitement of opening her birthday gifts. Before her mother's impassive gaze, all she could perceive was her words spoken with no room for argument.
"But, mother…" still, the girl attempted anyway, speaking meekly and softly that you almost couldn't hear it under the storm's roar. "Why… why me? Brother Mori is older than I am, he's been with you longer, why not him?"
"Your brother lacks potential." Her mother's answer came without a delay. "He can neither lead nor protect this family."
"T-that's not true…!" The girl protested, her heart beating so quick that her whole body trembled. "Brother Mori has always taken care of us…! Maybe, m-maybe he can't protect us the same way you do, but if that's the case… I can help him…!"
"Your brother cannot, and will not be the head of this family."
Her emerald eyes gleamed coldly under the white light of the room. The finality in her tone is as firm as the sun rising from the east and setting in the west; there is no denying it, and there can be nothing in this world that would change it. The girl, realizing her futile effort, closed her mouth with her lips pressed tight.
"Indeed, that child cares for you all very deeply. But he is far too impulsive. He is brash and reckless, and he has yet to prove himself capable. Even you, who is far younger than him, have proven yourself to be capable." Spoke her mother so matter-of-factly, the supposed-praise did not sound nor feel like one.
"Worry not, my daughter." For only the briefest moment, the mother's gaze softened, just as her voice was warm with reassurance. "Even I am not cruel enough to put such burden on you so soon. You are far too green… and that is why you must prepare."
With natural grace and practiced ease, her mother stood, looming over the girl. Her shadow, usually warm and comforting, a place of refuge, is now suffocating the girl. Her gentle hand found itself placed atop her head, but the girl could only look at the white socks peeking from under her mother's purple kimono.
"I will guide you. I will teach you, just as I always have."
A promise made, a promise to always be kept. Her mother had once uttered the same promise as well. At the time, the girl's then-smaller hands were holding the hilt of a katana with a clumsy grip. It was her mother's hand - the same one now resting on top of her head - that fixed her grip, and guided her first swing of the blade. The one who has always guided her.
Yet, it was as if her voice had been ripped away from her throat, the girl could not answer. She could not voice her agreement, nor her rejection. Mute, she hung her head low, clutching painfully at her own maroon kimono. It trembled with apprehension and a different, more powerful force. She could only hold it back with a strength as firm as her fingernails.
"'The Gods gazed upon the peninsula atop the Heavens. They shall bring rain upon the land, extinguish flames of misery, that it may become green once more.'"
The girl knew that proverb well. It was written on the kakejiku* hung on the wall directly behind her mother. She loved and strived to live by it. She dreaded her mother's recite at the moment.
"Our family has always sworn to protect those who can't protect themselves, and to care for those who have lost their carers. That is the meaning of the name 'Kanzaki.'"
The name uttered softly brought upon immense weight on the girl's shoulder.
"Will you take this name, my daughter?"
Kakejiku: Japanese hanging scroll used to display and exhibit paintings and calligraphy inscriptions.