Rain (10 page)

In phonetic hiragana I could. But
myoji,
the kanji for names...

I concentrated and wrote.

“That’s it!” Yuki squealed. She erased one of my strokes and fixed it up a little. “This one needs to be longer than this one,” she said, and I nodded. “Okay. Write another name.”

Yuu Tomohiro.

“Oh please,” Yuki said, jabbing me with her elbow. “Spare me. You guys are sappy beyond belief.”

I missed our time in Toro Iseki. I wished things didn’t feel like they were slipping between my fingers.

* * *

I only had to put the chairs on the desks for cleanup, so I arrived early to the gym for Kendo Club. Today was the last practice before the prefecture tournament over the weekend. I headed into the change room and pulled on my
hakama
skirt. Today’s practice was all about Tomohiro, really. With Ishikawa out and only a couple of our junior
kendouka
participating, he was the only one who had the skill to advance for Suntaba at the tournament. It would be such a relief to have it behind us. I wondered if the police were still hounding Ishikawa and Jun. I’d have to ask Jun the next time we met up.

The next time.
How many times would we meet up? But the control he’d had drawing that glass of water—I wanted that for Tomohiro. Jun could live a normal life. Maybe Tomo could, too.

We started the class with the usual push-ups and laps around the gym. Many in the class hadn’t bothered to suit up in full
bogu
armor, but Nakamura-sensei and Watanabe-sensei didn’t notice, or at least didn’t care. They hounded Tomohiro, shouting at him to go faster as he did his laps.

“Pick up your feet!” they shouted during his
kiri-kaeshi
movements. “You’re stuck to the floor, Yuu. Lighter!” It was brutal, like they were hazing him.

“
Ossu
!”
Tomohiro shouted to show he was listening, conforming.

“Swing harder. Focus! Better aim. Again!”

“Ossu!”
he yelled back. The sweat was dripping off the ends of his
tenugui
headband onto the floor.

“Not good enough! More!” What the hell were they talking about? He was in peak form. It was almost cruel. They were pushing him to his limits, screaming at him, and he took it, time after time.

I realized I was staring, so I went back to my exercises.

“I’ve never seen them work him so hard,” I whispered to my partner.

She nodded behind the mesh screen of her
men
helmet. “The competition is going to be really tough.”

“Okay, together!” Nakamura-sensei shouted, and all the
kendouka
gathered. We sat in a circle except for Tomohiro, who stood in the center, his body shaking with every breath. “Kamenashi, you’re up,” Coach said, and the
kendouka
stood to spar with Tomohiro. But Kamenashi was beaten down easily, even though he was high level.

Nakamura called another
kendouka
and then another. These two were a difficult match, and I started to realize what he was doing. Each team member he called had a different strength. Kamenashi was quick on his feet; Matsumoto had incredible defense; Hasegawa was aggressive and powerful. In this way, the coaches were training each aspect of Tomohiro’s abilities and looking for weaknesses.

“One more, and then we’re done for the day,” Watanabe-sensei said. “Katie, you’re up.”

What?
I was still a junior
kendouka.
Tomo could beat me easily, way more easily than he’d beaten each of the partners I’d watched. Even with his body swaying, exhausted, the copper spikes sticking out from under his headband flattened with sweat, it wouldn’t be a challenge to him.

He looked at me through the bars of the
men,
his soft eyes looking into mine. And I realized why we’d been paired.

He’d trained on speed, defense, offense, power, aggression. There was one thing left. How would he fare when the battle was emotional? Pit him against his girlfriend—would he make mistakes, let down his guard? Smart thinking from the coaches, but did it ever suck for us.

“Get into
seiza
.
Ready?”

I pulled myself from the circle, feeling numb. I crouched into
seiza
stance, my
shinai
gripped tightly in my hands.

“Hai,
staato
,”
yelled Watanabe, and Tomo and I started circling. My thoughts were racing. Tomohiro looked collected and calm, but I hadn’t had his training. I yelled a loud
kiai
to steady myself, but it was hard to focus. He looked ready to collapse, and even then he was dangerous.

He swung, totally unexpected, and I barely dodged it by leaping back.

“Faster footwork, Tomohiro,” said Nakamura-sensei.

Tomo screamed,
“Ossu!”
His voice was strained. What were they trying to do, make him collapse?

I lunged at Tomohiro, but he blocked my
shinai
with his own. The crack of wood on wood echoed to the rafters of the gym, and the vibration shook in my hands. I barely recovered in time to dodge his next attack.

But I didn’t make it, and the
shinai
tapped into my
dou
.

“Point!” shouted Watanabe.

One more hit and we could stop this. One more point and he could rest. I wanted to just give in, to let him win. But it would be too obvious and he was the one who’d get in trouble. So I kept fighting.

He swiped at me and I backed up, almost into the circle of
kendouka.
I had to get back into the center of the arena or I’d end up out of bounds. I circled away, avoiding him. The shouts and encouragement of our classmates around us were disorienting paired with the stifling heat of the armor.

I circled Tomohiro, watching him carefully. And then he lunged, yelling his
kiai
as he approached.

Only that didn’t sound like his voice at all. It sounded strange, warped, like many people shouting at once. The same kind of shout I’d heard when we’d fought Jun at Sunpu Castle.

He hit his
shinai
so hard against mine that I collapsed onto the ground, my
shinai
skidding across the sleek floor. My whole back was out of bounds of the circle. He’d basically won.

But he didn’t stop. He raised his
shinai
high above his head as he screamed.

Why isn’t he stopping?
Attacking me now was like beating someone with a broomstick. I would get injured for sure, with my spine against the hard floor like this.

“
Yamero
!”
ordered Watanabe sharply as he and Nakamura approached Tomohiro. “Stop!”

They weren’t going to make it in time. The
shinai
was going to hit first.

I looked up at Tomohiro, my hands instinctively up to protect myself. His eyes shone dark and angry behind the
men.

Dark angry pools of ink, vacant, lost.

He’d lost himself. And he was going to attack me.

He cried out, swinging the
shinai
down.

I cringed, waiting for impact. I could try to roll away, but I knew I wouldn’t be fast enough.

“Yuuto!” came a loud shout from the side of the gym.

Tomo stopped, the
shinai
a foot above my hip as I rolled out of the way. The
shinai
clattered against the floor as Tomohiro grabbed his helmet to steady himself.

I could see a shock of white hair from the doorway. Ishikawa. It had to be.

“What the hell were you thinking?” snapped Nakamura. Tomohiro was lifting the helmet off his head, his eyes normal and completely disoriented.

“You could’ve seriously hurt her!” said Watanabe. He reached up and smacked Tomohiro hard on the back of the head. I stared, terrified.

Tomohiro dropped to his knees, his armor clattering against the ground.

“
Sumanakatta
!”
he shouted, a pretty serious apology. His shaking fingers clawed at the floor as he bent over, bowing low to the coaches and me. But it was a cover, I could see that. He’d collapsed to his knees from exhaustion and was turning it into the most serious apology he could make.

“Greene, you okay?” Ishikawa was beside me now, offering a hand to help me up. It was so weird to have Tomohiro as the danger and Ishikawa as the one to help, but I was too shaken to protest. I took his hand and got to my feet, lifting the
men
off my head.

The
kendouka
circle was silent, horrified.

“Dismissed!” said Nakamura, and they scattered to the change rooms. “To attack a
kendouka
like that is unacceptable, Yuu. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Look at him,” Ishikawa said. “He’s exhausted, Coach. He’s as slick as a fish with all that sweat. He was probably delirious or something.”

“You,” said Watanabe, narrowing his eyes, and he pointed at Ishikawa. “You’re not even supposed to be here. You’re suspended from kendo until the police investigation is complete.”

Ishikawa was silent. It was a huge risk for him to come.

“I just wanted to cheer Yuuto on,” he said quietly.

“Go home,” Nakamura said. “We have enough trouble to deal with right now.”

“He’s right, though,” Watanabe added. “Yuu’s exhausted; he has better discipline than that. Katie, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I tried to say, but it came out shaky.

Tomohiro heaved the breath into his lungs, looking at me with what looked like tears in his eyes. He looked terrified as he reached a hand up to pull the headband from his hair.

“Sumanakatta,”
he said again quietly.

I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. He was losing to the ink, and it had tried to hurt me.

The Kami in him was taking over.

Tomo and Ishikawa were chatting by the change-room door when I came back out.

“Katie,” Tomohiro said, rushing up to me and resting his hands on my arms. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I said, “but I’d really prefer you didn’t try to pound me into a pancake.”

“Greene,” Ishikawa said, running a hand through his white hair, “close one.” So suddenly he cared what happened to me? Between him and Jun, the lines of friends and enemies were blurring way too much for me to understand.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at home on bed rest?” I said.

“Yeah, I am.” Ishikawa started unbuttoning his shirt, and I threw a hand up like a visor over my eyes.

“Okay, I don’t need to see that.”

“No, stupid. The wound.” He pulled the side of his shirt back to reveal a mass of bandages. “Still hurts like crap, but they managed to dig the bullet out, so I guess I won’t be setting off any metal detectors.”

Tomo tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and Ishikawa looked away, I guess because we both felt awkward. “So you’re really okay?” I knew Tomohiro hadn’t been himself when he attacked me, but still—I needed time to digest what had happened.

“What gives?” I said. “You’ve lost control before, but never toward me. I mean, the drawings, sure, but not...you.”

Ishikawa piped up. “I’m thinking this isn’t the best place for a discussion. And I’m hungry for something that isn’t
konnyaku
soup.”

“Oh no,
konnyaku,
” I said, rolling my eyes. “The tortures of being shot.”

“How about
okonomiyaki
?
” Tomohiro said.

“Fine, let’s go,” I said, and we twisted down the hallways toward the
genkan
to get our shoes. I couldn’t believe I was going for lunch with Ishikawa.

But he had saved me just now. Maybe he was a changed person or something.

In the
genkan,
Tomo and Ishikawa headed over to the third-year shoe cubbies. I watched, feeling like I didn’t fit in with the two of them. Ishikawa’s occasional attempts at tolerating me were only because of his friendship with Tomohiro, anyway.

We headed toward the
okonomiyaki
place and sat across from each other, a giant black square griddle between us. I grabbed the menu, staring at the kanji for each item. A lot of the ingredients were in katakana, the Japanese system used for foreign words.
Hamu. Cheesu. Bekon.
I was tempted to order a ham, cheese and bacon version just to show them I was literate.

I stared at the ingredients I wasn’t so sure about. But before I could decipher everything, the waitress had arrived, and Ishikawa was rattling away our order.

Damn.
Literacy was still out of reach.

Ishikawa leaned back, his arms folded across his chest. “So what the hell happened back there, Yuuto?”

“I blanked out,” Tomohiro said, looking at me. “I couldn’t focus. It was like being in a dream, where you can’t really control what you’re doing or thinking. You know something’s wrong, but you can’t fix it.”

The waitress came back with the ingredients in a large bowl. Ever the chef, Tomo grabbed the bowl and started stirring.

“Well, it has to stop,” I said. “First the
roumon
and now in kendo practice. Why do you think you’re losing control so much lately?”

“Wait, this has happened before?” Ishikawa said.

“Yeah, including when your goons tried to grab him, Ishikawa.” I sighed. “Remember the giant demon head and the ink wings and the way his eyes got huge when he drew that gun? And since when are you in on this discussion anyway?”

“Mou!”
Ishikawa said, lifting his hands toward me. “That’s enough! Jeez. Of course I remember those, but I didn’t know they were all linked to the weird eye thing and losing control. Yuuto never tells me anything.”

“Which turns out to be a good decision on my part,” Tomo said. “You sold me out, Sato.”

“And I’m sorry, okay?” Ishikawa said. He grabbed the bowl from Tomo and poured the contents onto the griddle, where they sizzled and steamed. “I thought the Yakuza could offer you a good life. Make you rich, protect you, you know. I mean, you were already helping me with my jobs anyway.”

“Not helping,” Tomo said. “Just making sure you didn’t get your face bashed in.”

“Which is helping.”

“Helping
you,
not the Yakuza, okay? I don’t want that kind of life, Sato.”

I grabbed one of the metal paddles on the side of the table and started flattening the ingredients as they fried. I breathed in the smells of cabbage, bacon and noodles.

“I know, okay?” Ishikawa said. “I just thought— Never mind.”

I had no idea what he’d thought. The idea was so twisted. Had he been jealous of Tomo? There was no way he really thought life would be better with the Yakuza, was there?

“How did you possibly think that was a good idea?” I said.

“Look, the Yakuza aren’t all bad, Greene.” Ishikawa grabbed the other metal spatula and pounded on the side of the
okonomiyaki.
He winced at the motion and rubbed his shoulder. “Do you remember that huge earthquake in Kobe? And the tsunami? They helped out, you know. Hell, they sent helicopters and volunteers before the government did!”

“Okay, none of this is the point,” I said. “The point is that Tomo is out of control and that, thanks to you, the police think someone went after you and Takahashi because of the kendo competition.”

“
Uso
,”
Ishikawa said in disbelief, his eyes wide. “Is that true, Yuuto?”

Tomohiro gently took the metal spatula from me and the other from Ishikawa. He slid them under the pancake and flipped it over, the smell of the golden-brown batter making my mouth water.

“There’s only one major contender left in the prefecture, Ishikawa,” I said. “And you’re looking at him.”

“Well, shit,” Ishikawa said. “Don’t worry, Yuuto. I haven’t told the cops a word. I can’t for the life of me remember how I got this gunshot wound.” He grinned.

“Can you take this seriously?” I said. “You think it’s some joke. What do you think would happen to Tomohiro if they took him into custody for assault, huh? You want him to go to some mental institution?” I regretted the words as soon as they came out. “Oh god, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Tomohiro said. He focused on the
okonomiyaki,
his eyes unreadable.

“Look, I didn’t mean you’re crazy or anything. I just—”

“Smooth, Greene.”

“Shut up, Ishikawa.”

“Guys, seriously,” Tomo said, slicing the pancake into pieces with the spatula. I reached for the sauce and poured it on while Ishikawa zigzagged mayonnaise over the top. “Off topic. The question is, why am I losing control? And I think I know the answer.”

Me. It’s me.
I knew he would say it. We all knew it was true. He lifted a piece of the
okonomiyaki
onto my plate and I tore a piece off with my chopsticks. The salty noodles and bacon flooded my mouth.

“It’s that I haven’t been drawing,” Tomohiro said.

“What?” I said. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “The nightmares are worse, too. Think of it like a river. Flowing along, no big deal, right? Now plug the river with a dam. You get a buildup, and it’s strong. And finally it’s so strong that
don!
The dam washes away.”

“So things are going to get worse if you don’t draw,” I said. Tomo’s eyes locked with mine, and I knew he’d only spoken half the problem aloud. The other was us, together. The ink would get worse as long as I was around.

“What do you mean by ‘get worse’?” Ishikawa asked. “Demon faces, dragons, guns, and now acting all spaced-out and attacking Greene. How can it get worse?”

Tomo didn’t even know what I knew, that Jun had said he was like a bomb waiting to go off. That the Kami blood could eventually take over, that he could black out permanently.

“Takahashi wants to use me,” Tomo said. “Like the Yakuza did, but on a bigger scale. He’s building some kind of Kami army and he wants me as a weapon.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ishikawa said, his eyes wide. “You’re in this much trouble, and you’ve never told me? What the hell kind of best friend are you, Yuuto?”

Tomohiro looked away.

“Ishikawa,” I sighed. “Tomo was protecting you, like he was protecting me. He didn’t want us to drown in the aftermath of the dam breaking. He’s the best damn friend you could have, so shut up.”

Ishikawa closed his mouth and picked at his food. I guess it had finally hit him.

“You better start drawing again, Tomo,” I said.

He nodded. “I’m sorry my stupid experiment put you in danger.”

“Well, at least we know now. Not sketching really isn’t an option.”

We finished our dinner and paid at the counter, stepping outside into the chill of the early evening.

“Gotta head home before my mom freaks out,” Ishikawa said. “She punches harder than Hanchi.” He laughed, but I shuddered at the name of the Yakuza boss. I didn’t want to meet him again, ever.

“Catch you later,” Tomo said. Ishikawa lifted a hand to wave, walking slowly away from us. Tomo’s phone beeped and he reached for it.

“Shiori?” I guessed. Who else?

“Yeah,” he said. “She wants to hang out. Just give me a sec while I tell her I’m busy.” He started answering her text and I stepped away to give him space.

I looked up at Ishikawa, walking away. He hunched slightly, his arm hanging funny on the side where he’d been shot. I felt a surge of gratitude to him, seeing him limp like that. He’d saved Tomo’s life that night, and maybe mine, too. And he’d been there for me at kendo practice to stop me from having a limp of my own.

I hurried toward Ishikawa and touched his arm. He hesitated, tilting his head in an unasked question.

“Hey,” I said. “Thanks. You know, for saving me in the gym.”

He snorted. “I didn’t do it for
you,
Greene.” He looked across the road to where Tomo was hunched over his phone, his bangs covering his eyes as he rapidly pressed the buttons. Ishikawa’s eyes shone, and his voice was soft. “I did it for him.”

My hand slipped from his arm and I stared at him for a minute, watching him watch Tomo. Then he snapped out of it, giving me a lopsided grin and a light smack on the shoulder as he walked away.

I watched him go. The look he’d given Tomo... I’d looked at Tomo like that before, too.

“Katie-chan,” Tomo said, and I turned, pushing the thoughts aside. He wiggled the phone at me. “I’m finished. Let’s go.”

I nodded, and we turned toward the station. “Shiori okay?”

Tomo sighed. “I’m starting to wonder if she exaggerated the bullying. The last few times I went to help her she was just lonely.”

“I’m sure it’s stressful being pregnant and alone,” I said. The sun was setting, the streets golden around us. “Heading home, then? Or possibly somewhere else?”

“I have entrance-exam homework,” Tomohiro said.

“Ah.”

“Which I plan to blow off. I have more important things to do, like making it up to you for almost braining you in kendo.” He grinned, his bangs scattered in front of his eyes.

I raised an eyebrow, trying to hide the shiver that ran through me. “Are you going to be okay for the entrance exams?”

“Are you going to be okay with your kanji?”

“How did you know about that?”

“The way you studied the menu,” he said. “Just guessing.”

“Suzuki-sensei threatened me with international school.”

He looked concerned, brushing his fingertips against mine before he took my hand. His fingers were warm and soft, and I loved how mine curled inside his.

“Do you want some help? I could study with you.”

“Yuki and Tanaka are helping me at lunch every day,” I said. “But I could always use some extra help.”

“Of course. But...I need a favor from you, too.” He took a slow breath, his eyes distant. “I have to start sketching again. I don’t want to put you in danger but—”

“But you need someone there in case you lose yourself,” I said. “Are you sure I can pull you out of it? I couldn’t today at kendo practice.”

“But you did at the
roumon
gate. And if you’re there, I know I’ll fight harder to be in control. I’m sure of it.”

I nodded. “Okay. But no ink bottles, okay? And no dragons.”

He grinned and nodded in agreement. “Let’s go.”

* * *

This time we took the bus directly from the station, which was a shorter trip and made Nihondaira a feasible new choice over Toro Iseki. We crept toward the clearing behind the hotel, near the gigantic bonsai-looking tree and the two ponds.

Tomohiro sat down under the tree and I followed. By now the stars were coming out, and the view from the mountain was spectacular. Fuji was just a shadow in the distance, and we could see Suruga Bay, the little lights from ships blinking on and off, and the lanterns strung along the shore by the strawberry farms.

“It’s beautiful at night,” I whispered.

“Like I said.” He grinned. “I’m glad you got to see it.”

I texted Diane that I’d be late at school studying kanji with Yuki. I felt guilty lying again, but there’s no way she’d let me be out with Tomohiro this late at night in a place this remote. Her aunt-turned-mom senses would be flaring.