Sora stopped in his tracks and looked at Tamuramaro, who was walking a few steps ahead.
Forgiveness. It was the most difficult act for Sora, and Tamuramaro knew it better than anyone else. Though Sora wanted to ask if Tamuramaro was trying to mess with him, he couldn’t find the words.
Fuuka looked lonely, but Sora didn’t notice.
“I’m getting hungry,” said Tamuramaro, stretching his arms as they reached their house. He didn’t seem to doubt for a second that the three of them would be eating together.
Sora was too tired to mull over Tamuramaro’s true intentions. He passed through the gate with Fuuka, went up the little path through the garden, and unlocked their front door.
“You got the key to this house from the credit company?” Sora asked Tamuramaro as he stepped in.
“No, they’ll give it to me the day after tomorrow. That’s when our contract starts.”
“…I forgot. Then why’d you come yesterday? You should’ve waited till I submitted the report on Monday, at least.” The credit company had told him about the lodger’s visit, but he’d seen the document with the start date. It was the same day his report for Daitokyo Bank was due.
“My domicile is registered at my office in Ikebukuro. Don’t worry; I’m meticulous when it comes to those things.”
“You haven’t changed,” grumbled Sora, clearly not impressed.
“What about you? I get the feeling you have,” Tamuramaro remarked with a grin.
“See for yourself.”
Sora looked down, starting to suspect that Tamuramaro wasn’t, in fact, messing with him. He wanted to clarify what he’d meant by “doing well,” but it was hard to put into words.
“Woof!” Fuuka barked, looking up at Sora.
“Fuuka? Why are you still…?”
They were in the house now, and the front door was shut, but Fuuka hadn’t transformed back into his human shape. Sora followed Fuuka’s gaze into the house.
“…Someone’s already inside,” Sora whispered. Every nerve of his body was on edge. Fuuka’s white fur was already bristling. Sora gripped his leash tightly.
“Wait. Stay here, both of you.”
Tamuramaro squeezed Sora’s shoulder, stepping past him into the hallway. Without making a sound, he glided toward the office side of the house, which was connected to the living quarters by a door.
“You have a hunch?” Sora breathed out, stealing after him.
“Just…don’t follow me. Stay back.”
The office was silent.
Until the door banged open from the other side with a loud crash.
“…!”
The two intruders rushed out after kicking the door open. They must have hidden in the office once they heard the three come home. Apparently, they either hadn’t found what they were looking for or had realized they would be caught.
“Sora, call the police! They’re armed.”
The men were very burly, wearing plain sweatshirts, hats, and masks, each holding an iron billy club and a boot knife.
“Take Fuuka and go!”
Tamuramaro estimated the reach of their knives at a glance, shoved Sora behind him, and charged at the men by himself. Sora knew Tamuramaro was tough in a fight, but he was still up against armed opponents. Even so, Tamuramaro lunged forward and kicked over one of the men before they could even attack.
Sora was about to finish dialing when the other man sprang at him, more agile than seemed possible from his heavy frame, and pushed the blade of his knife against Sora’s throat.
“If I move my wrist, you’ll be dead. Throw down the phone. We’ll just get outta here; no need to make a fuss…”
Sora didn’t mind dropping his phone or letting him draw the blade—what frightened him was another possibility. Something that should never, ever happen.
“Wait, Fuuka…!”
Sora was still gripping the red leash in his hand, and he felt a sharp tug from it as Fuuka leaped at the man with the knife.
“Whoa—a w-wolf?!”
The enormous man went down in a flash, and the blade flew out of his hand, nicking Fuuka’s leg. But Fuuka wasn’t about to let him off the hook for threatening his brother. Snarling, Fuuka moved to tear the man’s windpipe apart without a moment’s hesitation.
“Fuuka! No, stop!!” Sora shouted as he desperately dashed across the hallway. Just before the wolf’s teeth met the man’s throat, he froze.
“Leave what you stole and get out!” The deep rumble of Tamuramaro’s voice shocked the men out of their terrified paralysis, and they dropped the laptop before scrambling away.
They had likely been after the original copies of the evidence and, failing to find them, had attempted to take the whole laptop.
As soon as they were gone, Fuuka turned back from his wolf-dog form into a young man wearing a white silk robe.
“If it were me,” said Sora, gently caressing Fuuka’s cheek, “I wouldn’t mind if you ripped me apart, Fuuka.”
The white silk from the continent always looked pristine, and somehow, it had expanded in length and width as Fuuka’s body had grown.
“You mustn’t kill anyone else.”
“But those men—they were trying to hurt you.” Fuuka buried his face in Sora’s shoulder and shook his head like a petulant child.
“I can protect myself.”
As Fuuka pressed down on him, Sora realized how much his little brother had grown. He lay on the floor, unable to push himself up.
“Fuuka,” he said again, his eyes clearing. He murmured into his brother’s ear: “If you ever want to kill someone, kill me.”
Lifting up a little, Fuuka looked at Sora’s bright eyes. Just for a moment, a tangle of emotions flashed across Fuuka’s face. There was a mournfulness in his expression, but there was also a knowing maturity as well.
“…Fuuka?” Sora wondered at these feelings that he’d never seen in his brother before.
“I don’t wanna do anything like that,” Fuuka proclaimed in his usual, childlike voice, and stood up.
“I wanted to intervene before it came to this, but if we call the police now, we’ll be asked about our dog’s behavioral issues,” said Tamuramaro, scratching his head at the brothers’ long embrace and looking in the direction of the robbers’ escape.
“Sent by Etou, you think?” asked Sora.
“Yeah. Well, just as you surmised, he was linked to a criminal organization and directing enormous amounts of money to them. Those groups don’t leave much evidence, you see. I finally got hold of a scrap of it only yesterday. I doubted they would wait quietly for the report on Monday.”
Tamuramaro had been concerned about Sora’s safety over exposing the fraud, but he kept that part to himself. Instead, all he said was, “I’ll accompany you until Etou’s punishment is determined.”
“I’m fine with that as long as my brother stays safe,” chirped Fuuka cheerfully. The sadness in his expression was gone without a trace.
Sora was speechless. Just now, Fuuka had tried to kill a human being. And this wasn’t the first time.
“I’m hungry, Fuuka. Could you make dinner?” Tamuramaro gave a light thump on Sora’s back and picked up the shopping bag they’d dropped by the front door.
“I’m starving, too,” said Fuuka, flexing into a full stretch. “Ah, can you both help out in the kitchen today?” His right arm had a bloody cut, but when he stroked it lightly with his left hand, the wound and the smeared blood disappeared completely.
Sora watched Fuuka head to the bathroom to change. Evidently, he wasn’t even feeling any pain.
Sora stood rooted to the spot, unable to move.
“Hey, anything perishable, I’m gonna chuck in the fridge.” Tamuramaro grabbed Sora’s elbow and pulled him into the living room.
“You’re still as strong as ever,” Sora managed to say. Tamuramaro had, after all, knocked over one sturdy man with a single kick.
“Why, of course.” Tamuramaro laughed, his eyes as calm as ever. “After all, I am none other than the former sei-i taishogun—the commander in chief—of the expeditionary force against the barbarians.”
Only when he could hear Tamuramaro’s voice clearly again did Sora realize that he had nearly slipped out of consciousness.
It was the third month of the lunar calendar in the twenty-second year of the Enryaku era, or AD 803.
Spring was drawing near in Heian-kyo, and Sora was crouching near the gate to the capital by the Tousandou path, in a place called Awata-guchi. He was in his twelfth year, but he himself didn’t know that. Clad in a white silk robe, he clutched a short, M-shaped bow in his hand.
“Aren’t you sleepy, Brother? Aren’t you hungry? Aren’t you cold in these?”
His little brother, Fuuka, was beside him, with a short sword sheathed at his side. They’d left the north more than ten days ago, and they had brought their white silk robes with them.
It was a desolate path—barely a path, in fact—winding through the valley between the low mountains. The brothers were hidden under the shadows of the trees, where they’d taken up shelter as well. They’d been living on dried meat and nuts, but they’d already eaten the last of their supply several days ago.
“They say the people of the capital call us ‘Emishi’ and treat us as barbarians, just for the slight difference in our speech. We won’t let them deride us any longer. As unpleasant as it is, we’ll speak like they do and wear these robes that we gained from trade with the continent.”
The white silk robes were given to them in the northern land. Sora wore his meticulously straight up to the collar, with the sash tied firmly around his stomach. The fabric spread out lightly under the sash, but it didn’t get in the way of walking.