Ni
A Great Match
Disclaimer: I don't own CCS characters;
just the plot of this story.
Syaoran stood motionless in the courtyard, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his wakizashi, the other holding the reins of his horse for that day. The horse struck at the ground with its hooves and tossed its head, clearly attuned to the unease that was emanating from him. He was waiting for his daimyo to arrive - a task he was accustomed to - but the biting cold of the morning air was chipping away at his patience.
The courtyard bustled with the Akita household's samurai. Some polished their blades with meticulous care, the soft scrape of whetstones blending with the quiet murmur of the morning. Others adjusted their armour or stretched their limbs, preparing for the day ahead. A small group, clustered near the stables, inspected the horses' gear with practiced precision, their low voices issuing instructions.
Syaoran's gaze swept over them, noting the efficiency with which each samurai performed his duty. Their black and gold armour gleamed faintly in the pale light of dawn, the intricate patterns of their crests catching the first rays of sun. Every movement, every gesture, was a testament to their discipline and their bond to their lord.
A group of samurai passed, eyes fixed ahead, their expressions detached. None spared a glance for Syaoran, and the space they left in their wake felt charged with a silent indifference that seemed to freeze the very air. Behind them, an older samurai - his grey hair bound simply at the nape - paused just long enough to offer a brief, wary nod of acknowledgment. His eyes, weathered by countless battles, held no kindness, yet there was a flicker of respect beneath the hardened gaze.
Another group passed and this time, a younger samurai looked at Syaoran. A sneer passed over his face and his lip curled in disdain. His eyes narrowed with a clear, silent message: You don't belong here. However, the sneer slid off Syaoran like water on stone. Unlike the overly emotional samurai, who were quick to avenge even the slightest insults, he had learned long ago that reacting was a sign of weakness.
To the samurai of the Akita household, he would always be an outsider - a foreigner who had intruded upon their perfect order. No matter how skilled, no matter how much blood he had spilled in the name of Akita Noritaka, he would never truly belong. His talents were undeniable, his loyalty beyond question, yet the title of samurai would forever be out of reach, and they found comfort in that. It was a boundary they had drawn, one that no amount of service or sacrifice could ever erase.
A Senior Officer of the Guard passed next. He was a giant of a man, whom Syaoran had trained with years ago.
"Haven't seen you in a while," the guard said, his voice gruff.
Syaoran did not respond immediately. His gaze shifted upward, meeting the man's steady eyes. The scar running down the side of his face spoke of years spent in battle. Syaoran had once admired this man - his skill, his ruthlessness in combat. But many years ago, their paths had split, each on a different course.
When Syaoran finally spoke, his words were simple, betraying none of his inner thoughts.
"Time has a way of passing."
The guard nodded, opening his mouth as if to say something, but then thought better of it and continued on his way.
Syaoran knew that Noritaka was right - they all feared him. It was in the way they moved around him - carefully, precisely - as if walking near a blade that could cut at any moment. Their eyes never lingered on him too long, but their movements always shifted just enough to avoid his presence.
He could not be amicable with these men. Trust was a currency he was unwilling to spend. They would never trust him - he knew that much. And in a way, it suited him perfectly. Fear was easier to command than trust. It was cleaner, more definitive. Trust could be broken and eroded, while fear could be cultivated and hardened.
Truth was, he would never trust them either.
Even so, he knew why the daimyo wanted him to fit in. It was a matter of strengthening unity within the Akita household. If Syaoran could at least temper their resentment, it would create a more cohesive and united front, one less susceptible to exploitation by rivals. The daimyo also sought to ensure that the other daimyos felt at ease with the power Noritaka wielded through him and the Tenno no migete. But here he was, standing apart, unbending and distant - making it harder for Noritaka to play his unescapable political games. Syaoran had no desire to ingratiate himself, nor was he built for this kind of political manoeuvering. Still, it felt wrong to disappoint his daimyo.
Noritaka appeared at the entrance of the courtyard in patterned indigo silk robes, flanked by two male attendants, their black hakama rustling with each step.
"You have been kept waiting," Noritaka said matter-of-factly, his tone more observational than apologetic. Without further preamble, he walked toward his norimono - the lacquered wooden palanquin. "Have no fear. We are leaving now."
One of his attendants held the norimono's low door open. The daimyo slid into the interior and the attendant closed the door with a soft click, sealing him inside.
Without a word, Syaoran swung himself onto his horse, the sturdy animal shifting beneath him. He adjusted the reins, guiding the horse into position. The norimono's bearers lifted it with a sharp motion, its frame creaking as it rose from the ground.
There was a flurry of activity as Noritaka's footguards fell into step immediately, their heavy sandals striking the dirt with a rhythmic, purposeful sound. Syaoran and the other mounted guards took their places, keeping a comfortable distance from the norimono. They formed a protective perimeter around Noritaka as they rode from the castle courtyard, the hooves of their horses clattering against the stones as they emerged onto the dusty road.
The narrow streets of Kamakura, lined with shops and homes, was slowly coming to life. Some businesses had already opened their doors, with traders calling out to passersby, while others remained shuttered, their owners still tucked away inside. Travelers and locals alike stilled, casting curious glances at the unusual procession that cut through the town. It was a rare sight, and the eyes that followed them were a mix of awe and uncertainty.
As they neared the outskirts of Kamakura, the clamour of the market began to fade into the distance, replaced by the more subdued sounds of nature. The air thickened with the combined scent of damp earth and the salty tang of the sea, carrying with it the promise of the open countryside. The roads grew wider, the buildings more sporadic, and soon, the tightly packed houses gave way to the sprawling estates of the samurai.
They veered onto a narrow road that seemed almost swallowed by the surrounding wilderness, the path winding through dense thickets and towering trees as if it had been forgotten by time itself. As they moved deeper into the woods, the trees began to thin, and an estate gradually emerged in the distance. On top of the walls, the unmistakable symbols of the samurai clan were engraved on the stonework - a mark of the clan's authority and power.
Suddenly, the norimono came to a halt. Noritaka stepped out, his robes flowing around him as he moved.
"Syaoran-san, come," he called, his voice firm and commanding. "The rest of you, wait here."
Syaoran dismounted from his horse and went to Noritaka. Without explanation, the daimyo began walking towards the house. Syaoran followed in silence.
The house was an unremarkable structure for a samurai estate, yet its faded grandeur told a story of past prosperity. It was a house of middle rank, neither modest nor grand, but functional. The wooden beams, once a rich, dark brown, had turned to a weathered grey from years of exposure to the harsh elements. The roof, thatched and heavy with age, sagged in places, and a few tiles had slipped, leaving gaps so the rain freely poured in. The stone foundation, though solid, was partially overrun with creeping ivy and wild vines.
The stone path, cracked and uneven, led to a koi pond. Koi, their once-bright scales dulled with age, drifted lazily beneath the surface, the faint ripples breaking the stillness. The remnants of a garden lay just beyond the pond - an old, untended space where a few stunted trees and shrubs had managed to survive.
Noritaka stood still, his gaze fixed on Syaoran with quiet intensity, waiting for his reaction.
Syaoran's voice broke the silence, his words edged with confusion.
"What is this?" he asked. "A new outpost?"
"This," Noritaka replied, his hand sweeping across the grounds, indicating the vast expanse before them. "Is yours. It once belonged to a samurai, but his lineage has ended."
Syaoran tilted his head. The only place he had ever considered home was the Akita estate, and even then, it had always been a place of duty more than sanctuary. He had become used to sleeping beneath the stars, like a ronin, always moving, never rooted.
"You want me to live here? Why?"
"The emperor and I," began Noritaka. "Have granted you this estate as a reward for your service to the empire - specifically for your role in subduing the Mahotsukai threat."
Syaoran had never been one to seek praise or recognition. His life had been defined by purpose - a singular drive to eliminate magicians, and beyond that, there was little else that held his interest.
"I never expected anything," he said, his tone almost dismissive. "I did what needed to be done."
A flicker of approval passed through Noritaka's eyes as he studied Syaoran with quiet contemplation.
"You deserve more than this, Syaoran-san," he said, his voice measured but sincere. "You have fought for this empire, for its security, with a dedication that few could ever fully understand. In many ways, you surpass the samurai themselves. Had you been born into their ranks; you would be granted far more than this estate for all you have done."
Noritaka pulled the deed papers from his kimono and handed them to Syaoran, the weight of the parchment seeming to carry more than just legal ownership. Syaoran stood motionless for a moment, his gaze fixed on the papers where his name was written. The estate was a symbol of recognition, a token of belonging - but it felt strange to be given something so concrete, something that tied him to a world he had always moved through without attachment.
"Thank you," he said quietly, bowing deeply in respect. "I will care for it."
"I know," said Noritaka. "Don't worry about its current state. I will restore it for you. It will be returned to its former glory. Better even."
Syaoran's response was immediate, his head shaking firmly as he stood straight.
"I'll handle it myself."
Noritaka however, was not easily dissuaded. He stepped closer, his tone insistent.
"It would be no trouble, Syaoran-san. I consider it my duty as your daimyo. What kind of lord would I be if I gave you a broken-down house? Besides, you have more important things to focus on than renovations."
"I... appreciate the offer," said Syaoran, awkwardly. The offer was kind, but he was not sure how to accept it.
"As for the land," Noritaka continued. "I will have men work it, get it into a state where it is at least profitable for you. After that, you will be responsible for their wages."
"Thank you, Akita-sama," said Syaoran, bowing again, his voice respectful. "I will see to it that the land thrives. And I will ensure that the house does not fall into disrepair again."
"Good," Noritaka replied, warmly. "I do not want this to be a place you simply tend to out of obligation. Live in it when you're in Kamakura. I will admit, I like having you nearby. I've watched you grow from the young boy who first came into my care, to the man you are now. Like my sons, you seem intent on being anywhere but near my side."
The last words hung in the air, a mixture of light humour and a subtle bitterness that only someone as perceptive as Syaoran would catch. Noritaka's tone softened, the guarded smile on his face betraying a moment of candid reflection.
"Ah, but that's the way of it, isn't it?" he added, almost to himself, as if musing aloud. "Children grow up, and they seek their own paths, their own destinies. I've always known your mission would carry you from the capital, Syaoran-san. But there's something different about having you close by. It would settle my mind knowing you're here."
It was a rare admission, and one that caught Syaoran slightly off guard. Noritaka had been his guardian once, a figure of authority and responsibility, someone he had always viewed through the lens of duty. He had assumed their relationship had always been just that - nothing more, nothing less. But now, it felt... paternal - not that he could exactly recall what that felt like.
"I... will make sure the estate is well cared for," he said again, the words almost coming out as a reassurance to both himself and Noritaka. "I will live in it when I am here."
"That is all I ask."
Noritaka's tone was gentle, but there was finality in it - an acknowledgment that they were now bound by something deeper than service.
Days passed before Syaoran returned to the estate. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the overgrown grounds. As he stepped inside the house, his waraji sandals sank slightly into the worn tatami mats, their edges frayed, betraying the years of abandonment. The stillness of the room was oppressive - dust clung to the beams above, the walls were cracked and weathered, and the air carried the faint, sour scent of mildew.
He should have felt pride standing here. This estate was his now, a symbol that he had earned a place in this land, a tangible proof of his loyalty and hard-won position. But instead, another feeling emerged.
It was a loneliness, sharp and deep.
The emptiness of the rooms only emphasized the emptiness inside him, a void he had carefully crafted over the years by pushing people away and keeping his distance. For a fleeting moment, as his fingers brushed against the rough surface of the walls, he remembered the sound of girls' laughter - soft and light, like wind chimes in a summer breeze. He remembered the gleam of gold hair combs in the sunlight, the delicate art of weaving them through long, black strands of hair.
Syaoran exhaled heavily, forcing the memories aside before they could fully materialize. This house was not meant for sentiment. With a firm step, he turned away and left the room, stepping back outside. The night was falling quickly, the sky now a dark canvas spattered with the first stars. He looked up, letting the sight of the vast sky calm the long-buried ache that threatened to rise within him.
This house, this place, would be nothing more than a marker of his progress, a space for work, not reflection. The past had no place here. Only the future - his mission, his duty - was allowed to remain. The Mahotsukai and their fellow magicians had not yet been defeated.
The land was only quiet for now. This was the calm before the storm. And Syaoran would not be caught unprepared. He would make plans. He would gather strength. When the storm finally came, he would be ready.
As soon as Syaoran returned to Tomoeda, his feet carried him toward Akatsuki Inn. He had sworn he was done with this village, had promised himself he would never return, especially after... that girl. The one whose smile lingered in his thoughts longer than it should. He had told himself he was hungry, yet he had passed two street food vendors without so much as slowing his pace. Despite all his supposed resolve, here he was, walking through the inn's door once again.
The familiar scent of simmering broth and roasted fish enveloped him as he entered. His eyes immediately found the table by the window, his usual spot. He made his way over, lowering himself onto the chabudai- the short-legged table - his fingers grazing the polished wood as he settled in. His gaze swept the room, instinctively searching for her, the server who had managed to intrigue him in a way he did not understand.
But she was not there.
His heart gave a quick, unsteady beat as he regarded the room again. No sign of her. No familiar smile, no swift, graceful movements. Just the other servers moving about, their faces blurring together in the usual rush of the inn. He found himself inexplicably frozen, his breath caught in his chest. There was no logical reason for his unease, but he could not shake the feeling gnawing at him. Was it disappointment? Confusion?
Then, as the feeling intensified, a sharp thought pierced through the fog.
Why isn't she here? Had something happened to her?
The sudden thought of her being hurt or missing unsettled him, even though he barely knew her. It was irrational, but the worry still pricked at him.
Another server approached him, and he tried to focus on the task at hand - ordering sake. It was the only thing that seemed familiar to him, the only thing he could bring himself to ask for. He followed it with an order for rice and then fish, eating slowly, trying to distract himself. But the discomfort in his chest remained. Why was her absence bothering him so much?
Syaoran finished the last bite of his fish, his chopsticks clinking against the plate as he set them down. With a deep sigh, he was ready to rise and leave, ready to dismiss this strange feeling. But just as he moved to stand, a voice from across the room caught his attention.
"Where's your pretty green-eyed friend?" An old man was speaking to the innkeeper's daughter Chiharu, who was cleaning a nearby table. "She's not here today. I was hoping to see her."
Syaoran became still. He had not expected the mention of her, not like this... not in a way that hinted at her absence and looks being noticed by others.
Chiharu paused in her work, lifting her gaze to the old man, a soft smile curving the corners of her lips.
"Ah, she's not here today, Grandfather," she said, her tone gentle. "She had to meet with her fiancé."
The words hit Syaoran like a cold wave crashing into his chest. Fiancé? The reality of it slammed into him, almost knocking the breath from his lungs. He had never thought of Sakura in that way - had never once considered that she might have a life beyond the fleeting, casual moments they had shared at the inn. She was not just the server he could visit on a whim to add interest to his day.
She was... someone else's.
The old man's voice, innocent and unaware, pierced through the maelstrom of thoughts swirling in Syaoran's mind.
"I see. I hope it's a good match."
"A great match," Chiharu replied, her tone laced with pride. "To a doctor. Takeda Hito."
Syaoran's chest constricted, as if the very air had been sucked from the room. Takeda Hito? The name struck him like a hammer, reverberating in his skull. Takeda... well-known across multiple towns; a respected family with wealth, status, and influence.
"The Takeda physicians, eh?" the old man mused, nodding approvingly. "I must congratulate her when I see her."
The words came from somewhere distant. Somewhere far removed from the chaos in Syaoran's head. The room around him seemed to shrink, the air suddenly too thick to breathe. Kinomoto Sakura. The girl who smiled at him, whose eyes had shimmered with something more than polite greeting... she was promised to another man. Syaoran's fingers tightened into fists, the nails biting into his palms. His pulse raced as a wave of emotions rushed through him - rage, disbelief, and something deeper, darker, and rawer than either of those. He could not understand why Takeda Hito's existence felt like a challenge. No... a threat.
With a tight, controlled breath, he stood and slid his wakizashi into its place at his side, his feet taking him towards the entrance.
Outside the inn, Syaoran tried to steady his breathing, but his mind refused to quiet. A fiancé. Takeda Hito. The words rang in his head like a bell he could not silence. Why was he feeling this way? Why was her being with someone else affecting him like this?
The crowded streets of Tomoeda felt suddenly suffocating as he walked aimlessly through them. The steady hum of conversations, the sound of feet scuffing against the dirt road, the voices of children and merchants - everything was a blur as he walked. The world was moving, unaware of the turmoil inside him.
Had he imagined everything? Had she not smiled at him every time? Had she not engaged him in conversation as though he mattered? But now, doubt crept in, insidious and relentless. Was she not just as kind to the other guests at the inn? Could it have all been nothing more than politeness, a part of her role as a server, without any real meaning? He could hardly recall specifics anymore - only flashes of warmth, of her presence in the room, the way her eyes had met his with kindness. But now, those memories felt distant, as if they were slipping through his fingers, fading like the remnants of a dream. All because of him. Takeda.
Everything felt fragile now. Uncertain. With every step he took, it became clear he was not just angry about Sakura belonging to someone else. He was angry at himself. He had let himself believe in something he did not fully understand, and now that belief felt hollow. All that remained was the sharp ache of loss.
Syaoran knew he needed to release the pressure building inside him. He needed something he could control or better yet, destroy.
His thoughts were still tangled when a familiar presence fell into step beside him. His frustration flared before he could stop it, and he snapped, his voice harsh and tight with irritation.
"What is it?"
Ishida Junichi, the most reliable member of his squad, flinched slightly.
"I've got word on Matsumoto Hoji," he said, his eyes never leaving the path ahead.
Matsumoto, the toymaker and craftsman, was well-known in the village for his friendly demeanor. Always smiling, always eager to lend a helping hand, his presence was welcoming. He was the kind of man people trusted - he made toys for children, repaired tools, and fixed things in need of a skilled hand. His shop was always filled with laughter, the soft clink of metal, and the scent of wood shavings.
But Syaoran had learned long ago how to read the faintest deceptions in the lines of a face, the subtle shifts in posture, the smallest moments when someone let their guard slip. There was a nagging feeling that Matsumoto's ever-present cheer was a mask for something darker. And when Syaoran had heard that a concerned citizen reported strange lights flickering from his shop at night, his suspicion had solidified, and he had put Junichi to the task of watching him.
"What about him?" he asked.
"He's been dealing with magicians - mostly Classes 1 and 2. He also sells magical items from his shop."
"What else?"
Junichi glanced sideways at Syaoran before continuing.
"His cursed trinkets, talismans, and charms... they've been ending up in unintended hands. You recall the children who killed their parents in Kamakura? They may have been under the influence of these items. He's also been passing information to the Mahotsukai. About the samurai and villagers. He knows the ins and outs of every household - who has valuables, who is vulnerable, who can be manipulated. The Mahotsukai now have a way of getting into the hearts of the village, of targeting the right people at the right time. Of recruiting to their cause."
Syaoran's jaw clenched. Matsumoto was not just a pawn in the Mahotsukai's game - he was an active participant. A supplier of destruction, a silent hand feeding the chaos.
"And his wife?"
The world was ruthless, and he had learned to be the same.
"She seems completely unaware," Junichi said. "He's kept her in the dark, hidden his dealings from her. From everything I can tell, she's innocent in all this."
Syaoran's brow furrowed. The wife of a traitor was often a traitor herself. But if she was not, then her death would be a tragedy. Junichi was usually meticulous in his observations, so he was inclined to believe his assessment of the situation.
"Should I continue to watch Matsumoto?" Junichi asked. "See if he leads us to more formidable adversaries?"
It would be the wise thing to do. But Syaoran's thoughts were far from clear, still tangled in the aftermath of his earlier discovery about Sakura's betrothal. He needed something to target, something tangible to unleash his frustration upon. And he told himself, he needed something to report to Noritaka.
"No," he said. "We kill him tonight. There's no need to waste time and resources. Men like him aren't built for pain. One taste and he will tell us everything he knows."
Junichi nodded, not questioning Syaoran's decision even though there was a glimmer of surprise in his eyes.
"Understood. I'll gather the others."
A beat later, and Junichi fell out of step with him, blending seamlessly into the crowd. Syaoran's steps carried him into a narrow alley, the noise of the street muffled by the walls of the surrounding buildings. He pressed his hand against the cool stone of one wall.
Focus, he reprimanded himself. Focus.
The girl does not matter.
Tonight, he had a mission to complete, a blow to strike against the Mahotsukai and all magicians alike, and with it, a chance to set his world back in order.
Sakura and Chiharu worked quietly in the back courtyard of the inn, the sound of their brooms brushing against the stone path the only noise in the otherwise peaceful afternoon. The soft golden light of the setting sun cast long, gentle shadows over the ground, and a faint breeze stirred the trees, carrying with it the earthy scent of the garden. They moved in unison, not speaking much, each caught in their own thoughts.
It was then that Naoko arrived, her hurried footsteps breaking the stillness. She appeared in the doorway, her face pale and her breath short, as though she had been running. The sudden urgency in her presence made the two women stop and look up, concern etched across their faces.
"Naoko-chan?" Chiharu said, her brow furrowing. "What's wrong?"
Naoko looked between them, her eyes wide.
"Matsumoto-san... he's dead," she answered, her voice trembling.
Sakura stared at Naoko, unable to comprehend what she was hearing.
"What?" she asked, her heart racing. "How?"
"The Tenno no migete. They killed him." Naoko paused, watching as the words sank in. "They left his body outside his shop this morning. So, the samurai say. They also say Kami Kira was involved."
Chiharu's face went pale, and she let out a small gasp.
Sakura's mind spun, the shock of the news overwhelming her. Kami Kira, the feared enforcer. The Tenno no migete - the Right Hand of the Emperor - why would the special forces be involved in Matsumoto's death? What had he done to incur their wrath?
Takashi appeared at the door next. His eyes quickly assessed the frozen expressions on their faces, noting the tension that filled the air.
"I came to inform you about Matsumoto-san," he began. "But I see Yanagisawa-san has already relayed the news."
"Do you think Matsumoto-san was a magician?" Chiharu asked, as if she was not sure she wanted to hear the answer.
Takashi shook his head.
"I don't think he was a magician himself. But I wouldn't be surprised if he got swept up in something that was bigger than he realized. There are rumors about the Mahotsukai using innocent people to further their agendas. It's possible Matsumoto-san got involved with them, even unknowingly."
"What could someone like him have to offer them?" asked Sakura. "He made toys!"
"Information," Naoko said, catching the others' attention. "Craftsmen often have connections with the black markets, and he could've known things - about shipments, about people. The Mahotsukai would have known that, and if they used him as a source..." Her voice trailed off, and she looked down at the ground, shaking her head.
Sakura stood still, her thoughts swirling. She had known Matsumoto Hoji many years - her father often bought her trinkets from him. He had always seemed harmless. Her heart ached for the toymaker, and yet, the uncertainty remained. What had been his true role in all of this? Had he been a willing accomplice, or a victim of the Mahotsukai?
"We should visit Maki-san," Sakura suggested. "She's our friend, and I can't imagine what she must be going through right now. If anyone knows what Matsumoto-san was really involved in, it's her. Maybe she can shed some light on all of this... but more importantly, she needs our support."
Chiharu's eyes reflected the same worry.
"You're right. Maki-san must be devastated. I don't know how she'll handle this, but she'll need someone to lean on."
"We can't leave her alone in this," added Naoko.
Takashi folded his arms as he considered the situation.
"Ask your fathers to visit her," he suggested. "Once they've given their permission, I'll escort you there myself."
"They won't give permission," Naoko interjected, her voice laced with determination. "They would say it's dangerous or it would hurt our reputation. But we should go anyway. We can bring groceries to the inn... make it look like a simple errand. And we'll take a detour."
Takashi raised an eyebrow.
"You realize that if your fathers find out, I'll be the one held responsible?"
Naoko shrugged nonchalantly, a small smirk tugging at her lips.
"You're good at lying and making up stories. Do it for a good cause. Do it for a friend."
She met his eyes with a knowing look, and Sakura and Chiharu joined in, their expressions pleading and expectant. Takashi sighed, his resistance crumbling. After a long pause, he finally relented.
"Fine. Tomorrow, then, but we can't stay long," he said, his tone resigned, but with a touch of affection for their steadfast resolve.
The next day, the group arrived at the toyshop, their steps quiet, almost reluctant. The first thing they saw was the burnt building, its walls scarred and blackened, the words TRAITOR smeared in unsettling red kanji with the ever-watching eye of the Tenno no migete painted underneath. Sakura had heard of the symbol, but it was her first time witnessing it. The paint seemed to drip, like blood, down the sides of the shop, marking its inhabitants with an unforgivable accusation.
The shop, once full of life and the gentle hum of customers, now stood in complete silence. No voices echoed in the space, no soft thud of wooden toys being shaped or the rustle of fabric. Only an oppressive stillness filled the air, as if time itself had stopped in reverence to the devastation. The heat of the fire seemed to linger, even though it had long since been quelled - an acrid, metallic scent that made it hard to breathe.
Without a word, the group moved around to the back of the building, their footsteps muted on the gravel. Even the garden, once carefully tended and vibrant, had turned to ruin. As they approached the door, a heaviness settled over them. No one came to greet them. No one appeared at the windows, and no distant voices could be heard.
"I don't think she's had any visitors," Chiharu murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's too quiet."
Naoko squinted.
"It unnerving. But it makes sense, doesn't it? How could anyone bring themselves to visit after what happened? They must be scared about what Matsumoto-san might have been involved in."
"Well, we're here now," said Sakura. She approached the door and paused for a moment, her hand resting on the wooden frame as she gathered the courage to knock. "We have to be here for her. Whatever she needs, we'll do it together."
With a steady breath, she knocked three times, the sound echoing softly through the house. The door creaked open, revealing Maki's weary face, pale and worn with grief. Her eyes were red from crying, and her usual composure had been replaced with exhaustion.
Sakura's heart broke for her. Maki had always been a dignified person, and now she seemed like a shell of the woman they once knew.
"Maki-san..." Sakura said, stepping forward. "We heard... about Matsumoto-san."
Maki blinked, her expression distant. The faintest trace of recognition flickered in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a wave of sorrow.
"I... didn't expect visitors." Her voice was shaky, as if speaking was a struggle. "I didn't expect anyone to come. I don't know what to say... or how to feel."
Takashi spoke gently, offering his steady presence.
"You don't need to say anything, Matsumoto-san. We're here to help. We're your friends, and we just want to be here for you in any way we can."
Maki seemed to collapse inward, her shoulders trembling with silent sobs. Sakura reached out, touching her arm in a gesture of solidarity.
"You don't have to go through this alone. We'll stay with you as long as you need."
Maki shook her head slowly, tears welling in her eyes. She placed a hand on her rounded belly and Sakura did not have to ask to know that Maki had been dealing with more than just the loss of her husband. There was fear in the air - fear of judgment, fear of speculation. People would be talking, whispering about what Matsumoto might have done. And the worst part was, they would surely talk about her unborn child, too.
Maki stepped aside and the group entered her home, the heavy air of grief hanging around them. When they settled around a chabudai, Chiharu reached into her sleeve to pull out a small envelope filled with money. She handed it to Maki with both hands, her expression soft.
"Maki-san," she said. "This is for you. I know it's not much, but please take it. It should help with whatever you need."
Maki's fingers brushed over the envelope, but she did not open it right away. She simply held it to her chest.
"Chiharu-san… thank you. I don't know how to repay you for this."
"No need to repay," Chiharu replied gently. "We're friends. You don't need to carry this burden alone."
Sakura reached into her sleeve and brought out a simple cloth. It was a carefully stitched handkerchief, a symbol of respect for the departed and a gesture of solace for the living. She handed it to Maki.
"This is for you. It's tradition to give something like this when we mourn. May it bring you peace in your sorrow."
"And these..." said Naoko, extending a small bundle of incense sticks, wrapped carefully in a piece of cloth. "For when you want to honour your husband's memory in your own way. It's something that can bring quiet reflection, and the scent may offer you some comfort."
Maki took both offerings with shaking hands, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"I… I don't know what to say." Her voice cracked with emotion as she looked from one face to the next. "Thank you. I truly don't know what I would do without you."
She wiped at her eyes, trying to steady her breath, the envelope and gifts they had brought her clutched tightly in her hands, as though their presence could somehow ground her. Her grief hung heavy in the room, but it was Naoko's voice, tender and laden with concern, that cut through the silence.
"Maki-san… What happened to him? To Matsumoto-san?"
Maki's eyes dropped to her hands. Her lips trembled, and after a long pause, she spoke in a quiet, broken tone.
"They came early yesterday morning, after midnight," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "The Tenno no migete. I didn't know what to think at first. I thought it was some kind of mistake."
Her voice faltered, and she let out a shaky breath, trying to steady herself.
Naoko's expression saddened, and her voice carried an edge of fear, which was unusual for one as curious as her.
"Was... was Kami Kira among them?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Maki's eyes closed as if the question had pierced something inside her. She nodded slowly, her lips trembling as she continued.
"Yes," she answered, her breath shaky. "He didn't introduce himself of course. Their mouths and noses were covered, but I knew which one was him. I'll never forget those eyes. Cold and piercing. Like a wolf."
Maki's breath hitched, and she paused, her body trembling. Sakura could see the fear still gripped her, as if the memory had returned in full force.
"Did he say anything?" asked Naoko. "Something to explain... this?"
"He didn't use words," Maki continued, her voice breaking. "He just stood there, watching as they... beat Hoji-san. The blood... the teeth knocked loose... they didn't seem to faze him. I asked them why they were doing this. I begged him... I begged him to make it stop, to spare Hoji-san. I told him I was pregnant. That there was a child growing inside me. I thought that might make him see reason. But he..." Her voice choked, the words scraping her throat. "He just stared at me... there was nothing in his eyes..."
Maki's shoulders shook, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, as if to hold onto whatever remained of her sanity.
"Then he killed Hoji-san right there, without a second thought. One slash of his katana... and Hoji-san was gone. He then placed the tip of the katana beneath my chin," sobbed Maki. "As if deciding whether to kill me too. But he didn't. He sheathed his sword and walked away as if... as if I never existed. After that, they burnt the shop down."
Maki wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her kimono, trying in vain to stem the tide of grief that was choking her.
"I just don't understand... why my husband? What did he ever do to deserve that? To have his head put on his own wall? He was in so much pain. He called for me many times through it all but there was nothing I could do."
Sakura, feeling the gravity of Maki's pain, moved closer, offering a silent presence of support. Chiharu, though visibly disturbed, kept her composure.
"I'm so sorry you had to see that, Maki-san," she said. "No one should ever have to go through such a thing."
"I wonder," said Maki. "Why didn't he kill me too? He should have just... killed me too."
A silence settled in the room, thick and sorrowful. Maki straightened slightly, wiping away the lingering sadness from her face.
Sakura, looking on with deep sympathy, exchanged a glance with Naoko and Chiharu. She spoke carefully.
"We're glad you're alive Maki-san. We wouldn't have it any other way. I'm not trying to justify his death but is it possible... your husband was a magician? That would explain the Tenno no migete."
"No," said Maki. "Not at all. How could I not notice that? He was sweet. Good to everyone."
"Then Matsumoto-san's fate was a mistake. They must have thought he was involved in something dangerous, but we need to prove his innocence. He didn't deserve this."
Maki's eyes widened in alarm.
"No, please," she said, her voice trembling with a mix of desperation and fear. "Don't do this. Don't try to prove anything. I don't want you to get hurt. If you search for answers, you'll only bring danger to yourselves. I couldn't bear it. Please." Her voice cracked as she continued. "I've lost him, I don't want to lose you, too. I don't want Kami Kira at your doorsteps next."
Maki's words sent a chill down Sakura's spine. The hair on her forearms rose up. What if Kami Kira was watching them right now? What if he was out there, hidden in the shadows, waiting for the slightest hint of magic to betray her? She glanced around, her senses straining, but there was nothing - no movement, no sign that they were being watched.
"Matsumoto-san," Takashi began, his tone calm. "I promise you, we won't pursue this further. We'll respect your wishes. No one will look into Matsumoto-san's death. You've been through enough."
Maki's shoulders sagged, and she let out a long breath. She closed her eyes for a moment, collecting herself. When she opened them again, she gave Takashi a small, tired nod.
"Thank you," she whispered. "I… I'm glad you understand." Her voice cracked slightly as she continued. "I just… I want to be alone now. Please."
Sakura, Chiharu, and Naoko all exchanged silent glances, understanding her need for space. They nodded and moved toward the door. Takashi, however, lingered for a moment longer. Before he stepped outside, he turned back to Maki, his face holding empathy.
"Matsumoto-san," he said, his voice low but clear. "As an orphan, I understand death is a part of life, though we often do not wish to accept it. The cherry blossoms bloom with beauty, only to fall and return again in time. We are like them - fleeting, but part of something greater. Death is not an end, but a transformation. Just as a river flows and changes course, so too does the soul, passing from one state to another. We must not cling to what is gone but instead honour its passing and allow it to return to the vastness from which it came."
Maki did not answer immediately, but she gave a small, grateful nod, as though the words had reached her, however briefly. There was a faint glimmer of peace in her eyes, and for a moment, it seemed like the sharp edge of her pain might have softened just a little.
With a final glance at her, Takashi turned and followed the others out, closing the door quietly behind him.
A/N
Hey Tomodachi!
Chapter is new and reposted and better, in my opinion. This was a miracle because I don't write chapters this fast, but I suppose it was rewritten so it was easier. Thanks for the support and well-wishes. I usually write in Google Docs but I first wrote this chapter directly on this site, so when I accidentally deleted it, it was lost forever. But we are back! Whew.
Read and Review.
Until Next Time,
Ja ne! ^_^