Chapter Text
The playground at Ukiyoe Elementary was a truly marvelous place.
It had climbing structures with brightly colored paint, grassy hills kept well-trimmed and well-tended, and just enough shrubbery to really give a hint of the nature that graced the rest of the campus. While Ukiyoe Elementary wasn’t a large school by any means, it served the community faithfully and fairly, and the community repaid it in care and upkeep. With the early October weather providing clear skies, albeit at a cooler temperature, the outside grounds were often full of life. Energetic children ran and laughed as loudly as their hearts and lungs could sustain, quieter kids could sit in the shade or on the swings, aspiring athletes had a field to do with as they pleased… and for some, occasionally unlucky souls, there were plenty of alcoves and places to hide.
In one such hollow, tucked under the bowed branches of a particularly large bush, a girl pushed aside green-and-gold foliage. “There you are! Are you okay?”
“M’fine.” Scowling, Nura Rika tucked her dirt-smudged knees up to her chest so her best friend could join her under the leaves. “Kiyotsugu’s just being stupid again. ‘Girls are silly, you make things up, you can’t run fast, blah blah blah’, like— what does he know?”
With a shrug, Kana sat daintily in the open space, tucking her skirt carefully around her legs. “I mean, I can’t run as fast as him either.”
“But I can!” Rika protested, branches catching on her hair as she gesticulated. With the ease of someone already well-familiar with such situations, Kana untangled each snarl as it formed. “And he still thinks I’m just making it up! He’s the worst, I don’t get why everyone else likes him.”
“He’s got a good family?”
Rika rolled her eyes. “Lotsa dumb people have good families— Gramps says that’s how nobody notices how dumb they are.”
“Oh, I guess so.” Considering for a moment, Kana tried again. “I guess he’s cute, maybe? Or maybe since his family gives the school a lot of money, everyone’s grateful that we can go on fun trips because of him?” Which wasn’t an unfair point — it was thanks to Kiyotsugu, or rather thanks to his family’s money, that they got to have field trips outside of town. Next week, they were even going to see a concert! Normally, a smaller school like Ukiyoe Elementary wouldn’t have the budget for such things. And, naturally, the older students who were used to that status quo liked to gossip, which eventually trickled back down to the younger grades.
It really ground Rika’s gears, knowing that Kana’s point was fair. “Okay, maybe, but— still, he’s such a jerk.”
Kana sighed the long-suffering sigh of a best friend, finally realizing what was going on. “Is this about your yōkai grandpa again?”
“He called me a liar!” Rika burst out, head smacking into the branches once more as she shot up. “Kiyotsugu called me a liar and he said I’m just— just making it up, for attention! I don’t even want attention, and I’m not lying!”
“I know, I know.” With one hand, Kana pushed the foliage back and gestured to the brighter, mid-afternoon light. “Look, recess is almost over, we should go back before Mister Yamada comes looking. You said you don’t want him to call your parents again, right?”
Again. Again, again, again. “No,” Rika grumbled, reluctantly following Kana’s lead as she stood and pushed back through the bush to the playground proper. Because if Mister Yamada called Mom again, he’d say the same stuff as before, and nobody would care. ‘Oh, she’s acting out for attention because you’re a single parent’, which was stupid and everyone agreed it was stupid. Kubinashi always rolled his eyes at that one. Or ‘You need to teach her more discipline and manners and how to be a proper young lady’, as though any of that mattered to yōkai like Rika’s family.
Having the Lord of Pandemonium as a grandfather meant Rika didn’t need to care about dumb things like saying ‘excuse me’ when going to the teachers’ room, or worrying over wearing cute clothes or being mindful and orderly. What mattered was whether Rika could be smart, and fast, and tricky — and she was! She could even catch Ao and Kuro in her traps, and they were super strong yōkai!
Maybe if she got fast and tricky enough, one day… maybe Gramps would let her be Third.
Here at school, though, nobody seemed to care about that. At least Kana got that Rika wasn’t really into doing hair or craft stuff or playing princesses, so sometimes she came and played tag or monster castle with Rika instead of hanging out with the other girls. But everyone else — they all agreed with Kiyotsugu, saying it was weird for her to be good at sports but not dress-up, saying that yōkai were evil and Gramps was dumb. It was totally unfair — why did it matter what Rika was good at? And Gramps was cool, even if his powers weren’t super flashy, because all the other yōkai listened to him!
So even if — even if yōkai used to be bad, Gramps could just tell them not to be, and they all listened. Because they were family. Why didn’t anybody believe Rika when she said so?
The rest of school passed how it usually did in autumn, slow and a little sleepy. They’d had math, Japanese studies, and music in the morning, so the afternoon was just English and home economics, and then the usual end-of-day classroom cleaning. And like usual, Rika ended up cleaning the windows— places where bugs would get in and all sorts of grime tended to collect. Ever since her classmates noticed she didn’t care about gross stuff, they always left those parts of the cleaning to her, whether she wanted to or not. (Which… she really didn’t mind them, because she saw way weirder stuff at home all the time, but it was still a little annoying to not get asked first).
Because Kana was nice to a fault, she waited for Rika to be done before walking down to the shoe lockers. Although Ukiyoe Elementary didn’t require uniforms like some of the nicer schools, closer to downtown Tōkyō, everyone still had to wear school slippers indoors instead of their regular shoes.
While Rika switched out her school slippers for her sneakers — decorated with yukiwa that Kubinashi had used to cover up the original frilly flower pattern — Kana looked out at the sky that was starting to go faintly orange-and-gold near the horizon. “We should hurry up… if we miss the bus, it’ll be a half hour before the next one comes, and Mom and Dad’ll get really worried if I’m home that late.”
“You can go ahead without me, if you want.”
She shot Rika a concerned look, bag hitching a bit higher on her shoulders. “Your parents won’t be worried too?”
Well… “I mean, I guess they will,” Kubinashi would definitely fuss, even if Mom didn’t, “But I don’t really want to go home right away, anyways.” Rika stuck her school slippers away, following Kana to the doors. “Maybe I’ll go to the park for a bit, or something.”
Kana’s brow furrowed. “Are they fighting? Your parents?”
“Not really.” That would be pretty impossible, since Rika’s dad was dead.
“Not really? Then what?”
Shaking her head, Rika pushed those thoughts away and explained, “I kind of got in an argument with some of Gramps’ friends last night, so things are a little tense. Besides, if they get worried, someone’ll come and find me.”
“Oh, your grandpa’s yōkai friends?” Kana huffed as they arrived at the school gates, where most of the other kids were gathered around the bus stop.
Rika turned to look at her friend for a moment, stomach sinking at the familiar wariness in Kana’s eyes. Even though a part of her knew Kana was just as normal as all her other classmates, it still hurt a little to remember that not even Kana could understand. Not even her one real human friend could really… “You don’t believe me either, do you?”
As the bus doors opened, Kana sighed. “Well, who would? Yōkai are— they’re stories, y’know? I know your grandpa’s a little weird, but… yōkai are super scary, aren’t they?”
“But they— they’re not, they’re not like that!” Rika protested, gripping the straps of her backpack just for something to hold onto. “Yōkai are— yōkai are super strong, and smart, and they’re real good at tricks and playing pranks and being sneaky, but— but they’re not bad like that. Gramps wouldn’t let them…” Her family wasn’t bad, because Gramps was the leader. And Gramps wouldn’t let anybody do evil stuff, right?
Stepping into the bus, Kana glanced back with a frown. “… But if they’re not bad, why do we have all those stories?”
“Yo!” From an open window further down the bus, one of the boys — Takahiro, who sat behind her in class — called out, “Hey, grubby yōkai girl, you getting on or what? I want to go home, already!”
Another voice snickered. “No, her ‘Lord of Pandemonium’ grandpa’ll come get her.”
“You gonna make this a yōkai bus?”
“No way, that’d be gross!”
Ah… that was normal, too. Because telling people about Gramps and Auntie and home made her weird, and people didn’t like that, but they did like to tease her about it. Maybe if Rika had just been born a boy instead… well, maybe then, it would be less weird to be ‘weird’. Or even if people still made fun of her, maybe it would be less mean, since the boys always seemed to sort of pick on each other in a friendly way. Then again, she’d probably be less weird to begin with if she was a boy, since…
Boys got to be smart and fast and tricky, and nobody cared. Nobody laughed or pointed or scolded if boys were loud, or if they wanted to tell stories about monsters instead of princesses.
It really was unfair, Rika thought.
She waved a hand at Kana, still paused on the first step of the bus. “You go on, I’ll go to the park like I was thinking. I don’t want your mom and dad to worry because of me.” Forcing a smile, she added, “Plus, if yōkai are scary, it’s probably better if I’m not on the bus, right?”
“Are you sure?”
Man, Kana really was so nice. Even if everyone else kept teasing, Kana made it better. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow!”
Just to make sure Kana didn’t feel like she had to hesitate, Rika turned and began jogging towards the park. Jogging, not running away — running was just faster, and Rika liked to do it. Behind her, the bus engine rumbled and then faded down the street, carrying Kana and the laughter away with it. When Rika glanced over her shoulder to watch it go, pausing so she wouldn’t run into anything, it looked almost like one of the old paintings in Auntie Setsura’s room. The sun starting to sink down, all orange and gold and blue at the edges, and all the shapes of the town turning into silhouettes with long shadows that stretched out like ink in water.
Once the bus disappeared from sight, Rika resumed her jog towards the park. It was sort of in-between Ukiyoe Elementary and her house, a few blocks off the regular bus route. Although there wasn’t much in it besides a swing set and some trees, Rika found it was still a nice place to just go and be quiet sometimes.
Although she really loved her family, and Gramps and the board and all the yōkai, it could be a lot. Everybody got loud, worrying or partying or arguing or whatever, and most of them never actually let Rika join in even if she wanted to. Kuro and Ao always said it would be bad if she got hurt fighting, Auntie scolded her for getting her kimono dirty — the pink cherry blossom one that Kejōrō made, that Rika hated wearing because it was way too girly but wore anyways so Kejōrō wouldn’t get sad. Even though Rika was just as much a yōkai as the rest of the clan, nobody treated her like one. It was like they thought she was made of glass instead of flesh and blood.
So yeah, sometimes, it was nice to go sit in the park and not be at home. Plus, being there always made Rika feel closer to Dad — back when he was alive, he used to take her and Kana there to play when Kana’s mom and dad were working. He could push them super high in the swings, and always caught Rika if she fell while climbing trees.
Since it was closer to her house than to school, even running to the park took Rika longer than she expected. The leaves crunched underfoot as she hopped over the poles meant to stop cars from driving in, and the sound seemed to carry through the still air. Even though school was out, nobody else was at the park — maybe there was some human event for kids tonight, or they didn’t want to play outside now that it was getting a little chilly? Like that would stop Rika, though. She lived with yuki onna — two of them, even — so it would take more than the cold to drive her inside.
Throwing herself onto one of the empty swings, Rika pushed off of the ground with a sharp kick and sighed. She probably shouldn’t stay too long, since— well, Kubinashi would worry, and then Auntie would scold her, and the Board…
Ugh, they were the worst! Saying she wasn’t yōkai enough to be Gramps’ heir just because Mom was human, saying they wouldn’t have a girl leader like ‘the fox’, whoever that was. Rika always did her best, she tried to get stronger and faster and smarter all the time, she was Gramps’ blood descendant— how much more yōkai did she need to get?
And honestly, why should she even want to lead such a bunch of jerks, anyways? They were just as bad as the kids at school.
Rika tilted her head back, looking up at the sky and blowing at the hair that fell in her eyes. “… Hey, Dad, how come you were the leader to a bunch of guys like that? All they talk about is doing bad stuff and going back to ‘the old days’, and they all think they know better than Gramps.” He didn’t answer — well, of course not, dead people couldn’t really talk back — but Rika felt a little like he could listen here, instead of at home. Home was too noisy to talk to the dead properly. “Even though Gramps is strong, and super smart, and really good at tricks, and that’s what yōkai are supposed to do, isn’t it? And everyone always says you were super strong too, so why’d you need dumb guys like Daruma and Gagoze? All they do is brag and complain.”
A cool breeze curled past her cheek, and the end of her braid thumped against her back on the downswing. “Kana says yōkai are scary, and hurt people, like in those stories. Or hurt humans, I guess.” She frowned. “But you married Mom, and she’s human.”
And everybody seemed to love Mom — Auntie helped her with chores, even though Auntie hated chores, and the whole house argued over who got to go to the store with her for groceries. If none of the yōkai at home ever tried to hurt or scare Mom, then… then why would they do that to other humans? That was why those stories were just old stories, after all — they didn’t happen anymore.
Rika sighed again. “I wish I could be more like you, Dad. Then everyone would listen to me, and I could tell them to be nicer, and then the kids at school would—”
“Young Mistress! There you are!”
Darn it, time was up. Dragging her feet against the ground, Rika looked up to meet the unblinking eyes of her grandfather’s primary advisor. Huh, usually it was someone she knew better. “Hi, Karasu-Tengu. Did Gramps send you?”
“Never mind that!” The tiny yōkai flapped in agitation, barely waiting for Rika to slip off the swing and grab her backpack before he hooked his claws into the fabric of her shirt and launched back into the air. Over her shout of protest (that hurt!), he continued exclaiming. “Everyone has been worried sick about you! Your pranks and tricks within the Main House are one thing, but wandering off alone, without a single guard? What were you doing out there, this is far too late for a young lady—“
Trying to get more comfortable, Rika tugged at the neckline of her shirt and grimaced. “I just missed the bus, so I thought I’d go to the park ‘till the next one came. What’s the big deal?”
“You— are— the Commander’s—“
As Karasu-Tengu puffed out the words, Rika rolled her eyes. Right, she was Gramps’ granddaughter when they wanted to baby her, but not when it meant giving her any actual power. Go figure. “Why send you, anyways? I’m not a little kid anymore, Tosakamaru would be better for flying back if someone’s carrying me.” Plus, he always gave her suggestions for new pranks, even ones that would work on him and his siblings. Which was why he was her favorite tengu. “Or we could have just walked, if the issue was me being by myself.”
The ground beneath them passed at something closer to a crawl than the usual steady blur that Rika was used to from the moonlit cart, shadows like the legs of giants tracing across the town. It all looked so small, from this height.
Seeming to have exhausted his capacity for speech, Karasu-Tengu didn’t respond, and Rika entertained herself imagining how he was probably trying to roll his eyes and failing. Although he was more patient with her than most of the Board members — probably because Karasu was one of the only others who had kids of his own, besides Gramps and Auntie and Lord Hihi — Rika still suspected he didn’t think much better of her than the rest. He threw his hat in behind Gramps because he was Gramps’ number one advisor, no other reasons. Outside of that Board meeting, he only really talked to Rika to scold her for playing pranks and being unladylike and messing around with human stuff. Like any of that was his business.
Honestly, sometimes it felt like half the damn clan thought it was their right to parent Rika, even though they didn’t actually do anything useful. Rika already had her family, she had Mom and Dad and Gramps. So what if Dad was dead? That didn’t mean any of those rude old guys on the Board knew better than him — he’d been their leader, not the other way around.
So distracted was she, lost in well-resented memories, that Rika didn’t realize they’d arrived back at the Main House until there were cold arms shrouded in silk tugging her from Karasu-Tengu’s grasp before her shoes could meet earth. She yelped, pulling away on instinct before her attention returned and she recognized Big Sister Tsurara’s wide golden eyes as the younger yuki onna peered over her anxiously. “Oh, Lady Rika, thank goodness you’re okay! When I saw the news, I thought— I thought— oh, thank goodness you’re safe, I’m so relieved!” With that last exclamation rising almost to a wail, she squeezed Rika even tighter.
Feeling both confused and, frankly, overwhelmed, Rika pushed back against Tsurara’s grasp to buy herself some air. “Too tight, too tight— let go, Big Sis, I’m fine. I’m— what news?” Over the yuki onna’s shoulder, she caught a glimpse of the static flicker of a television screen. “What— did something happen?”
“Not anymore, now that you’re here!” With a happy sigh, Tsurara finally set Rika back on the ground, cheeks flushed pink and breath clouding the air around her. “And—oh, Lady Rika, you’re all dirty! Come in, let’s get you cleaned up and—”
“What happened?”
Tsurara waved a hand airily, glancing back at the television. “Oh, some bus crash, nothing you—”
A trickle of ice ran down Rika’s spine. Not Tsurara’s Fear, or even Auntie’s—not even the chill of the early autumn nightfall—but something purely and entirely internal, just as natural as the sudden twisting in the pit of her stomach. Tuning out Tsurara’s voice, Rika darted around her and boosted herself up onto the wooden porch, crawling hands-and-knees through the open paper door to peer over Gramps’ shoulder at the staticky television screen. Electronics didn’t always like to work at the main house, of course. Modern stuff and yōkai usually weren’t friends.
But no amount of static or discoloration could mask the sound of a reporter’s voice, speaking over footage of a landslide of earth and stone, as she repeated, “—is believed to be filled with students from Ukiyoe Elementary School! Although first responders are on their way, the collapse zone is unstable, and—”
“Rika!” Rounding the corner, Kubinashi hurried into the room with a sigh of clear relief. “Karasu-Tengu found you, thank goodness. Are you—”
“That bus.”
Rika couldn’t tear her eyes from the footage on the screen, barely feeling the hand that fell to rest on her shoulder. Probably meant to be comforting, though the thought was a dull prick in the looming fog threatening to submerge her. It would be a half hour until the next one, Kana said. Because the bus only ran every half hour after three, because Ukiyoe wasn’t a large town and almost nobody needed anything more frequent. The bus that everyone took home, everyone who lived more than a short walk from school. Rika, Kana, almost everyone in class. Kana had paused on the first step, looking back at Rika. Kiyotsugu and Takahiro and all the other kids, laughing through the windows, while Kana paused on the first step with her hand wrapped around the bright yellow pole and waited for Rika to join her. And she hadn’t—
“Rika?” The faint sound of Kubinashi’s voice penetrated the ice slowly filling her veins, his hand still on her shoulder. “Why don’t you take off your shoes, Kejōrō can get the bath ready…”
What? “No. No, I’m—“ Rika pulled away, turning back outside and jumping into the yard. “—That can wait, we’ve got to go help them!”
Kana was on that bus.
Behind her, the doorframe clattered as someone — probably Kubinashi, maybe Kejōrō as well — followed her outside, several footfalls thumping softly against the earth. Still in the yard, Tsurara pivoted from her conversation with Kurotabō, eyes fluttering wide. “Lady Rika! Where are you going, it’s already late!”
As she moved, the long sleeves of her furisode swung to and fro, the silken threads almost glowing against the darkness of night. Yukiwa patterns, just like the ones on Rika’s sneakers. “Big Sis, could you freeze a landslide to stop it from sliding more?” When Tsurara opened her mouth, brows furrowing tight, Rika barreled on so she wouldn’t have a chance to change the subject. “That accident — my friend was on that bus, and everyone from school, we’ve got to go help them. With your ice, you could hold the earth in place so it wouldn’t landslide again while we get them out!”
Looking around the yard, thoughts began to crystallize in Rika’s mind. “And— and Ao, you can lift the heavier rubble, both you and Kuro— and Kubinashi and Kejōrō can retrieve the kids, if we go now we can—“
“You’ll do no such thing!”
The unsettling, half-boom and half-echo of Mokugyō-Daruma’s voice carried through the still night air, slamming into Rika’s shoulders as she turned to look at the yellow-garbed advisor. From his position on the porch, he seemed to look even taller than usual, expression a mess of tangled disdain and affront. “For yōkai to aid humans in such a manner, it would be an insult to our very nature! Have you learned nothing at your grandfather’s knee, Young Lady?”
Young Lady, again. Again, again, again. Rika squared her shoulders and stared back at Mokugyō-Daruma, fists clenching until they ached. “What’s that supposed to mean? We have the power to do something, so we should do it!”
“What ‘we’ do you think you’re speaking of, Young Lady?” Leveling a damning finger in Rika’s direction, Mokugyō-Daruma hissed, “We, the Nura Syndicate, are a seat of revered power in the yōkai world! No yōkai here would debase themself to unleash pandemonium at the whims of some human, no matter whose whelp she may be!”
Like the abrupt roar of a flame catching on kindling, the knot in Rika’s stomach bloomed into a rush of hot fury, setting her skin to almost electric pins-and-needles as she felt every one of her hairs stand on end. So that was how it was, huh?
“How dare you!” That was Kuro’s voice, sharp and indignant, pitched above the disordered muttering of the onlookers. “The Young Mistress is Lord Rihan’s daughter, and you dare to say—”
“It is the mandate of the Nura, and of all yōkai, to instill fear into humans! The Second Commander was one of us, in spite of his birth, but now this human girl wants to command us—and to help them? More of her kind? It would dishonor us!”
Of course. Of course that was the line in the sand.
In the corner of Rika’s vision, black hair and fabric swirled as Kurotabō lunged for the porch, shakujō swinging for Mokugyō-Daruma’s face in an uncharacteristic display of outrage. As the advisor met the blow, arms blocking and deflecting the staff with fluid ease, Rika’s vision swam with colors. The sun had set, night surrounded them, and Kana was alone in that place— and no help was coming, because Rika wasn’t good enough.
She’d never be good enough. Not for Mokugyō-Daruma, not for the Board, not for the kids at school, not for anyone.
“Kuro,” The word scratched at the inside of her throat like hot nails, almost alien to her own ears, “Stand down. I don’t have time to waste arguing about this.” A cool wind brushed against the nape of her neck, lifting the hair off her shoulders and bringing some weak semblance of relief to the boiling of anger in her veins. “Mokugyō-Daruma won’t care what you or I say. He’s just like all the rest of them.”
Always bragging about hurting people, or arguing about hurting people, or complaining that they didn’t hurt people anymore. Like cuckoo-clocks always singing the same old, repetitive tune. Didn’t they care about anything else?
She should have listened to Kana.
Raising her voice over the pain, Rika gestured to the rest of the onlookers. “If none of you want to follow me, then fine! You’re all hypocrites, and Dad would be ashamed of you! I wouldn’t want you in my clan anyways!” In her chest, the roaring, burning knot of fury clenched and breathed, like a second beating heart beneath her skin. “But I’m going to go help them, even if I have to do it alone. That should be alright, shouldn’t it? Since I’m just a human myself, there’s no-one else I’m going to embarrass by doing the right thing!”
Everything felt tight, pin-prickling and hot and cold. Her clothes constricted, making it harder to breathe — and she had to breathe, Kana needed her and there wasn’t time to not breathe. Pins and needles raced along her spine, stinging like sparks. It hurt— the anger, the heat— it hurt. Why was this all happening, why did this have to—
Hands grasped her shoulders — not cold like Tsurara’s, or big like Aotabō’s, but solid and rough and warm even against her burning skin. “Count to five. Focus on what you’re feeling, don’t try to fight it.”
Struggling to draw a full breath, Rika clenched her fists and tried to only feel the weight of Kubinashi holding her steady. Count to five, deep breath in, focus. She had to focus; she couldn’t just let the anger get her off her guard. Yōkai had to be smart and tricky and strong, and even if Rika would never be good enough — she could still try to be smart and tricky and strong enough to save Kana, and that meant she had to focus. Think about what to do, her way. And choking on the white-hot coals of her anger wouldn’t help that, so Rika breathed in and let the heat wash over her until the vice on her lungs released. Breathe, release. Breathe, release.
Finally, finally, the burning sank back beneath her skin, enough for Rika to register something other than heat and anger and pain. Her skin still prickled, but it felt… different.
Wrong. Right.
Rika opened her eyes, blinking back the tears that had welled up and looking back at the gathered yōkai… who all stared back at her, silent as death. On the porch, appearing somehow smaller than he had before, Mokugyō-Daruma’s eyes were so wide she half-expected them to pop right out of their sockets and roll onto the dirt. Would serve him right, if they did. But it wasn’t just him — everyone wore expressions of shock, of confusion, of… things Rika didn’t care about naming. What were they all staring for? She had to go—
When she shifted, weight moving to her back foot with every intent of turning on her heel and leaving, the fabric around her knees tugged. Simple, black, no longer the shorts Rika had worn to school — but instead a kimono. Plain and lined for the cooler weather, with not a delicate butterfly or bright-colored kusudama in sight, it looked like the kimono Gramps always wore.
Cold air touched her feet, because traditional wooden geta had replaced her shoes. Wind tickled the back of her neck, her bare neck, while her hair was…
“Okay.” So Rika was a yōkai after all. Great. Just great. Of course it only happened after she understood how the Board really felt about her. “Okay then. Let’s go.”
Footsteps hit the earth behind her as she turned away once again, both small and large sounding somehow gigantic in the stillness of the night. Someone — Rika didn’t see who — pressed a sword into her hand, and she tucked it into her obi without thinking. Without breathing.
It was a men’s obi, she noticed absently as one of the flyers hovered low beside her and clicked an invitation. A men’s obi, narrower and simpler than the decorative ones Kejōrō always wore. And her body, when she climbed onto the serpent’s back — her body matched, apparently. Like Gramps, like Dad. Like everything she’d been denied for lacking. As they left the main house, and Mokugyō-Daruma’s judgement, and Gramps’ silence all behind — a funny sort of feeling twisted in Rika’s stomach, entirely separate from the molten-hot anger still humming in her veins with each deafening heartbeat. Her yōkai body… was a boy’s body. She was a yōkai, after all, even though it hasn’t showed until now, and… in her yōkai form, she was a boy.
Rika… was a boy.
… Oh.
She would— he would think about that later. About how it made her — his — guts twist into knots, and yet felt warm like summer at the same time. It didn’t make sense — Rika had been a girl, had tried to be a girl, but apparently he wasn’t even good at physically being a girl. Maybe Kejōrō would finally stop giving him pink clothes, and Ao and Kuro would finally teach him how to fight. Maybe Kana wouldn’t want to be his friend anymore, if she knew. But— but then again, maybe the Board would finally…
No. He didn’t want that, anymore. They didn’t care when he was a human girl, so why would they change their minds now?
The Board could go rot, for all Rika cared. He had a friend to save.