"Onee-san…" a yawn pulls at each syllable, a soft, snail-paced cadence that could only belong to Inemuri, and she doesn't need to look up to see his hooded eyes and unruly hair, though she does so anyway, finds half his face peeking through the curtain that separates the kitchen from the engawa. "There's… a man outside… asking for you."
She wonders who it could be. Pursed lips as she idly cycles through her regulars, and she can't think of anyone in particular who needed to pay her a visit. Well stocked on necessities, taxes paid for... Her former students were notorious for suddenly stopping by, whether it was a short chat as they passed through the countryside, or staying the night after a long day of volunteering themselves to whatever work needed done at the orphanage. She could've sworn the children knew all their names by now, though; she told enough stories for the young ones to recognize each of them upon their first meeting. Regardless, she sets aside the leeks she's nearly finished cutting for dinner, keeps the knife up high lest Majisuke gets a hold of it again.
"I'll be right there," she answers, and he nods and scurries off, surely to find a sunny patch of grass to nap on, the weather's finally warm enough for it.
She's hardly presentable for company, hair tied loosely, just enough to keep it out of the way, forgoing makeup because the sweat of keeping five children in line would merely smear it off, and her apron is stained with the red, orange, and yellow of sauces over months of dinners.
Pushing past the curtain— one of a kind, a collaboration of artwork penned by the children onto scrap white cloth, and she gets an easy head count, one drawing against a tree stump, two playing as swordsmen with jagged sticks, another reading in the shade, and the last lying on his side, creating a boy-shaped dip in the grass, just as she expected.
Between them all, hidden under the sharp shadows of the forest, far enough that she has to squint, stands a man with… something tucked in his arms. Tall and thin, his long hair creating a jagged silhouette. Unfamiliar, and she reaches for a kunai she always keeps tucked in the chest of her kosode as he walks closer, each step slow, cautious, revealing details obscured by distance. Narrow eyes, pointed nose, thin lips, cheeks hollower than she remembers.
"…Rikichi-kun?"
She abandons her instincts and meets him halfway, and it's been so long, but of course it's him. A couple centimeters taller, though still shorter than her, and his hair has grown to reach his lower back. Chin and upper lip unshaven, wisps of hair along his upper lip and chin, so reminiscent of his father that she nearly giggles at it, hesitating only because of the grave look on his face.
Right— it's been some time since they've seen one another, so she must be a surprise. It was easier this way, the further the ties to her life as a ninja, the better. The last thing she needed was her past catching up to her and endangering the children.
She thinks to explain herself, but soft babble breaks her concentration, and she follows the noise with her eyes, gasps at what's cushioned in Rikichi's arms.
A baby. Chestnut eyes, ghostly, auburn hairs, the same baby fat that Rikichi lost over the years. A curious thing, staring up at her with parted lips wet with spittle, legs wiggling, arms uncoordinated as they reach out to touch whatever they can reach of her.
"…And who is this?” she asks playfully, because she already knows, and she holds her arms out expectantly, fighting the tears threatening to slip from her eyes. His absence didn't seem so strange now, knowing he had a family of his own, so grateful that he would allow her a glimpse of it.
Rikichi doesn’t deny her, offering the baby up in silence, and she carefully takes the young, precious life into her arms. Tucking them against her chest, gentle sways, and soft, adoring baby talk, little coos and praise that the baby giggles and shrieks at. So captivated, it's some time before she lifts her eyes to meet him again. “…They look so much like you, Rikichi-kun.”
Rikichi clears his throat, keeping his expression fixed, unwavering, just like the fists at his sides, and he spares no glance to his own flesh and blood. “He's an orphan.”
A strange joke, because what else could it be, and she waits for Rikichi's dry laugh, a crooked grin, anything, but it never comes. His words echo and cut through her, leaving a cold trail where warmth should be. Her expression falls, unable to mask the surprise, confusion, finally resting on hurt. She looks back to the infant, the little bundle blind to it all. Hesitantly, her smile returns, though it’s mostly out of courtesy. “…Is that so?”
He doesn't say anything more, merely nods, ignores how easily the boy's attention shifts to him. Plump, clumsy limbs sway to get him to hold him once more, and Rikichi's cold refusal stings in a way that's long unfamiliar. Regardless, the infant is determined, bartering for affection with noise, and she brings him closer to her despite his squirming, until his chubby cheek meets her collarbone.
“How long will you be staying? If you’d like, we have more than enough for you to join us all for dinner." It's her turn to bargain. Get him to stay, talk this through, because it's clear there's more to this, and if she's learned anything through her years, wounds can't heal in solitude. It had to mean something— the fact that he came here. "One more mouth to feed is–”
“No,” Rikichi replies all too quickly, ready on his lips like a loaded gun, brutal as a bullet. “I can’t. There’s work I have to return to. You’d understand.”
"…Yes." She tries to, at least, but the boy isn't so willing, growing more frustrated that Rikichi won't look his way. "I'll see you again soon, then."
"Mm." It's far from reassuring, placating at best, and it does little to settle the weight of worry in her belly. "Thank you for taking him. If you'll excuse me."
And just like that, he turns away, begins the trek back to— who knows, somewhere far from the peace she has here, out of her reach, and he'll simply become a memory again, intangible and fragile to time.
"Rikichi-kun!" she shouts before he disappears, hides away in the shadows of the wind-wounded trees. He stops in his tracks, but he doesn't face her, though she doesn't need him to. "You're always welcome here. Never forget that. I'll be waiting for you."
In her next blink, he's gone, the only trace of his arrival left in her embrace.
It's only because of a letter a few months later that she knows he's still alive. It's unsigned, but she recognizes his handwriting, always will.
"It was with the rest of your parcels," Danzou explains, a sturdy, loving pat to the stallion's neck. Well trained, even with the clamor of excited children surrounding it and stroking every inch of its fur, though the good scolding she gave last time over proper behavior to a horse seemed to keep some of her more handsy kids in check. They didn't need a repeat of the tail pulling incident.
"I thought to toss it, honestly," he admits sheepishly, like he'll be marked down a grade for it, "but I figured you'd know what to do with it better than I would."
"Thank you, Danzou," she pauses, clutching the letter close to her chest, traps it as if it'll disappear if she doesn't. "…Could I ask one more thing of you?"
"Always." He smiles— and it's no longer boyish, lopsided and toothy. Confident, charming, fit for a man, as hard as it was to believe. They really did grow up too fast. "Anything for you."
It brought me peace to see you well. You'll have to forgive me for leaving so soon. Work keeps me from exchanging more than brief pleasantries, even if I'd like nothing more than to spend my hours with you.
You've built something wonderful. When Father spoke of it, I thought it was more than fitting for you. It's clear those children adore you. I can't thank you enough for accepting one more. I know he's in good hands.
The boy's name is Risuke, unless you find another that suits him better.
"Rikichi-san, waaaaait!"
It's not a voice he recognizes, but a quick glance over his shoulder reveals that it's a face he does, albeit much older now. He doesn't give just anyone the time of day, but he supposes her students will always be an exception. He stops, turns, waits for the boy to meet him at his front and catch his breath while using his staff as a crutch.
"It's been a long time…" The name escapes him for a moment.Going down a mental list. Fuuma. Unibrow. Ah. "Kisanta."
"It really has!" Kisanta leans off his knees, and it's then that Rikichi realizes how willowy the boy has grown, though he doesn't wear his height well, still has the clumsy gait and mannerisms of a child. "Are you here for work?"
A curt nod. It's the only reason he goes anywhere of late. He certainly didn't give off the air of a man of leisure, but this one was… not one of the brightest, if he recalls. Then again, not many of them were. Frankly, it was a miracle they all made it past graduation unscathed, a testament to her teaching, though it was clear that the life of a shinobi wasn't the right fit for all of them, this one included, if his white garb said anything.
"I'm so glad I caught you! You see, I've got this letter for you from— um..." Kisanta trails off, lips pursed as he visibly agonizes over how to address the sender.
It could only mean one thing. He chooses to fill in the blank himself, tries not to sound overly hopeful or eager. "…Hanko-san?"
"Mhm!" Right choice. Kisanta beams, a pearly smile and the light in his eyes even brighter, somehow. "I've been holding onto it just in case I bump into you! A couple more months and I would've gone chasing after you, ehehe…"
It's a good thing it never came to that, who knows how that'd end up for either of them. He didn't anticipate a response, believed the bridge between them well burnt, but he's… more than glad for it. He wants to know everything, from the important to the mundane. He's imagined her routine already, a sun-kissed morning of making the children breakfast to tucking small, play-worn bodies to their freshly washed futons, but he longs to hear it from her, longs to see it, but— he couldn't face her, not after running off, abandoning her, just like his father.
Kisanta's hand dives under his top, the shape of his hand bulging out at the chest. His tongue peeks past his lips as he reaches out to find it, and it takes longer than Rikichi's comfortable with. First it's coins, then a comb, then a journal, clearly unused, and finally a crumpled piece of paper that Rikichi reluctantly plucks from the boy's hand.
Not just wrinkled— it's damp, wet with cold, sticky trails, and he immediately grimaces, skin crawling. "…Don't tell me these stains are—"
"Oh no! I told my sluggies to leave it alone, aah…" Even worse, there's a slug left on the page, creeping its way to Rikichi's thumb. "Sorry, Rikichi-san! They really like the smell of ink, so…"
Changed in every way but the one that mattered.
I understand all too well. It's a joy to know you're safe. You'll chide me for it, but I can't help but worry. I think of you often. I hear word of you in town, sometimes. You have quite the reputation.
Risuke is a happy, healthy boy. I've briefly cared for some infants over the years thanks to Kirimaru, but it's my first time raising one. I thought I had enough experience for it. Suffice to say, I learn something new every day. I feared when he wouldn't take to his bottle, but a little creativity cured his lacking appetite, thankfully.
I often wonder if you were similar at his age. He loves to talk. He'll babble all day and night, and when he's finally tired, his little coos trail off... only for him to snore like a bear. He gets into everything, too, of course. My hair has been many a victim of his wandering hands. The other children adore him. They've never been around one so young for this long. Some of them ask for a chance to 'play as Mommy', though somehow it always ends up being my turn when it's time to change his diapers.
I was glad that your letter found its way to me, Rikichi-kun. May my own reach you, too. I hope to receive more from you soon. I wish you well. I always do.
"Noooo! That hurts!" the boy whines, shoving at where he thinks Rantarou's shoulders are, though he misses and presses his dirt-stained palms against his chest with all the strength his little body can muster. He's always had some difficulty with coordination, though his resistance to any touch besides her own brings more concern. Even now, he's only sitting somewhat still because he's plopped on her lap, and she pets through his hair as he bravely endures treatment.
"I know, I know, we're almost finished…" Rantarou soothes, unphased, continuing to rub balm against his oozing knees, sitting back once they're both properly coated. "See? All done!"
"You did so well," a loving whisper, and the small smile from him is all worth it.
"Mayoi-kun… do you end up getting hurt a lot?" Rantarou asks as he starts to put away his first-aid kit. "I don't mind patching you up, but I've couldn't help but notice that I always have to, no matter when I stop by."
The boy doesn't say anything, instead looks up to Hanko with deep, furrowed brows and a pronounced pout, and she gives a reassuring, patient smile, lingers in silence to encourage him to speak. Cheeks puffed up, Mayoi wiggles his bruised legs and wrings his hands.
"Yeah. I guess." The boy inhales, takes a deep sniff, scrunches up his face once he exhales. "That stuff smells gross."
"You can smell it…?"
"Mayoi-kun has always been sensitive to scents," Hanko elaborates— learned it well when he sniffed out the alcohol she kept tucked away for the lonelier nights.
"Mmmhm. I always know what Hanko-neechan is making for dinner." Mayoi snorts, puffing up his chest in pride. "Aaand, and— no one can sneak up on me because they all stink. Michiko smells like flowers and blood, sometimes. Inemuri smells like the sand in his eyes. Chinatsu smells like medicine. Majisuke smells like fire— aah!" He covers his mouth, clearly not meaning to let that slip, but at least it confirms the culprit of who's been leaving ashy hand prints on the walls.
"Is that right?" Rantarou tilts his head, stops what he's doing to hold his chin in thought. "Hmm… You know, I've got an idea."
Rantarou eases his glasses off his nose, pinches them at the temples and slowly offers them to the boy. Mayoi looks skeptical, but he takes them into his own hands, mimics how Rantarou held them, then places the bridge along his round nose, blinking as his eyes look through the glass. "How's that?"
"Ooh. Ooooooh!" Mayoi shouts, pushing himself off of her thighs and doing a slow spin around, holding the glasses down by their arms to keep them from sliding right off. "Everything's so big! And green!"
"Isn't it?" Rantarou laughs, and it nearly brings tears to her eyes. Mayoi has never been this excited before.
"Can I keep these?" he pleads, running circles that weren't possible before without a stumble or two around Rantarou. "Please, pleeeease?"
"I'll need them back before I leave, but I know someone who can give you a pair that'll fit you." Rantarou has to squint hard to keep track of him, but he doesn't seem to mind it, even keeps a smile to make it obvious he wasn't glaring. "Just be careful while you're borrowing them, okay? You don't want more of that smelly stuff on you, do you?"
Mayoi didn't need to be told twice. The boy forgot all about his injuries, taking in the world on his own two more stable feet was far too important, and Rantarou was kind enough to give a recommendation of a nearby smith and a letter penned to her.
Please be reassured by the fact I had only the best of teachers. I wouldn't have made it this far without guidance from a certain someone.
If I must confess, you're often in my thoughts, too. The past seems to bring me the most comfort during my travels, most of which includes you. I always wish for your happiness. It seems like you've found it where you are now. I couldn't picture you anywhere else. My visit robbed you of a smile, but I can imagine you wearing one surrounded by all your children.
From Mother's stories, it sounds quite familiar. If I recall, she told me that I cried more than anything. It took ages for me to settle down from one of my tantrums. I remember Father teasing me that I never stopped throwing my fits, especially after you left home. I was practically inconsolable, even with the promise of being able to visit you. I only hope Risuke doesn't give you as much trouble as I brought to my parents.
It makes me wish you had less memories of me from back then. I was quite a handful, wasn't I? A cocky brat who yet knew how warm your kindness could be. I think it changed me for the better. Who knows what kind of man I would've been without you.
"…and that concludes my report."
Another one, huh. This one was the smartest of the bunch, if his memory serves him right. This type of work suited him, blending into the crowd, passing intel. Smart enough to keep everything in that head of his sorted, and plain enough to not rouse any suspicion. Rikichi only hoped that he wouldn't end up like him, bitter and jaded by the monotony.
"Thank you for your hard work," he says, donning a polite smile that doesn't come close to meeting his eyes. His employer will be pleased at least, though he thinks the lingering spies among his domain will have a difficult time in the coming days.
"There's just one more thing." Shouzaemon holds out an arm to prevent Rikichi from going anywhere, blocking his path with a blank yet determined look. His thick brows loosen up only when Rikichi keeps his feet planted in place.
"…Yes?" He fails to hide his irritation, because there really shouldn't be anything else to discuss, he's already wasted enough time here.
Shouzaemon isn't at all phased by his prickliness, instead reaching into the worn out sack draped over his shoulder, and it doesn't speak well of him that he somehow lacks the maturity of a boy— man, he supposes, though only recently one. "This is for you." Shouzaemon swiftly retrieves… a letter. It's in pristine condition, and Rikichi expects it to be the sole outlier among the new and old.
"…Thank you." He's itching to read it, but he'll refrain until he can take in each kanji by his lonesome, relish in a daydream about her writing it, brush primly clutched between nimble fingers, face scrunched in adorable concentration, hair pillowed around her slim shoulders and—
"It's not a problem." Right. Back to reality, and he's met with Shouzaemon's smile. "Hanko-san will be overjoyed to know that you've gotten it."
"Is—" he stutters, choking on what hits his ears. Overjoyed? That couldn't be. "Is that so."
"Yes. She said your letters are a boon, that she's reread them countless times," Shouzaemon explains without missing a beat, listing each fact as quick and straightforward as his report. His eyes point to the skies, a finger against his temple as he continues. "She has trouble writing her own to you. Agonizes, in her own words. She wants them to be worth the wait, though not too long to distract you from your work."
"And… has she said anything else of me?" Pathetic? Very, but he's desperate enough to nearly beg for it.
"Rikichi-san," Shouzaemon is brought out of his almost mechanical recollection, blatantly puzzled. "Wouldn't it be better for you to ask her yourself?"
It's clearly unintentional, but regardless, the reminder of what he's left behind makes his heart ache with the sharpest, heaviest kind of guilt.
I don't doubt your abilities, but you'll have to forgive me for continuing to fret. I know that world well, how dangerous and suffocating it can become. You're more than strong enough, but to bear it for so long would leave anyone's bones weary, and I find it hard to believe you'd be an exception.
Your visit was quite the surprise, but I wouldn't say it took any joy from me. There's never been a time I haven't wanted to see you. I think you know that already.
Rather than trouble, Risuke has brought me nothing but happiness. He's had many of his firsts now. Words, steps, the like. I've been grateful to witness them, though I can't help but wish you were there to see them, too. He would love to meet his father, and I think fondly of the image of you and him side by side. He still looks just like you.
As always, I hope you're caring for yourself. I'll give my prayers to hear from you soon.
"Er, Isuke…" Though she wonders if he can even hear her over his rigorous sweeping. She could've sworn he already brushed up in here, too… "You know that I don't expect you to clean every time you visit, right?"
"Oh, I know," he replies, eyes boring hard into the floor like the clinging dust and dirt will cease to exist under his pointed glare. "I really insist, though. It's not like this place is filthy or anything! It just… needs some tending to, that's all. I know you must be busy, so I started with your room first! I've put away your clothes, organized your letters by date—"
Her letters? Right, she must've left them out in the open from looking them over the other night. A flush rises to her cheeks at the thought of him catching a glimpse at Rikichi's wounded heart outlined on every page. "You really don't have to go through all the trouble."
"No trouble at all!" Isuke steps aside, revealing a girl that barely reaches his hip, dark bangs over her eyes and holding tight to a branch between her palms to mimic how Isuke wields his broom. "As you can see, I have a little helper."
"I've finished, um… dusting, Ninokuruwa-san," she whispers, looking pleased with herself, though with the leaves left behind in her wake, she's made more of a mess than helped with it.
"Thank you, Chinatsu-chan!" Isuke grins and bears it, coaxing a hand through her hair, and she giggles at the praise.
Laughter abruptly cut short, because her lips tighten, nose curls, sniffles wetter and wetter until she abandons the tree limb to pull Isuke's clothed arm to her nose, blowing out a morning long build up of snot.
"Oh, Chinatsu-chan!" She rests her hands on her hips and sends an apologetic smile her student's way. He hasn't moved a single muscle. "Didn't I give you some rags? Where did they go?"
"Ummm," she thinks rather hard on it, pulling her head back, a thin trail of see-through mucus connecting her nostrils to Isuke's sleeve. It breaks in two as she sniffles again, shrugging her shoulders. "I dunno."
"Good grief," Hanko shakes her head as she walks closer to the girl, wiping her nose dry with spare fabric that she'd be remiss to not carry with her. Some things never change. "Why don't you go look for them, and when you get back, you can help Ninokuruwa-san clean again."
She's content with those terms, and as she dashes out, making sure to pick up her 'broom', the last few frail leaves leave a clear trail behind her.
"I'm really sorry about that," she nearly wipes his sleeve with the same cloth before she realizes just who she's dealing with. "She just can't seem to get over that cold of hers…"
"…It's—" He takes a deep breath. Then again. And again. He's stiff as a board, unable to look away from the sticky stain that starts at his forearm and ends at his elbow. "It's fine, let me just… go wash my sleeve— no, shirt— no… I'll just take a quick bath.""
I apologize for the delay. A recent mission of mine kept me undercover for some time. I've been in disguise before, but never for so long. Nearly three seasons passed me by. It sounds ridiculous, but I've had difficulty in returning to myself, not that there was much left to return to. I can see why ninja either retire young or die young. It's work that weighs heavy on the body and mind.
I would love nothing more than to watch him grow, but I'm not suited for it. I'm like my father in that way. Risuke's birth was an untimely set of circumstances. I wonder if I was the same. Regardless, it was best to take him elsewhere. A child wouldn't be safe in a life like mine. I couldn't leave him with a stranger, and my family would only raise him the same as they did with me. I haven't told them, but if my father visits you, I'm certain they both already know.
I'm far from the type to settle down, and he needs a parent that welcomes him with warm, gentle arms. All that leaves is you.
"I don't mean to borrow too much of your time, but…" Kingo tosses a sword to him, then brandishes his own, well-loved and well-used, the hilt of his sword faintly discolored where he lays his fingers. Confidence radiates from his fiery eyes, strong arms, the tip of his blade. A ninja, no, but the very image of a samurai etched by an artist's brush. Barely hidden by his sleeve lies a crescent moon carved into his wrist, colored by the red and blues of his veins. A mark of devotion. It's strangely romantic. Perhaps he should bear one of his own. "Would you mind sparring with me?"
It's the most forward greeting yet, but it makes his lips curl into a grin, too cheeky for his age. Now this was interesting. Rikichi bends to his knee to collect the offering, back onto his feet to counter Kingo's aggressive stance. "I only hope you don't expect me to hold back."
"I wouldn't imagine it." Kingo lowers ever so slightly, legs tensing in anticipation of landing his first strike, eyes locked onto what he believes is one of Rikichi's weak points. He'd be wrong about that."Why don't we wager… a letter?"
Kingo lost all three rounds, steel resting against his quivering throat by the end of it, but he put up a good fight. He might've fared better if the prize was one that Rikichi wouldn't give his life for.
No apologies needed. I'm simply glad to have you write to me. It sounds to me that, perhaps, a break would do you some good, at the very least.
Risuke is old enough to understand the stories I tell of you now. He's always so curious about what his father is like, and his eyes gleam at every word. He has such a vivid imagination, sometimes he adds his own endings to my stories, and, well, you've been a ninja, pirate, marksman, the like. Not only that… he thinks of you as a hero. He wants to be just as strong, no, even stronger than you.
He gets along well with the other children, too. He tries to act older than he is, wrangling everyone in and helping me around the house. Though he can't resist sneaking into my futon every once and a while, not that I mind.
Truthfully, I haven't had the heart to tell him that I'm not his mother. He's quite attached to me now, and I worry that it would come as too much of a shock. It's unlike me, but the thought of him being taken in by another family wounds me. The townsfolk already believe him to be mine, so there's not much worry there, but it's unfair of me to keep him here, isn't it?
"Listen to this, a gadget that can throw balls completely on its own!" Heidayuu proudly holds up his drawn out plan of it, and she can hardly make heads or tails of it. Smeared ink, incomprehensible diagrams, and the crazed look in his eyes doesn't inspire much faith in this… prototype. "Think about it, you'll never have a sore arm again! All the kids have to do is put the ball into the gadget, let it wind up, and, bam, it's off! The fun never ends!"
"Hmm. No." It sounds useful on paper, but… she makes an 'x' with her arms, much to his disappointment, nearly falling over from her blunt disapproval. "I can just imagine them getting too close and being knocked cold." She can see it now. Inemuri lying face first in the grass, baby teeth punched out, and poor Michiko having to carry a sobbing, bleeding boy inside. "Sanjirou?"
"I told you that idea wouldn't work. I swear, you never listen to me…" Sanjirou clicks his tongue, rolls his eyes, then fixes his face to his usual wide smile, and it's a little frightening how fast he can switch. He pushes Heidayuu's sketch out of the way to hold up his own, and while it's much neater, she still has to tilt her head to read his notes. "Anyway, I was thinking of a gadget that gives out hugs! I bet you hug more than you play catch, so imagine something that can hug everyone all day, all night! You can even pull the switches to calibrate it to be tighter or looser, and there's a vibrating function—"
"…No." Another 'x'. It's even worse than the last, but she keeps that to herself. She's not sure if Sanjirou would be able to handle it, he already looks so devastated. "I have a better idea. While you're here, why don't you just do all the things you'd want a gadget to do?"
The two share a glance, wide-eyed and lips parted, like they hadn't considered it before. Thankfully, they don't need much more convincing, and with a thumbs up and grin, they shout in unison, "You've got it!"
Hanko later discovers the two used the backside of Rikichi's letter to draw out their ideas, and when they finally depart, they leave with a healthy bruise to the back of their head.
I have to wonder what you tell him. Good things, I hope, but I can't think of much that comes to my own mind. I've done little worthy of high praise, especially now. I wouldn't fill his head with any half-truths, he'll surely be disappointed. I'm no hero, just a man doing a client's bidding for coin.
Forgive me for overstepping, but who else would you be if not his mother? You've raised and cherished him from birth. You of all people should understand a family isn't simply based on blood. If it's because of a different matter… I didn't wish to pry, but speaking truthfully, your manner of dress suits you. I didn't expect to find a woman when I was looking for you, but more than just a woman, I found you at your happiest. Whether your current appearance plays a part in that is not any of my business, but truly, no one would think twice about a kind, beautiful woman caring for children.
In time, Risuke will discover who he wants to be, and who he wants to be with. Regardless if he leaves your nest or not, he'll always have your love, won't he? I'd worry more about when he reaches that moody age.
"Ehehe… To think I'd end up hiring you, Rikichi-san!"
"It's a surprise for me, too." Following in his father's footsteps, he supposes, but instead of continuing the family legacy, he manages a dango shop in his name. It's homely, clearly maintained with its own profits alone, which means the generous earnings on this job has to come from somewhere else. "What do you need of me?"
"Need of you? Let's see…" While Shinbei finds whatever he's looking for, Rikichi takes the spare moment to look around the humble shop. Customers and staff alike are all smiles, a healthy crowd of people either stuffing their face or whispering the latest gossip. Common folk, surprisingly, though a glance at the prices confirms that's who the food is meant for. "One of my sister's beneficiaries has a letter for you!"
It's placed down on the table between them, bearing a mark of Fukutomi, urgent delivery. "…That's all you called me here for?"
"You'll be paid still, of course, and I'd be more than happy for you to be served here," Shinbei gestures to a passing shop hand, and she bows her head as she brings out another round of dango to a bustling party of kids, their mother choosing to soothe her exhaustion with tea. "But this is more important to me than anything other job I could give you."
…None of them have grown up, really, but perhaps they didn't have to.
Ever the flatterer you are, yet you are so hard on yourself. When you write such things, remind yourself that you're speaking of someone I love dearly. You've always been a man the little ones look up to. Even now, my students are all grown up and still long to be a ninja like you.
I don't consider myself that convincing, but your words make me feel like a courted woman, at least. I can't allow anything to bring my children harm, grudges against my former name included. This was the simplest way to do so, though I hope it doesn't change your view of me. I'm still the same person you've always known.
When you put it that way, I suppose you're right. Look at you, giving me advice. You really have grown so much. That's how I know you could be a father to him, if you wanted. I would never force you, but the invitation is always here. Not just him, but the other children would be delighted to see you, even for just a brief stay. Take it into consideration, wherever you may be.
"You think any of your little ones want a lesson in firearms?" She doesn't think he'll ever stop asking that, nor will he stop his endless rambling of domesticity with Shousei.
"I think they all would, but…" There were enough accidents at Ninjutsu Academy, and they were personally trained to wield them. It would be a plain disaster to give some of these kids a loaded gun. "Let's wait until they're a little older."
"You said that last time! But I can't argue with you there. Can't have any of them looking like me, can we?" He brings a thumb to the string of his eye patch, teasing its give until it snapped back against his brow. "Plus, you're already the expert."
"Oh, enough. I couldn't tell you the last time I held a rifle. Just… promise me that you'll be careful, you hear me?" She playfully wags a scolding finger at him.
"It'll take more than a bullet to put me down, sens— ah, Hanko-san." He's bashful at the slip up, but it wouldn't be the first, nor the last time. "But while I'm here… this is for you."
It's been so long since the last, she didn't expect to receive another. Carefully, she takes the parchment into her hands, rolls it even tighter so she doesn't lose her composure in front of him. "Alright… As thanks, perhaps I'll take your offer sooner than later. Fuyumi-chan will be turning fourteen soon, so…"
Torawaka's resounding shout of victory is loud enough to alert all in her care, and they all come out in a stampede to cling and climb onto the man, who is more than happy to be their human tree.
I can't.
You'd hate the man I've become. There's enough blood on my hands that the stench of death must linger on the pages I leave you. I don't see their faces anymore, only hear their voices in the dead of night. They cry for mercy, and I've sunken too low to grant it. Not to them. Not to me. The boy you met would be horrified of what lies in his future. I wish I could warn him of it.
I brought life into this world knowing I couldn't care for it, knowing that you could. I can't be a father to him, not the way he deserves. A life with you makes up for what I lack. I can't help relying on you, even now.
Despite my deepest wishes, I've become more than a burden to you, and if I can't find forgiveness for myself, then it would be a waste to expect it from you. You've given me too much grace. For your sake, I have to turn it away. If anyone's changed for the worse, it isn't you, Hanko-san.
He finds Rikichi in the dead of night, and while he isn't avoiding him, per se, he's no match for a man of Rikichi's caliber, able to disappear without a trace, throw Kirimaru completely off his game. In fact, he's convinced he only manages to catch Rikichi because he allowed him to, and it pisses him off to no end.
The moon casts a dull glow over wet blades of grass, streaking through the gaps of trees and painting their respective shadows behind them. Cold and deathly quiet, only the droning songs of the nocturnal breaching the tense silence. Kirimaru ties his scarf tighter to his neck to fight off the chill.
They're at an impasse. Rikichi doesn't budge, so he doesn't, either. He knows well enough that the first to make a move is usually the one that loses.
"…I shouldn't give you this. You don't deserve it." Cruel, maybe, but it's the least that Kirimaru wants to say. He doesn't speak badly of Rikichi in front of her, but he's cursed his name plenty, enough that there's probably a ghost or two following him around. "No one's got the guts to say it, but you've given her nothing but grief, you know. Years of dancing around like this, and for what?"
Rikichi fails to say anything, and Kirimaru knows that they won't get anywhere like this. Reluctantly, he reaches for the letter tucked away in his sleeve, throws it quick and straight, like he would a shuriken, aiming for Rikichi's chest. He catches it in one hand, the showoff, then unrolls it to read its contents. Whatever it is catches him off guard, he watches Rikichi's jaw tighten, fingers threatening to tear the letter apart.
"…Well?" Maybe she finally told him off. She could only extend her hand so far, it'd be about time for her to give up on him. She's always given too much of herself up to people, himself included. "If you wanna send one back, you better hurry. I'm not playin' a game of tag with you."
"No. I'll deliver my reply myself." Rikichi's mask falls, a smile, small yet genuine, breaks through it, and Kirimaru catches a glimpse of the Rikichi he once knew. "Thank you, Kirimaru-kun."
"…Don't mention it. Seriously, don't. I didn't do it for you." Kirimaru rests his hands behind his head, leaning back to take in the starry night, it's his reward, along with Hanko finally getting the one thing she wanted. "I'll let her know you're—… aaaand you're gone."
He really didn't get what she saw in him.
Rikichi, come home.
He doesn't get to announce his own arrival. Before he can make it halfway up the path, one of the children, an older girl with strong brows and sharp, distrusting eyes, whispers something to the pair she was watching over before darting off and inside the orphanage. As he draws closer, the children follow him with their eyes, though he can't imagine how one of them can even see with her bangs ending at her nose.
He raises a friendly hand, and the girl timidly raises one in return, while the smaller, frail-looking boy elects to tuck himself behind her back. He thinks to introduce himself from a distance, but a hint of pink colors the corner of his vision, a turn of his head revealing— her.
The past few years hardly show, still bearing that familiar softness on her face and figure, though there's slight creases below her eyes, lines around her mouth that deepen when she smiles, and she's so beautiful when she does, like now, unrestrained joy pulling hard at her lips. The evening sun casts a warm blanket over her, darkens the flush on her cheeks, paints her cascading tears with a honey hue.
She's soon a blur of pastels, too fast for his eyes to keep up, and she crashes into him chest first, the recoil knocking the wind right out of him. There's no good chance to breathe, not when she's squeezing him tight enough for his bones to creak, and even the choked gargle of her name doesn't get her to loosen her grip.
"I've missed you," she whispers. "I'm so glad that you're safe— that you're here."
"…I'm sorry that it took this long," he says, laced with regret. "I'm not sure I'm worth the wait."
"Don't be ridiculous." Her hands stroke the weary muscles along his back, and it's then that he returns her touch, a palm at her waist and the other at her shoulder blade. Warm. Soft. Just like he remembers. He tucks his nose into a thick curtain of hair, could kiss at her neck if he—
"…Mommy?" The quiet murmur pries them apart. Peeking out from behind her hip is his spitting image, a boyish mirror, eyebrows tilted down and lips pursed in… worry, maybe, though if his son was anything like him, it's more likely to be jealousy. Selfishly, he wished that more of that woman's features showed through, made his hair darker or his cheeks rounder, more believable that he could belong to the both of them.
"Risuke," she calls, so lovingly, like he's her own flesh and blood. Her hand settles on the top of his head, and he leans into her touch, the same way he did when he was that tall. "Would you like to say hello?"
The boy doesn't move from his safe haven, clinging to her kosode. "…Hi."
"Hello." Awkward and stilted— he still barely knew how to talk to children, never mind one this daunting. He didn't know how Hanko did it— it felt like every word mattered, and the wrong one would leave scars behind.
"Who are you?"
"Well." It wouldn't be right to lie. He doesn't know what the boy has heard, but perhaps it would've been better if she told him Rikichi had died. There was more honor in that. "I'm your… father. My name is Rikichi. I'm… a ninja, so I haven't been able to be with you until now."
His eyes twinkle for a moment, but they're once again clouded with doubt as he silently takes it in. He chews on his bottom lip in thought. A worrier. Always overthinking things, biting at skin and nails, picking only the worst possible outcome. It was all too familiar. "…Are you here to take me away?"
Worst outcome, indeed. "No, no, I wouldn't dream of it," he insists, perhaps too hastily. He sinks to his knees, gets eye level with the boy, and… she was right, they did look just alike. "…I'd like to stay here. With you, and your mother."
"Stay?" He asks, too surprised for Rikichi's liking. "For how long?"
"As long as you'll have me." His eyes leave his son for a moment, words spoken to her, instead.
"…Okay." Back to the boy, and Risuke looks far from impressed, likely expecting his father's presence only temporary. He must appear a better man in stories. Risuke was old enough to know that a good father wouldn't have left his family behind. "But if you leave… I don't want to see you. Ever."
"Risuke—" she starts.
"No, it's fine. It wouldn't be fair, would it?" He interrupts. He can't make up for the time lost, but he wants to try. "I can assure you that I don't plan on going anywhere."
The boy looks unconvinced, but he finds his answer acceptable, at least. As Rikichi rises to his feet, Hanko offers out her hand, palm upturned. He can make out thin scars along her fingers, and her nails are longer than when she was a teacher. His hands meets hers, turning it over so their fingers can properly lace together, and the relief on her face strings his heart back together, piece by piece. Her other hand— her entire arm, more like — is taken by his son, and they're led inside, a crowd of curious children waiting for them. It reminds him all too well of a time long past, a flurry of questions, her gentle shushing, small hands pulling at what they can reach. It's loud, nostagic, and well missed.
Rikichi could grow used to a life like this.