At breakfast, Satori eats with bandages wrapped around her hands and faint bruises peeking out beneath her kimono sleeves.

Ryo does his best to not comment or glance at the darkened splotches — a difficult task given that he is sitting at the perfect angle to see the wounds Satori hides. His mother is smiling, humming a happy tune as she gives his father another scoop of rice. Satori is smiling too, though it doesn’t reach her eyes.

As I thought, I really don’t want to be a jittemochi when I grow up. He stabs his chopsticks into a cooked egg.

“I must pay Richard Blackwood a visit soon,” his father speaks, breaking the silence. “Ryo will come with me.”

This makes his mother’s tune falter and even Satori’s eyes sharpen. “H-how soon?” his mother asks.

His father places his chopsticks down. “As soon as I get permission from the higher-ups. In the meantime, Ryo, pack your things. We will travel by ship to the Liu family in China first. And then we will teleport from their base.”

Ryo’s breath hitches, excited at meeting his playmate overseas again. It’s been half a year since they last visited—half a year too long! Edward Blackwood, son of Richard Blackwood, is the weirdest kid he’s ever met, a brunette who smiles way too much, talks too much, and seemingly has no common sense.

It’s a breath of fresh air, really. 

…Said kid is also filthy rich and lives in a mansion probably having high tea every damn day. Not that Ryo’s jealous or anything.

Satori meets his gaze and he can see the relief that swirls in her eyes. He grins back, small and slight. To her, a visit to the Blackwoods in London means their father won’t be home for at least a few months. To him, a visit to the Blackwoods in London means the world of…well, magic, for lack of a better term, and spectacular things.

See, the Otani family may be peasants in Edo. That much is true. But his family also protects one of the Artifacts, one of seven divine objects handed down through the generations in a few bloodlines, something with links to a kami, a god. And this Artifact contains musubi, the power of creation that allows the miraculous to be possible, like teleportation or the ability to conjure flames. His father explained it before, but it was quite complicated, so in his mind, he’s simplified it to this: the Artifacts exist for the purpose of saving the world and humanity from complete destruction.

Of course, by protecting the Artifact, they also protect the fact that it exists a secret— the shogunate would have their heads if they knew of a power that could undermine the authority of the shogun or the Emperor. 

This last fact, his father had sternly told them a few years ago. “I cannot keep this a secret from you all, as we live together and you are bound to find out,” he’d said, “I need you to understand the consequences of leaking this information so we can work together to keep it a secret. Ryo, Satori, this is not a game, you understand?”

They did, if only to avoid their father’s fury.

Ryo is pulled back to reality by his mother’s voice. “Well, make sure you bring greeting gifts for them all.” She goes back to humming a tune, less strained this time.

“Ryo, how about you find a gift for Edward?” his father suggests.

He can’t help the smile creeping onto his face. “Sure!”

“So, what does Edward like?” Satori asks him as they walk beside their mother, holding each other’s hand.

“Hmm… I’m not sure.”

“Not sure?” Satori raises an eyebrow at him. “And here I thought you two were friends.”

“W-well, it’s not like I see him very often.”

“You bragged about how good friends you were with him last time you came back.”

Ryo harrumphs. “I am! I just didn’t ask—”

“Ryo! Help me carry these,” his mother says, handing him a small bag of vegetables.

He nearly stumbles, Satori catching him before he falls. “Man, what am I going to do with your sorry butt?” she sighs, teasing. “And I’m the one that’s supposed to be injured here.”

He blushes. “I didn’t need your help.”

“You did.”

“Didn’t.”

“You so did.”

“Hey,” their mother snaps, “no arguing at the market! This is supposed to be a pleasant morning.”

They quiet, silently but playfully glaring at each other.

“So,” Ryo drawls, “are you and Mom gonna be okay?”

“What do you mean?”

He swallows, thinking back to the night before. Satori’s unforgiving gaze never leaves his and a cold sweat breaks out on his forehead. “Nevermind.”

“It’ll be the best few weeks of the year,” Satori whispers, eyes glinting with mischievous light. “I’m gonna sneak out to the dojo everyday.”

“But Mom will tell—”

“Like I said, sneak out.” Satori straightens, a skip to her steps. “We were only caught because you were so slow and I had to wait for you.”

“...And here I was, worried about you.”

Back at home, they’re munching on persimmons their mother sliced. 

“Look,” Satori starts, laying belly-down on Ryo’s futon, “just get Edward something from here.”

“Here?”

“Edo.”

He blinks. She blinks back, gulping down a big fleshy bite.

“You do realize he’s rich, right?”

Satori shrugs. “Yeah, but it’s not like he’s ever been to Edo before. Without the Artifact, you can’t even go to different countries so easily. You’re both kids! Most people like us here don’t even know about London. Just rumors of a far off empire in the West with great might.”

Ryo rolls his eyes. “Technically, the Artifact isn’t the thing that teleports us. It’s musubi, the power of—”

“All things, yeah, yeah,” she interrupts. “Didn’t Dad tell you to keep it a secret from Edward too? That means he won’t know anything about Edo or the Artifacts.” At his uncomprehending look, she adds, “He wouldn’t have been here before cuz he wouldn’t know about the whole teleportation thing.”

Ryo reaches for another slice of persimmon. “Yeah, Edward isn’t in this…world yet, not like we are.” His brows furrow. “I guess I could get him something cool from here, but he already has everything. And everything he has is better than what we have.”

Satori looks around. The room is filled only with what is necessary, nothing more and nothing less. The blankets are hand-me-downs from relatives, stubborn stains still visible. She scratches her head. “Right, and our place is not…nice. Not nice at all.”

“Honey, I’m home,” their father announces downstairs. Their mother ushers him inside, their voices mingling and fading to the background.

“What does Edward like to do?” Satori asks.

Scaring and pranking me. “Uhh…climbing trees…” To talk to his imaginary friend that I can’t see. “Being outside…” With a worm around his finger, chasing me, because he knows I hate bugs. “Smiling a lot?” Which is actually super creepy and makes me think something is seriously wrong with that kid.

Satori claps her hands together. “So he’s like me!”

“No—”

“How about you get him a bow? For archery,” Satori suggests, eyes twinkling. “If he ever comes here, I’m gonna have a match with him, so you should tell him to practice if he doesn’t want to get his ass kicked.”

Ryo rolls his eyes. “He’s not coming—”

THUMP!

“—you moved my things!” Their father roars downstairs.

“I-I didn’t!” their mother cries, voice laced with a sudden piercing fear.

“Fuck you! Those were important!”

“No! I didn’t! I said I’m sorry—”

THWACK!

Satori jumps up. Ryo grabs her arm.

“What are you doing? Let go!” she hisses.

“Don’t go down there!” He drags her back. “Dad’s gonna hurt you more if you do!”

Downstairs, their mother shrieks and sobs.

THWACK! THWACK!

Satori wrenches herself free from his grasp. With a furious glint in her eyes, she tells him, “I’m not going to just watch Mom get hurt like this. You should stay here. You can’t help. Just…hide somewhere and stay out of my way!”

With that, she is gone, thundering down the stairs and yelling with all the strength her five-year old body can muster, “STOP!”

Ryo blinks, retracting his shaking hand back to himself. All he hears is the sound of his shaky breaths and the thundering beat of his heart.

“It wasn’t her!” Satori yells from below. “It was me, I moved your stuff!”

“You little bitch! Get over here!” his father growls.

“No!” his mother cries. “Leave her alone!”

BANG! CRASH! SPLASH!

Satori shrieks, quiet and brief for someone who should be in a lot of pain. 

That unfreezes him. Ryo steps out from his room quietly, trembling as he walks down the stairs to the terrifying sight of his father shoving Satori against the wall, choking her.

He blinks, sluggish and slow as he watches his sister take a beating in his mother’s stead. Nausea and dizziness fill his helpless body.

If he had taken the classes meant for him, would he be able to make a difference now? And yet, why is it that he only feels disgust at the thought of learning such things?

“As a man, he needs to learn how to protect himself and you both,” his father had said at dinner last night.

No. No I don’t. I don’t need to protect myself. I’d rather not, if it means I’ll become like you. Mom and Satori shouldn’t need to be protected from… you!

His mother is on her knees, kowtowing her head and begging for his father to stop choking Satori, who dangles in the air drenched from head to toe with tea, lacerations from shattered cups all over her face.

Protection? What protection? Their father protects them? A man protects? This is what protection looks like? 

What idiot made that up?

Ryo takes a step back, disgust thundering loud in his blood. Satori had always been the braver between them, and she pays for that every single time. He’s always wished to take her place as the braver one, but time and time again, he learns he is not. He does not spring into action, nor does he want to quietly accept that this is his reality.

There is a silent type of poisonous despair that lurks in his veins — it had lurked in his veins since the moment of his birth. It shadows him unseen and rears its snake-heads at moments like these.

From it is birthed an ugly feeling in his chest like some twisted mockery of motherhood and it whispers to him the ugly truths of a world too big for his heart: some people do not deserve to have strength, and these people must be stripped of their “strength”— his dad will be the first one he strips of strength once he figures out how.

“I’m sorry!” his mother cries again. “I was wrong!”

His father releases Satori, who crumples to the floor, and storms away to his study. The house settles into a shattered stillness, leaving cracked dishware and splattered food behind.

And as if the hurricane did not happen, his mother calls out sweetly, “Ryo, come help me bring your sister upstairs.”

Tearing himself away from the cloying embrace of despair, he hurries down the last few steps, trembling hands lifting his sister by the shoulders while his mother, limping, carries her legs.

“Change the washcloth,” his mother tells him. He nods, obeying and does exactly that.

The water is cold against his still-shaking hands. He wrings the cloth of water before placing the cool fabric against Satori’s forehead.

Her wounds have stopped bleeding, her face a clotted mess. She is quiet, too quiet, lying in her futon. Ryo swallows, bitter saliva seeping into his stomach like slow poison. He feels nauseous, but holds it in best he can.

Seeing Satori quiet and sleeping with criss-crossed red lines over her face and bruises over her small, pale body awakens in him some quiet kind of resolve borne of childish shame:

He will not study at the dojo. He will never be a jittemochi. He will never become the kind of man his father is: a strong man. He will find another way to uphold their family’s livelihood. He will be a good man first and foremost. He will always do better and be better than his father. The strong are, after all, not worthy of respect.

“Mmm…” Satori mumbles, eyebrows furrowing.

“Satori!” Ryo cries, hugging her.

“Ow…” She smacks his head. “Get off me.”

He pouts, slowly letting go.

“Satori,” his mother whispers as she curls a lock of Satori’s black hair behind her ear, “how are you feeling?”

Satori blinks, gaze vacant but a smile on her lips. “Better.”

A deep-set sunken sadness seeps into their mother’s gaze. “You didn’t have to come downstairs. How many times do I have to tell you?”

Satori grins, wincing in pain before she speaks, “I know. And you didn’t have to marry him, you know?”

“...I know.”

“So why did you?”

Silence.

Ryo sneaks a glance at his mother’s expression, and it is something distant he does not yet have the skill to understand.

She speaks after a long time. “I didn’t know he was like this.” Refusing to meet their eyes, she excuses herself. “I will be in the kitchen.”

“Hey,” Satori croaks, turning to him. “You’re not looking too good yourself.”

He huffs. “I’m not the one who got my ass kicked.”

“Don’t blame yourself. Some people aren’t made for beatings.”

“That’s not something to be proud of!”

Satori’s small fingers clasp his arm tightly. Still smiling, she says, “I’m not proud of it.”

In her shining gaze, there is only sincerity. He swallows, cupping his hand over hers.

She turns her head away from him. Her shoulders shake, and yet she does not let out a single sound. As soon as it started, the shaking stops. “I’m not proud of it,” she whispers again.

And it kills him inside to see that. It’s not like he knows what to do or say either. The pit inside his chest returns and it expands just a bit more…just enough to force him to take a single breath and speak with a steady voice. “...Father’s booked his time off. We should be gone for at least three or four months starting tomorrow.”

“Mm.”

“Take care of yourself. And Mom.”

“...Mm.”

“And if you sneak out to the dojos, remember not to tell anybody that we’re out of the country. Tell them we’ve gone to Nagasaki for sight-seeing if they ask.”

“Mm.”

He waits until her breathing evens, until his legs fall asleep. Then, he quietly gets up and leaves.

Ryo has never heard his mother say, “Thank you”, or his father say, “Sorry”. And that’s just how things are in the Otani household.