After her bold move, which not even a yakuza member would do nowadays, Natsuki clapped her hands in front of her face in entreaty. Sora sensed the weight of her desperation, and a deep sigh escaped him, not just because of the thumbprint.
He’d confessed his true character to Natsuki because he didn’t think he could do it. But she didn’t stop to listen.
“I’ll listen to your story, but that’s all I’m going to do…”
At the same time, he also thought this might be part of learning to coexist with people—to finally learn to accept the things that couldn’t be changed. Now that he was living in Shizukuishi with a somewhat parental figure, he could feel himself changing more rapidly than ever before. His iron grip on his ideals of righteousness and justice was beginning to loosen.
“That’s settled, then. We’ll pick a day and go have a chat with Mr. Odajima. I’ll take you as my assistant of sorts. I’ll deal with that somehow, with some begging and pushing.”
“Do you mean you’ll force me in?”
Whether it was good or bad that this job with Natsuki was his first step toward coexistence, Sora couldn’t tell. It was so beyond the familiar bounds of his experience that he couldn’t make any guess as to the future. Even if he could change a little, he found it hard to believe he could ever adapt to the gray zones as much as people wanted him to.
“By the way, I hope you’re going to take care of Ms. Tatsuko’s divorce,” Natsuki remarked, suddenly switching her tone and subject to something far less ambiguous. “I know you’re not that kind of lawyer, but you can do it, can’t you?”
Since she understood what a certified fraud examiner’s work entailed, she also knew it wasn’t impossible for him to assist in divorce proceedings, even though he wasn’t an attorney.
“Are you in favor of them getting a divorce?” asked Sora, relieved to see that Natsuki had a thorough understanding of how things worked in society.
“Of course I am. I learned calligraphy from them, too, you know,” she said coolly as she flipped through her schedule book to choose a date. “Didn’t you choose the path of law so you could judge rationally and punish appropriately? Do them a favor and make a clean cut of it. I’ll deal with all the tax business.” There was no hesitation in her voice.
Those who knew how matters stood thought that if Tatsuko wanted a divorce, that was how it should be, and Sora could understand why.
“So you did hear what I said, even while you forced me to give you my thumbprint… And I see calligraphy and penmanship are two separate things,” Sora observed, his eyes on Natsuki’s notebook.
“I’m well aware of how messy my handwriting is, thank you very much!” she retorted. They left the matter of the divorce unresolved.
Deep down, Sora noticed that it was he himself who let the subject drop. Not long ago, he would never have allowed something to remain so vague.
Sora turned in a different direction than usual and went to the shopping street in front of the train station to buy a notebook for Fuuka.
“I’m back.”
It was still early, since his appointment with Natsuki had been just a chat, but he’d taken no less than an hour to pick out a notebook.
“Welcome back, Sora!” Fuuka came bounding out to greet him, as he always did.
For some reason, Sora felt a rush of relief to see his brother and his usual affectionate hello, but he had mixed feelings about the outfit. He was wearing the blue costume that Tamuramaro had given him.
“Here, this is for you, Fuuka.”
As he loosened his tie, Sora handed the paper bag to Fuuka, whose arms were wrapped around his waist.
“What is it?”
“Go ahead—open it,” said Sora, taking off his jacket.
Fuuka opened the bag eagerly. “A notebook?!”
“That’s right. Hope it’s useful for your studies.”
This was the conundrum Sora had puzzled over for an hour. He himself had already known how to read and write by the time they’d begun this long journey, so he didn’t know where to start when it came to finding a notebook that was suitable for learning kanji. In the end, he resorted to asking the staff and chose a kanji practice notebook lined with big squares, intended for students in the lower grades of elementary school.
“Looks perfect!” Fuuka appeared delighted, flipping through the notebook at the dining table.
“Glad you like it,” Sora said quietly with a sigh of relief.
“But it’s frustrating to have to learn from Tamuramaro. Why can’t you teach me, Sora?” Fuuka pleaded.
“Of course, I can teach you anytime. But…”
Sora thought of Tamuramaro, who was still busy with the Daitokyo Bank case. He would be presenting himself at the Public Prosecutors’ Office, meeting with Etou, who was now ousted from his position, and so on.
“It’s not the brother’s job to teach a child how to read and write.”
Those were his firm words to Sora from the day before.
“Maybe being frustrated means you’ll learn faster from Tamuramaro.”
Back when they lived together in the Showa period, Sora had learned countless things from Tamuramaro. Not just for school, but also about society, about human beings. Though he didn’t like to admit it, he knew Tamuramaro had cared for him and raised him as a child.
“Do you still hate him that much?” asked Sora, suddenly curious why.
Sora himself harbored feelings about Tamuramaro that tugged in opposite directions. With the incidents from 1,200 years ago and all that had happened since, he couldn’t sum up how he felt about Tamuramaro in one word.
“I hate him!” Fuuka cried, sticking out his tongue.
Sora didn’t share Fuuka’s animosity toward Tamuramaro. His own feelings were far more troublesome.
“Why’s that?”
“When you’re with him, you change so much… It’s happened before,” said Fuuka, his gaze turning lonely.