The air was cool when Arata led me through the stone-lined paths of the garden grounds. Paper talismans fluttered faintly on lantern posts, their inked seals glowing.
I shove my hands into my pockets.
"I'm kinda surprised you came for me again so soon…" I say. "It's only been two days."
Arata didn't slow his pace. He scratched the back of his head, eyes forward.
"Yeah, well. If you start doing things that rewrite several centuries of shaman common sense, you don't really get a large grace period."
I frown. "I don't think my condition is that big of a deal."
He glances back at me, one eyebrow raised.
"You're somehow bonding to ghosts. Not grave spirits. Actual wandering ghosts."
My steps slow.
"That's… bad?"
"That's unheard of," he says. "Tenmyō's records say it can't be done. Which means either the records are wrong, or something is unique about you that we need to figure out."
That doesn't help my nerves at all.
"And," he adds, almost casually, "we need to talk about how bad your spiriton control is."
"…okay man..."
"I'm not insulting you," he says. "I'm just helping you.."
We rounded the corner to a more secluded wing of the estate.
"Itsuki, this area is the living quarters. Most shamans live here in the Crimson Garden."
"This Benikaen place is pretty convenient."
I suppose that means most shamans don't have any family or homes…
We reach a fancy modern Japanese style house tucked away from the main paths. The lights are off.
This house is made in a different style from those traditional houses and other buildings in this place.
"The lights are off, it looks like the person living here isn't home."
Arata flicks his staff and puts it onto my mouth.
"SHHH, be quiet"
Arata slides the door open and we walk inside.
Empty.
"I guess nobody is home after all."
—
I barely had time to register the pressure before something slammed into me from the side. An arm snakes around my neck and I'm slammed to the floor, my breath leaving my body in a sharp gasp. A knee planted firmly between my shoulder blades.
"Gotcha!"
Saiko's voice. Laughing.
"G—gh—!"
At the same time, Genkei lunges at Arata. I catch it out of the corner of my eye— a wooden sword giving off light.
Arata stepped aside.
The force of the strike sent a shockwave through the air.
Arata caught Genkei's wrist, twisted, and stripped the sword from his grip in one smooth motion. He tapped the wooden edge against Genkei's forehead.
Too slow." Arata said calmly. "So obvious."
Genkei clicked his tongue, annoyed but not surprised.
"You wouldn't beat me even if you had infinite years of training" Arata added, handing the sword back.
Saiko burst out laughing.
"Hah! Did you see that? Genkei, you're embarrassing yourself."
She leaned her weight into me.
"And you—wow, newbie. You went down easy."
"Y-you blindsided me!"
"There's no rules in war." Saiko said cheerfully.
Arata sighed. "Alright everyone up. We're done playing ninja."
Saiko lets go and I suck in air, pushing myself up while she's still laughing. Genkei dusts himself off, annoyed but composed.
"Follow me," Arata says.
We followed him to a smaller structure near the back of the grounds. Nothing special just a small building.
He opens it and it's a whole different world.
Grass stretches as far as I can see. Wind ripples through it like waves. A waterfall cascades off a cliff in the distance, mist catching the light like drifting glass. Trees stood scattered across the field, their leaves glowing softly under a clear blue sky.
"…What…?"
Saiko's mouth fell open. "No way…"
Genkei squinted at the horizon. "You're joking."
Arata spread his arms proudly. "Welcome to my personal training space."
Genkei snorted. "You bringing us here for a vacation or something?"
Arata grinned. "If you guys earn it, maybe one day."
Arata turns to me, and the joking fades.
"I brought you here to explain why you're so much weaker than these two."
Owch
"It's not talent," he continues. "It's control. Genkei and Saiko have been training their spiriton flow since they were kids. They don't force energy. They let it flow, like breathing versus manually breathing.
He gestures around us.
"Spiritons are everywhere. Air. Water. Ground. You learn to feel them, shape them, guide them… you can do all sorts of things like…"
He smiles.
"Fly."
My eyes widen. "You're joking."
"And manipulate water," he adds.
Saiko whistled. "You're starting him there?"
"He'll manage," Arata said. "Probably."
Before I could respond, a paper talisman on Arata's sleeve ignited with blue flames.
"…Ah. Of course."
Arata sighed. "Duty calls. Miu is calling me."
Wait, Miu?
He pointed at Itsuki.
"Your task is to feel the energy. Don't force it. Don't imagine it like strength. Think of it like… pressure changes in the air before it rains. When you feel it, apply it."
"That's vague."
He teleports away.
I stare at the open field.
"…Great."
I jump.
For half a second, I lift off the ground—
—and then slam down on my ass.
"Ow."
Saiko got such a kick out of it she fell down on the floor laughing.
"Oh my god, please do that again."
This girl is annoying, there's no reason you should be laughing like that at this.
I try again.
Same result.
Again.
Again.
Eventually, I give up and walk over to them.
"…How do you do it?"
Genkei shrugs. For me, it's posture. Balance. Like standing on a blade's edge."
Saiko tilted her head. "I imagine the energy holding me up because it wants to. Like I'm not forcing it — just letting it help."
I nod, then hesitate.
"…I noticed this before but… are you two orphans?"
The air goes still.
Saiko's smile fades. Genkei looks away.
"…Yeah," Saiko says.
She stares at the grass.
And then—
her voice changes.
—
I didn't talk much back then.
Talking felt pointless.
My parents were always loud—laughing, yelling, throwing things—but somehow the house was still quiet when it came to me.
"Saiko! Where'd you put it?!" my dad slurred from the kitchen.
"I didn't touch it," my mom snapped back. "You're the one who—"
A bottle shattered against the wall.
I sat on the floor in my room, knees hugged to my chest, staring at the crack under the door. Light flickered as shadows moved back and forth.
"Don't ignore me!" my dad shouted.
"I'm not ignoring you, you bastard!" my mom screamed.
I learned early that if I stayed still, if I stayed small, they forgot I was there.
They drank. Every night.
Sometimes my mom would stumble into my room and glare at me.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she'd say.
I wasn't. I never was.
Most days, I sat on the floor and waited.
I don't remember being sad.
Just tired.
Then one night, they didn't stop yelling.
"You think you're better than me?!" my dad roared.
"You ruined everything!" my mom screamed back.
I heard metal scrape.
Then screaming.
Then silence.
—
When the police lights washed over the house, my mom was crying and my dad's body was a bloody mess, he wasn't moving.
An officer knelt in front of me.
"Hey, sweetheart… are you hurt?"
I didn't know how to answer.
Later, I sat on the curb, hugging my knees, the night air cold against my skin.
That's when someone I didn't recognize showed up.
He didn't wear a uniform.
He crouched down so we were eye level.
"…You've been quiet for a long time." he said gently.
I stared at the ground.
"That kind of quiet will kill you," he continued. "You're allowed to be loud. You're allowed to laugh."
I blinked.
"…I am?" I whispered.
He smiled.
"Yeah. Especially you."
He held out his hand.
"Come on. Let's get you somewhere more welcoming."
—
My parents weren't cruel.
They were always disappointed.
Which was worse in my eyes.
—
They brought in an adult swordsman that day.
He was broad-shouldered, scarred, his hakama worn soft with years of use. Someone who had killed before.
"Face him," my father said flatly, arms crossed.
I looked up, surprised. "…He looks like a master."
"That excuse won't help you," my mother replied.
The man bowed to me, slow and respectful.
"I won't go easy," he said. Not threatening though.
I smiled.
"That's fine."
We took our stances.
The moment the signal sounded, he moved first—fast, efficient, no wasted motion. His sword swiftly swerved towards my neck.
I ducked and went inside the strike.
Too close
My blade snapped upward, catching his guard, twisting his wrist. He grunted, stumbling back a step.
The courtyard went quiet.
He came again, harder this time. A flurry of strikes meant to overwhelm me.
I didn't exactly think.
I just went with the flow of his strikes.
Every movement felt obvious. Every opening visible. My feet carried me where I needed to be before my mind caught up.
His sword flew from his hands.
The tip of my blade stopped an inch from his throat.
Silence.
Then the man laughed, breathless.
"…You're incredible," he said. "I was dead the moment I overcommitted."
I lowered my sword, heart pounding.
I turned, chest tight with something warm.
I waited.
My father studied me.
"…You relied on instinct," he finally said.
My smile faltered.
My mother sighed. "You abandoned your form and teachings."
"I won though." I said softly.
"That's not the point," my father replied. "A swordsman must embody perfection."
The warmth vanished.
I bowed.
"Yes, Father."
Behind me, the adult swordsman looked stunned.
"…If you were my son," he muttered, "I'd be beyond proud."
I didn't answer.
I just smiled harder.
"I'll do better." I thought to myself.
—
Every session ended the same.
"Not enough."
"Your ancestors would be ashamed."
"You have potential. Why won't you use it?"
I trained harder.
I won more duels.
The praise never came.
One night, after another lecture, I bowed deeply.
"…May I be excused?"
My father didn't look at me.
"Do whatever you want."
So I did.
I left.
I wandered until my feet wobbled from exhaustion.
That's when a random guy found me.
He watched me swing once.
Then laughed.
"That's impressive," he said. "But completely wrong."
I froze. "Excuse me?"
"You're trying to be a weapon," he continued. "Not a swordsman."
I frowned. "What's the difference?"
He tapped his staff against the ground.
"A weapon exists for others. A swordsman chooses his own path."
How does he know..?
I hesitated.
"…What should I do?"
Arata smiled.
"Carry yourself like a master. Even if you're not one yet."
I took that advice seriously, very seriously, maybe too seriously.
"Now come with me, I know a place with kids just like you. I can guide you on the correct path."
—
The wind rustles through the grass.
Saiko wipes her eyes quickly.
Genkei exhales through his nose, holding his sword.
Neither of them is looking at me.
"…I'm glad," I say quietly. "That Arata found you guys and brought you here."
Saiko laughs softly. "Yeah."
Genkei nods once.
The waterfall roars in the distance, steady and unchanging.
And standing there, watching the two of them, I finally understand—
Strength isn't just power.
It's everything you survive before learning how to stand anyway.