Rain

2

We burst into the train station and pushed our way along the platform, stopping near the lines for Shin-shizuoka Station. The travelers stared at us as we stood there drenched in ink, but their eyes fell from us as more and more ink-stained festivalgoers flooded the station. It was already blaring on the news from the televisions perched above the platforms. They were calling it some sort of prank.

I wish.

Tomohiro swore under his breath and flipped his keitai open to turn it on.

“You need a new phone,” I said, trying to keep things light. “If you had one with apps, you’d be too addicted to turn it off for two weeks.” As the phone logged in, the several text messages I’d sent him all pinged in at the same time. I could feel my cheeks warm at the sound.

“I know,” he said, pushing the buttons to scroll through them. “I’m an idiot. Turning off my phone doesn’t ward off the Yakuza. But it’s not like I knew you were going to stay in Shizuoka. I’m going to text Shiori and make sure she’s okay.” He punched a few more buttons and sent the note.

“I told you not to desert her,” I said, and then I remembered I hadn’t come to the festival alone, either. “Oh crap. Yuki and Tanaka!” I pulled out my phone and started texting Yuki. This time Tomo raised an eyebrow at me and smirked.

“Shut up,” I fumed, my face burning.

He answered me in a slow, singsong voice, emphasizing every syllable. “Na-ni-mo ha-na-shi-ne-zo.” Translation: I didn’t say anything, in tough-boy speak.

I smiled and smacked his arm, and a glob of ink fell from his shirt to the ground. We stopped smiling.

Our phones chimed with replies about the same time.

“Shiori’s fine,” Tomo said. “She was under a tent when it happened, and she’s heading to the station now. She said to go ahead.”

“You sure?” I said. “We should wait.”

“That’s what I just wrote back. And...” Ding. “She insists. And Watabe-san?”

The sound of Yuki’s last name startled me a little bit. I kept forgetting Yuki and Tomo didn’t know each other very well, so of course he’d refer to her more formally. “With Tanaka,” I said. “And they’re fine. Drenched in ink, but fine. You know, Shiori’s probably embarrassed about how you brushed her off.”

“I just wanted time with you, Katie, not to hurt her. I think she’ll understand.”

“And if it comes back to haunt you?”

“It’s worth it,” he said. And my pulse drummed in my ears, even though I didn’t think I should be flattered by that. It always had to be complicated with him.

He headed toward the marked lines on the train platform and I followed. The passengers around us spoke in quick, panicked murmurs. They had no idea what sort of prank they’d just witnessed, but we did. We knew it wasn’t a prank at all.

“Was it you?” I asked again, quietly, as we boarded the train.

“I don’t think so. Maybe it was Takahashi. But who knows anymore? The ink does what it wants.”

I leaned against the wall by the far doors of the train car. I couldn’t exactly sit in the dripping yukata. The ink had stained all the embroidered cherry petals black.

“It’s totally ruined,” I said. “I hope Yuki won’t be mad.”

“It’s not your fault. Well, it might be,” he added with a grin.

“Not funny.”

“Warui,” he apologized, but he didn’t wipe the grin off his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue handkerchief with a cute cartoon elephant on it. He gently wiped the ink off my face with it before pressing it into my hands. The elephant’s adorable smile stared up at me.

Tomohiro, the kendo star of Suntaba School, the unreachable tough guy who sparked rumors and pretended to be badass, carried around this adorable cartoon-elephant hanky. I couldn’t help smiling a little as I mopped at the ink dripping down my arms. Poor Mr. Elephant turned pitch-black as the ink soaked into his smiling face.

The train car flooded with people, but more festivalgoers kept boarding, trying to escape the inky rain. We couldn’t possibly all fit, could we? It was like a nightmare rush hour at Tokyo Station, the kind that needed professional people pushers to close the doors. The flustered crowd swelled around us, elbows and shoulders prodding into me, squishing me until I felt a claustrophobic panic attack coming on. It reminded me of Mom’s funeral, the heat and sweat of all the bodies circling around me, too close.

“Here,” Tomo said, pressing his hands against the wall on either side of me. The crowd continued to push toward us, but Tomohiro took the brunt of it, forced closer and closer toward me.

“Thanks,” I said. He nodded once, bracing himself against the umbrellas and bags that jabbed into his arms and legs. We were pressed together like sardines; his breath was warm against my neck, and I could see the ribbons of badly healed scars trailing up his right arm. The biggest, where the painting of the kanji for sword had sliced him in elementary school, was mostly hidden under his soft wristband, but the edges of the scar trailed toward his palm and up his arm.

He hunched over me, trying not to press his body against mine, trying to give me some kind of modest space. This was the kind of guy he was, I reminded myself. Not the one who could lurk in dark alleys and call up people-eating dragons just by sketching them on paper.

But that was him, too.

The buzz of worried conversation hummed through the train car. No one would hear us, I thought. We were pressed so close together anyway.

“It was a warning, wasn’t it?” I whispered, hoping everyone else would just think I was the foreigner who didn’t really understand the Japanese she was using. “Those ink fireworks.”

“A warning? Since when have there been warnings?”

“I don’t know, it just feels like it. It’s like when my doodles came at me that time. Or when the picture of Shiori looked at me.” Like they were letting me know that they saw me, that they wanted to reach me.

“The doodles were an attack, not a warning,” Tomo said. “And are you sure the message wasn’t meant for me?”

“It knows I stayed in Japan. It’s not going to stop, Tomo.”

“You mean I’m not going to stop.”

“Don’t say that. It’s creepy.”

“Well, you talk about the ink like it has a life of its own.” He looked around to make sure no one was listening, and lowered his face only a few inches from mine. “It’s me, Katie. I’m the Kami. I’m the one drawing the pictures, not the other way around.”

“Right, but the ink in you has its own agenda. If we can figure it out—if we can figure out how I fit into all this—we can stop it.”

Tomo’s voice was breathy and dark. “I think there’s only one way to stop me.”

I shivered.

The ink dripped off Tomohiro’s bangs and curved down his cheeks. I reached up with the elephant towel and dabbed his face. “Arigatou,” he said quietly, and I wanted to kiss him right there on the train, to tell him everything would be okay.

“What about the other Kami?” The k came out so loudly. We shouldn’t be talking on the train; it wasn’t safe. I pressed my lips right to his ear. “What if one of them suddenly loses control? Although you’re the only one I’ve seen that’s so powerful, except for J—” Oops. “Um, I mean...”

If he was hurt by my comment, he hid it really well. “It’s okay. Except for Takahashi. He’s strong. I know it.”

“But you can’t be the only two. Has anything ever happened before? Some other you-know-what losing control?”

Tomo scrunched up his nose a little while he thought. The train curved around the Abe River and tilted us to the side. Someone behind Tomo stumbled, their bag smacking him hard in the leg. He buckled forward, stopping himself from falling over by pressing harder against the wall. He grimaced as they apologized, but all I could think about was how he was pressed up against me, the warmth of his body against mine.

He didn’t seem to notice, still lost in thought. “I don’t know. Except for Takahashi and his groupies I don’t know any others. Except my mom, and I can’t ask her.”

I thought about what Jun had said, about how the ink in me was pulled like a magnet to the ink in him and Tomo. If I was going to get anywhere, I needed to know more about how it all worked.

“Maybe Jun can...” I trailed off. The look on Tomo’s face made me stop in my tracks.

“You can’t trust him. He wanted to use us.”

“I know,” I said. But I wasn’t sure. Maybe I’d overreacted. Sure, he was a little messed up in the head, but he’d done a lot more kind things for me than creepy. I mean, was it really such a bad thing that he wanted to take out gangsters and world crime? His methods were questionable, but his intentions?

The train ground to a stop and Tomo leaned into me as the doors sprang open beside us. We were pressed so close his cheek was against my ear, his bangs tickling my skin.

“We need to figure it out,” I whispered, pretending that’s what I was still thinking about. Only a few weeks apart, and I’d become this nervous around him again? Must not think about his body pressed against mine. Must not think about how good he smells, like vanilla and miso.

And then he pressed his lips against my neck, and my thoughts exploded.

“We can figure it out without Takahashi,” he mumbled, his words tickling as they vibrated against my skin. “I’ve lived my whole life like this. Marked, stained, however you think of it. It’s not going to go away. I’m not normal, Katie. I can never be normal.”

You don’t have to be normal, I thought. You just have to be in control, so no one gets hurt. Especially us. But the words never made it to my lips. I wished we weren’t on the train, that we weren’t surrounded by a hundred people pretending not to see him kissing my neck. I wished we could be alone in Toro Iseki, surrounded by furin and wagtail birds and a starlit sky. But we could never be there alone again, not with his drawings around us. Things would never be the same now that renovations at the site were done.

Shin-shizuoka was the next station and we stumbled out of the train, hands entwined. Tomo walked me the whole way to Diane’s mansion—my mansion, I reminded myself. There was no time limit now. This was home, as long as I wanted it to be.

Tomohiro grasped both of my hands.

“I have to go,” I said. “It’s getting late.”

“I know.”

“It would be easier to leave if you let go of my hands.”

“I know.”

“Tomo.”

“You’re really here,” he said, giving my hands a tug so I stumbled forward. “I have to protect you. I can’t let anything happen to you.”

“Me, too,” I said. “I’m here to fix things, so don’t worry, okay? I can take care of myself.”

“Call me if the Kami or the Yakuza try to contact you. And I need to tell you something else.”

“What?”

He looked away, his face pained. “I’m going to stop drawing.”

“I thought you couldn’t.”

“I’m going to try,” he said. “No more sketching. It’ll eat me alive, but if you’re going to be here, I can’t risk it. Just notes at school.”

His fingers felt so warm laced with mine. “But your drawings mean so much to you.”

“Yeah, so much they bite and claw at me. Don’t forget the gun that shot at me.”

I shuddered. “Let’s try to get the ink under control, okay?”

“Katie,” he said, his mouth a grim line. “Do you think I set off the fireworks tonight?”

Yes.

“I don’t know. But I do know that if I don’t get in that door soon, Diane will sit me through a whole other set of fireworks and she may never let me come out again.”

Tomohiro laughed. “Wakatta. I get it. Good night.” He leaned over to kiss me, and the warmth of it threatened to knock me over. Suddenly meeting Diane’s curfew didn’t seem to matter at all.

Tomohiro’s hands slid down my arms to my hips, pulling me closer. He made a gentle noise deep in his throat and every nerve in my body tingled with the sound of it. I clung to him as I kissed him, and his fingers threaded into my hair. This was the welcome home I’d waited for.

Something papery and sharp smacked into the back of my hand, and then again. Like sharp bugbites they pierced every patch of bare skin—my feet, my wrists, my ears. I pulled back from Tomo and stared. Cherry petals made of ink lifted off my yukata, leaving behind areas of pristine and unstained fabric. The shadowy cloud of flowers swarmed around us like black flies, whipping against us over and over like we were at the center of a dark hurricane.

“Ow!” One of them nicked my finger and a drop of blood oozed from the cut.

Tomohiro swatted the petals like bugs and they fell, shriveling on the ground around us until we were surrounded by a wreath of crumpled blackness. Slowly they melted into an oily sheen, clouds of golden dust catching the light like dim fireflies. The ink, lashing out at us like it always did.

“Sorry,” he panted. “I... Maybe I should go home and clear my head. Damn hormones.”

“Fine, but next time you want to make out, leave your swarming sakura petals at home.”

He grinned and cupped my chin with his hand. “I can’t think straight when I’m with you,” he said.

He rocked back on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets, waiting until he was sure I was safely inside the lobby before turning to leave.

Like he wasn’t one of the more dangerous things lurking in the darkness.

The elevator hummed as it pulled me upward. After the closeness of him, I felt acutely aware of how alone I was. I walked toward the pale green door of our mansion and pushed it open.

“Tadaima,” I called out, kicking my flip-flops off in the genkan.

“Okaeri,” Diane answered from somewhere in the living room. I checked that Yuki’s yukata wasn’t dripping before I stepped onto the raised hardwood floors. The cherry blossoms on it were spotless, but the rest of the fabric still had sprays of ink soaked into it.

Diane appeared in the foyer, still holding the TV remote, and stared. “What happened to you?”

“It’s on the news,” I said quickly. “Some sort of prank or something.” She flipped the channel from the hallway, the voice of the newscaster blaring.

“Awful!” she said as she squinted at the screen. “Why would someone want to do that?”

“No idea,” I said, studying the damage in the mirror. The spray of flowers in my hair was still mostly pink, and so was my face, wiped clean by Tomo’s elephant towel. “Do you think the ink will come out?”

“I hope so. Poor Yuki. Her beautiful yukata.”

I was a mess of blurred yellow and pink. Diane helped me unloop the obi bow and untie the koshi-himo straps wrapped underneath.

“Just terrible,” Diane muttered. “I hope they catch the punks responsible.”

When had my life become such a tangle of lies?

“Greene-san, could I see you for a minute?”

I stopped in my tracks. Suzuki-sensei waited with his arms folded across his chest, and I wondered if I’d done something wrong. It was only the first day back at school. I couldn’t have messed up already, could I?

“I’ll wait in the hallway,” Yuki said.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I have to hurry to kendo after anyway.” Yuki nodded and slipped out the door. Lucky, I thought. I walked toward my impending doom at the front of the class.

“Suzuki-sensei?”

He smiled, but it was a bureaucratic kind of smile, the kind that had the same warmth to it as a February morning. “Sit down, please.” I sat in the nearest desk, while he sat on top of his. “We’re glad to have you back,” he said. “I’d heard from Headmaster Yoshinoma that you were heading to live with your grandparents in Canada for September.”

“I changed my mind,” I said.

“I see that. And I’m glad you can stay here with your friends.”

I was sure there was a but... in there somewhere.

“Shikashi...”

There it is.

“If you’re going to stay in Japan permanently, you’re going to have to give a lot of thought to your future. I know you have two more years before college, but you’ll have to work harder than the others. This isn’t an international school, Katie. You’ll have to catch up your kanji and vocabulary quickly. I can’t go easy on you.”

Somehow I hadn’t seen this coming. I’d thought things would stay the same. “I can keep up. I’m going to cram school, too.”

“So are most of your classmates,” he said. “Will you be able to take the entrance exams in two years? Can you even read a newspaper yet?”

I felt itchy. “Um, not yet.”

“How many kanji are you comfortable with?”

“Er. Not enough?”

“I want you to think seriously about this, all right? I don’t want to discourage you. You’re bright, but you’re taking on a lot. I won’t be doing you a favor if I go easy on you, you understand?”

“I get it,” I said. “I’ll work hard.”

He nodded. “I know. But think about it, because you still have time to transfer to an international school if the pressure’s too much.”

An international school, filled with English speakers like me. No Yuki, no Tanaka, no Tomohiro. Segregated somehow, separated from the reality of life in Japan. Another reminder that I could never really fit into the life I wanted to live here.

I’d just have to work harder.

“I don’t want to transfer,” I said. “I can do it.”

“Okay. Ganbarimashou ne?”

“Ganbarimasu,” I said. I’ll do my best.

So, figure out the ink and try not to flunk out of high school. Fine. I could do that.

Suzuki-sensei nodded and waved me out of the room. I rushed to the gym change room, hoping Coach Watanabe wouldn’t skin me alive for being so late.

I slipped quickly into my hakama and peeked out the locker-room door to the gym—shoot, they’d already started the push-ups. The minute the coaches looked away, I sped toward an empty spot in line and launched myself at the floor. I listened, but no yelling. I’d gotten away with it. I grinned at the floorboards, feeling like a ninja as I bobbed up and down with the team. The victory vanished pretty quickly. I’d lost my edge over the summer; my arms wobbled and ached after we got to fifteen. At twenty-five, I pressed my fingers against the varnished wood and forced myself up. The cut from the dark sakura petal throbbed and stung, but I tried to ignore it.

When we were warmed up and sweating, Watanabe and Nakamura called us all to the front and told us to kneel in a semicircle. This wasn’t normal. What was going on? I snuck a peek at Tomohiro, but he was looking down at the floor.

“I have some bad news,” Watanabe-sensei said, and my nerves started to buzz. This couldn’t be good. “Some of you have heard, but Ishikawa was injured over the summer.” Watanabe cleared his throat. “He was shot.”

Oh god. Murmurs ripped through the row of kendouka. Tomohiro kept staring at the floor. I hadn’t thought about the consequences at all. I hadn’t thought about the lies we might have to spin for me to stay in Japan safely.

“They don’t know who did it,” Watanabe said, trying to speak over the frantic students. “But the police are looking into it. Ishikawa is being less than cooperative, and so they’re concerned that it was not a random attack. The police came by yesterday during our teacher prep to interview us.”

“Is he still in the hospital?” asked one of the second-year girls.

Nakamura-sensei shook his head. “He’ll be all right. Right now he’s resting at home. His mother’s let us know that he’ll be strong enough to return to school in a few weeks. But unless the facts start looking more favorable, we may be forced to take disciplinary action against him.”

Like what? Suspend him from school? Kick him off the kendo team? They had no idea what had really happened, and they couldn’t. It was Tomohiro’s sketch that had shot Ishikawa—a drawing of a gun. He’d saved Tomo’s life by throwing himself in front of that bullet. How could we explain that, or why we’d been taken by the Yakuza, or anything related to that night? My heart twisted when I thought of Ishikawa in that stark white hospital room, being interrogated by the police and unable to say a word of truth. Just the idea of it gave me chills. How much trouble was he in?

“There’s more bad news,” Watanabe continued. “Takahashi Jun from Katakou School broke his wrist and will not be competing in the prefecture tournament.”

“Ee?” One of the third-year boys, Kamenashi, called out in surprise. “So Ishikawa and Takahashi are out?”

“Lucky you, Yuu-san,” grinned another, bumping Tomo with his elbow. “No competition left.”

“Watch your back,” laughed the second-year girl. “You might be next on the kendouka hit list.”

Oh god. I hadn’t thought of it like that. If you looked at it that way, it was a little suspicious. I rubbed my hands together, breathing slowly to calm down. It’s not like the police knew about Jun’s wrist, and there was no way they could link those events.

Watanabe raised his eyebrows as the kendouka laughed nervously over the joke. “Tomohiro?” he said. “Do you know something about these events?”

I glanced at Tomohiro, but his expression was stone as he shook his head. If he was worried, he was doing an amazing job of hiding it. It was hitting too close to the truth. My heart was racing as I tried not to look guilty. Tomo just looked pissed off, but anyone would expect him to look like that when his best friend was injured and his biggest rival was out of the competition.

But what if someone linked the injuries? Ishikawa was staying quiet out of loyalty to Tomo and to cover his own butt, but Jun? What if he spoke up about what had happened?

The lights overhead felt too bright as they glared down. Jun could destroy Tomohiro with a word. Maybe he already had.

“Let’s not focus too much on the sadness,” Nakamura-sensei chimed in. “We have to fight our best at the tournament for Ishikawa’s sake. Let’s believe in him, and let’s lend all our strength to Yuu. He’s our best hope in the championship now. Ne, Tomohiro?” He started clapping loudly and far too enthusiastically. The kendouka slowly joined in, until everyone was applauding.

“Yuu-kun, ganbare!” they shouted. “Tomo-senpai, you can do it!”

Everyone’s attention was on Tomohiro. I could see his shoulders shaking, his eyes focused still on the floor. He was going to break under the pressure. He was going to confess everything. I watched, horrified.

He leaped to his feet, his hands in fists. And then he bowed to everyone with a smile, and they cheered, and Watanabe broke us up into groups for sparring.

I guess he’d had a lot of practice hiding secrets.

After kendo, Tomo and I walked to the bike racks in the courtyard of the school.

“You okay?” I said, grabbing the handlebars of Diane’s bike.

He nodded, shifting his navy-and-white sports bag on his shoulder as he reached to unlock his wheel from the rack. “Fine,” he said. “You?”

“Not totally fine,” I said. He stood and grabbed the handlebars, yanking the bike free.

“Thinking too much?”

I stifled a smile. “Maybe. Ishikawa’s in a lot of trouble, Tomo.”

“I know.”

And you might be, too. But it seemed cruel to say. I couldn’t imagine the guilt he was already feeling for putting his friend in the hospital with an unexplainable wound.

We walked alongside the bikes, both of us lost in thought. It wasn’t safe to talk too much here, anyway.

“So...what’s the plan today?” I tried.

Tomo attempted a smile as he broke from his thoughts. “I thought we could go somewhere. There’s a place I’ve been wanting to show you.”

“Like a date?” I said. He’d never used such an official term before. I swear his cheeks started to turn pink.

Then Tomo’s phone chimed with a text. He leaned his bike against his leg as he reached into his pocket.

Tomo sounded puzzled as he looked at the screen. “Tousan?”

“Your dad?” Tomo twisted the phone so I could see the message.

Come home right now. Important.

My mind fled to images of Kami and Yakuza. “Is he okay?”

“He’s never home this early,” Tomo said, which made me kind of sad. It was well past dinnertime already with kendo practice. Tomo had told me his dad worked long hours, that he almost lived alone in the silence of their empty house.

“What if the Yakuza called?” I blurted out.

Tomo stood still for a moment, staring at the screen. Then he shoved the phone into his pocket and took off running alongside his bike, lifting himself onto the seat as he sped toward Otamachi.

“Wait up!” I hopped on my bike and pedaled after him. Whatever he might have to confront, I wanted to be there.

We swerved around the streets surrounding Sunpu Park, coasting toward Tomo’s house in the northeastern part of the city. A white scooter rested on the wall around Tomo’s house, against the silver plaque that read The Yuu Family. Tomo dropped his bike to the ground and opened the metal gate, waiting to let me through before he clanged it shut behind us.

“Just a scooter,” I said. “Is it a guest?”

“That’s a police scooter,” Tomo said as he opened the door, and my heart dropped. Tomo’s dad had called the police?

“Tousan?” Tomo called out from the genkan. No answer at first and we kicked off our shoes, hurrying in. “Tousan!”

Then there was a shuffle of feet, and Tomo’s dad appeared in the hallway. He was a somber and older version of Tomohiro, wearing a tight-fitting suit with a dark tie, his black hair slicked down neatly. He looked intimidating and somehow impressive at the same time.

Another man appeared behind him, this one in a light blue shirt with a navy vest over it. He had a balding spot on his head, and his thin black hair had been neatly combed around his ears. The policeman. He stepped forward, bowing to us.

“Hiro,” Tomo’s dad said, and it took me a minute to realize he was addressing his son. “You’re late.”

“I was at kendo practice,” Tomo said, and I could feel the uneasy tension between the two.

“This is my son, Yuu Tomohiro,” Tousan said, a fake smile plastered on his face. His eyes practically shot lasers at Tomo.

The officer nodded. “I’m Suzuki,” he said. “I’d like to talk to you for a bit if that’s okay.”

Oh god. It’s starting.

Tomo’s dad looked me over, his eyes bulging a little in surprise. I guess Tomo hadn’t told him he was dating a foreigner. “I’m sorry, but your friend will have to leave for now.”

“I’m sure it won’t take long,” Tomo said. “Katie can wait upstairs in my room.”

Tousan’s eyes flashed. “Hiro, this is important.”

Tomo squeezed his hand into a fist. “Wait upstairs,” he said to me in English.

Well, this was an awkward first meeting with my boyfriend’s dad. But I wanted to be here in case things fell apart. I wanted to know. And being on Tomo’s side was more important right now then getting his dad to like me. I nodded and headed up the stairs toward his room. His father grunted, but didn’t protest.

I stopped at Tomo’s door, listening. They’d forgotten about me already and were moving into the living room to talk. I listened to the rapid Japanese flood the house. I still struggled with vocabulary. Tomo and my friends could communicate with me okay, and even school subjects I could get the hang of with Yuki’s help, but listening to the formal talk with the police strained what language skills I had. I sat down with my back to the stair railing, squeezing my eyes shut to try to understand the conversation.

“Actually, Yuu, I’m sure you’ve heard by now about your friend Ishikawa Satoshi. We wanted to ask you some questions.”

It wasn’t fair that he had to face this alone. I’d seen just as much, but they’d never think to question me.

“Were you aware Ishikawa was getting involved in a gang affiliated with the Yakuza?” I pieced together the question from the vocab I knew.

Tomo’s steady voice answered, “No.”

“But you’re friends. You didn’t notice anything strange?”

“We take kendo together. Otherwise I spend my time studying for exams.”

“And what else?”

“That’s it.”

A pause. The policeman didn’t believe him. The doubt dripped from every syllable.

“What about your girlfriend?” I took a shaky breath.

“Of course, we go for coffee sometimes, and we’re in kendo together. But I don’t have time for any other hobbies.”

“I see.” He asked a few questions I couldn’t follow as I strained to listen in.

“Hiro and Satoshi have been friends since elementary school,” Tomo’s dad chimed in. “It’s a shame if Satoshi has lost his way, but my son has not followed him down this path.”

“I understand,” Suzuki said. There was a pause, and I could hear the policeman scribbling down notes. Then he asked, “Tomohiro, do you know a Takahashi Jun?”

The silence pressed in around me as I waited for the response.

“Un,” Tomo confirmed. “He’s a kendouka. Sixth in the nationals last year, right? I sparred with him in the ward tournament.”

“Were you aware he was admitted to Kenritsu Hospital the same night as Ishikawa?”

“No. But I heard he hurt his wrist. Our kendo coach told us today at practice.”

“Hmm,” Suzuki said. “Two of the three lead kendouka for the prefecture tournament out of commission in one night. Strange, isn’t it?”

“What are you trying to say?” Tousan’s voice rang out, and I shivered. It was a nightmare listening to all this at the top of the stairs, powerless to do anything at all.

“Only that some troublemakers have money riding on the outcome of the tournament,” Suzuki said. “Gambling on kendo is becoming a problem, and we’re concerned for Tomo’s safety.”

So they didn’t suspect him. Yet.

“You think the two incidents are linked,” Tousan said.

“Tomohiro, I think it’s best if you keep from associating with Ishikawa for now. And if you receive any threats about the tournament, let us know. Someone may be trying to fix the outcome.”

“But Takahashi only hurt his wrist,” Tomo said. “How is that a crime?”

“The fracture pattern of the bone indicates an assault,” Suzuki said. “And he arrived at the hospital only two hours after Ishikawa. We had police there when he arrived, and he was as unwilling to talk as Ishikawa was. We don’t know for certain they’re related. We’re just trying to be thorough.”

Assault charges. Gunshots and fractures. Could they track it to us? One confession from Jun or Ishikawa and they could get Tomohiro. And then what? He’d never admit I’d been there, but what about Jun’s Kami groupies? The girl on the motorbike, Ikeda—she’d looked pretty pissed when we’d fought him. She’d talk for sure, and they’d arrest us both. They’d interrogate Tomo until the ink coursed down his arms, and then they’d stick him in a lab or an asylum or something. My mind raced with terror. I had no idea what might happen, but we were in danger in the worst way.

And if I was linked to it? Would they deport me? Suspend me? Send me to jail for assisted assault? Was that even a thing? I’d been holding the shinai when Tomohiro had brought it down on Jun’s wrist. I wasn’t blameless.

The policeman spoke again. “You know Sunpu Castle, I assume.”

“It’s near my school,” Tomo answered.

“Are you aware we found traces of blood there the morning after these incidents occurred? Takahashi’s blood?”

Tomo sounded bored, but I knew it was an act. “So he hurt himself walking home?”

“We found something else, too.” I heard the rustle of cloth while my heart beat in my ears. What had they found? “It said Yuu on the back. That’s you, right?”

“My tenugui,” Tomo said softly. I leaned my head back against the railing. One of his kendo headbands must have fallen out of his sports bag when I’d reached in for the shinai.

“With Takahashi’s blood on it.”

“Explain, Hiro,” Tomo’s dad said sharply.

“I don’t know, Tousan,” Tomo answered. “I bike home through that castle gate all the time. It must’ve fallen out of my sports bag.”

“The boys face each other often in the kendo ring,” his father added. “They even recently went on a kendo retreat together. It’s very possible the source is from a sports encounter.”

I heard a rustle of paper and the creak of the floorboards. “If it fell out of your bag, that’s most unfortunate, Tomohiro-kun,” the policeman said. “Tell me, did you attend Abekawa Hanabi this weekend?”

The memory of the policeman grabbing his radio flashed through my mind.

“One of our officers is an avid kendo fan and recognized Takahashi. And he overheard you threaten to break his other wrist.”

Want to sign my cast?

If you don’t get out of here, I’ll give you another to match.

Tousan’s voice rose. “Tomohiro!”

I waited, the silence thick as he hesitated. “It was just talk. We’re kendo rivals. I didn’t mean it.”

Suzuki sighed. “Threatening someone must be taken seriously. And after talking to the teachers at your school yesterday, we know you have a history of getting into fights.”

Oh god. The world around me stopped.

“That was after his mother died,” Tousan broke in. “It was hard on him. He’s come a long way since then. My boy isn’t someone who would do this.”

“We can’t ignore this link, Yuu-san—we have to do our job, you understand.” There was a creak that sounded like someone lifting himself off a couch, the click of something plastic. “Tomohiro-kun, if you remember any more details about Ishikawa or Takahashi, could you let us know? You can reach me at this number.”

“Thank you for coming out of your way,” Tomo’s dad said.

There was another creak as Suzuki lowered himself into his shoes by the genkan.

The door snicked shut, and Tomo’s dad grunted. “Stay away from those boys, got it? The last thing I need is you causing me more trouble.”

He meant the accident with Koji, when Tomo’s drawings had almost scratched out his classmate’s eye and brought on a lawsuit.

Footsteps thumped against the stairs and I retreated into Tomo’s room so I wouldn’t look like I’d been eavesdropping.

“Hiro! Are you listening?”

“I’m listening!” Tomo shouted back. The door creaked open.

“Tomo,” I said. “Are you okay?”

He slumped on the floor beside me, dropping his kanji-printed headband onto the hardwood. A faint trail of blood sprayed across the white cotton. Tomo combed a hand through his bangs and sighed. “How much did you understand?”

I stretched out my legs. “Enough.”

“He thinks I had something to do with it,” he said. “They found a spray of blood in Sunpu Castle. Takahashi’s...on my tenugui. And they heard us at the festival this weekend.”

“I know.” I rested a hand on his arm.

“If it was just the Takahashi thing, I could’ve admitted to it. I could pass it off as a rivalry taken too far. Guys being stupid, right?” He leaned his head back against the frame of his bed.

“Except now they think Takahashi and Ishikawa are linked,” I filled in.

“Takahashi’s going to use this. If he talks, I’m done. I’ll have to join his Kami cult.”

“We’ll find another way,” I said. But everything was crumbling around us.

I had to talk to Jun. I didn’t have a choice, even if Tomohiro wanted me to stay away from him. I had to get this under control fast, for both of us.