Chapter Text
He couldn’t breathe. Something was lodged in his throat so deeply that he couldn’t even reach inside to pull it out. So instead, he hunched over his toilet, retching and hacking, attempting to dislodge the foreign object.
Finally, with a swift punch to his own diaphragm, it gave, and he felt the weight of it on his tongue before it glided into the water with a soft “plop.” He stared at it, floating there as innocent and as graceful as a lotus. Only, it was a white chrysanthemum, and it was covered in blood. His blood.
Soon, he would die.
There was a rumor in H City that began to spread among young people on the OOPArts BBS. Moe had brought it to his attention, hoping to get his advice for an article. She came to him for advice on nearly every article she wrote, but this one in particular felt out of his area of expertise. A spirit had appeared in T Mountain Plum Village.
And she was known to bless lovers.
She had been given the moniker “Yabai-san,” and like Hanayome, she was ironically considered benevolent, helping couples form under the plum blossoms. Recently, however, people had been reporting feeling sick after visiting her grove and warning tourists not to approach. Others argued that the only ones feeling sick were people who failed Yabai-san’s test. When asked if anyone had ever actually met Yabai-san or knew what she looked like, no one could answer.
“So, I’ve wanted to check it out for myself,” Moe said, “but I’m scared to go alone.”
“If she’s making people sick, it’s better not to go at all,” he told her. Mashita must have been rubbing off on him because this was starting to sound like a pain.
Moe pouted, “But it’s such a big scoop! A career-launching scoop!”
Then, she leaned over his desk and stared him in the eye, “Aren’t you Kazuo Yashiki, the Spirit Doctor? Don’t you want to help those sick people?”
Picking at Yashiki’s moral conscious was indeed a good way to get him to do something, “That’s Daimon’s code of ethics. Besides, I don’t really have any sort of spirit healing techniques that could help. I just have this big house and a lot of niche knowledge.”
“That’s exactly it,” Moe pointed her finger at his nose. “You know more than others, so you’ll be able to figure out if she’s real or not in no time! And if she is cursing people, then it must be for a reason. You can help her move on and save those people at the same time.”
It was decided. He would accompany Moe to the plum grove. All the better that he went, anyway, or else she would have gone by herself and gotten hurt.
However, when he got to the K Train Station, he was surprised to find that Moe was not alone. Standing next to her with his arms crossed was Mashita. It was actually good that he was invited too, since it meant that there would be more people to keep Moe safe. However, it was the woman standing next to Mashita that threw Yashiki for a loop.
“Are you sure you want to go, Christie? We’re looking for a spirit,” he reminded her.
“I heard you two were pursuing a famous couple’s rumor with a minor. Of course, I had to come along,” she huffed and tossed her hair, tucking it behind her ear.
Yashiki looked at Mashita, and he shrugged, “Moe called me about passing some spirit’s love test, so I thought it’d be better to have Arimura, too, to even out the numbers.”
“You have Christie’s number?” Yashiki pointed at him.
“I have everyone’s number.”
Then why didn’t you call Hiroo, he thought to himself as he withered under Christie’s accusatory glare. Hiroo and Christie both froze up around spirits, and while Christie was better with people, Hiroo didn’t ask as many unnecessary questions. He wouldn’t mind Christie so much if she wasn’t always bringing up his reputation. It wasn’t his fault that teen girls flocked to him like a sad, wet cat.
They boarded the train when it arrived. Because Plum Village didn’t have a parking lot, public transportation was necessary to access it. While they traveled, Moe explained what exactly she meant by Yabai-san’s test.
“So, you’re supposed to offer her a flower together under an arch, and then she blesses you. But, I guess she’s picky about her flowers,” she explained. “Everyone online gave her different flowers, so I don’t really know which one is the right flower.”
“Well, she haunts a plum grove, so maybe you’re supposed to give her plum flowers,” Yashiki suggested.
“Or maybe she’s into flower language, so something with meaning,” Christie added.
Mashita wasn’t the type to enjoy flowers or anything remotely romantic, so he leaned back against his seat and chewed on the end of his zipper. Christie slid him a disgusted side-eye and crossed her arms. Moe scribbled in her notepad.
“I mean, I guess it would make sense to offer her plum flowers. Let’s do that.”
“And we’re supposed to be a couple?” Mashita asked, “Why did you call me then? Arimura’s enough.”
“As long as I don’t have to pair with him,” Christie thrust her thumb in Mashita’s direction. “I don’t mind pairing with Yashiki. He’s a proper gentleman.”
Mashita scoffed, “Him? Have you seen him?”
Yashiki sighed, staring down at his crumpled shirt and loose tie. Then, he pinched the end of his bangs and stared at his frazzled hair. His coat had seen better days, too, and his shoes were starting to come apart. He could definitely use a touch-up.
Moe pouted, “Don’t be so mean to Mr. Yashiki! I think he’s pretty distinguished.”
“Being from a distinguished family and actually being distinguished are two different things.” Mashita shook his head, “It’s just because you guys haven’t had to actually work cases with the guy. He’s pretty clumsy. I can’t leave him alone for two minutes without him hurting himself.”
“Aww, it just means you care,” Moe cooed.
Christie smirked, “Maybe you two should do the challenge.”
He flipped them off.
They took the K Train all the way to T Station at the base of T Mountain where they disembarked. The time was around 2:00 P.M., and the estimated length of the hike was around two hours. By the time they would finish the hike, the facilities would be closing. But since it was a haunting, their offering would have to take place after dark.
Currently, the plan was to “disappear” on the trail and wait for nightfall. Christie was predictably the only one who objected to this. If they wanted the best chance to encounter Yabai-san, however, they would have to put in the hours, and so she was outvoted. Luckily, the station itself ran until midnight, so they would have plenty of time to catch the train home even if they failed.
The hike started with the Promenade along K River, walking through a tunnel of red and white plum trees. Since it was March, they were in full bloom, and the sight was enough to make Christie stop complaining about having to hide in bushes for hours. Yashiki enjoyed the flowers, too, and the sweet scent carried on the breeze, lifting his mood from reluctant to accepting of the situation.
Next, they passed by old K road through the historic S Grove, some yellow mixing in with the pink and red from various trees like witch hazel and sanshuyu. After that was A Grove beneath the C Expressway. Mashita commented that being beneath the expressway was like begging to be crushed, but in the distance, they could see T Grove, which was where they were heading next.
At the top of the slope where T Grove was situated was a temple dedicated to the God of Learning. Yashiki paused to pay his respects, and Christie followed suit. Because the adults were doing so, Moe also paid her respects, and the rest bullied Mashita into praying as well. Once that was finally done, they continued on their way.
Moe took a break to use the restroom, and then they passed through I Grove. Unlike the other groves, I Grove had weeping plum trees that looked like red and white fountains jetting up from the ground. And along with I Grove, the rest of the groves were only available during the blossoming season, so they were fortunate that they were visiting at the right time.
When they reached their final grove, K Grove, they stopped. It was the largest grove, so hiding and waiting for nighttime would be pretty easy. But, Christie was hungry, so she left them to go find some food at one of the stalls. She did bring dinner back for the rest of them, though, and they had a small picnic beneath one of the plum trees.
Then, they simply didn’t leave. There was another group who had stuck around after closing as well, and when the security guard made his rounds, Yashiki’s group was lucky that the other group had gotten caught instead. Though, Christie made a fuss when she discovered her pantyhose had gotten caught on tree bark, and she had torn up a stripe near her knee.
“I’m billing you for this,” she ground out between her teeth, glaring at Mashita.
Once the sun set, they backtracked to T Grove, where the shrine to the God of Learning was. They had passed them without paying them much attention before, but hanging from the branches all around them were red and white lanterns. Coupled with the alabaster blossoms and the light of the flashlights painting the tree trunks silver, it gave a delicate, sanctified feel to the grove.
But something was there that hadn’t been there before.
A south-leading path appeared across from the small shrine. The trees bent over it, joining hands to form a tunnel similar to the one along K river. Lit lanterns hung down in a singular file line, guiding their way with a red glow.
“Do we even have the blossoms?” Christie hissed, clutching Yashiki’s elbow like she was ready to throw him to the wolves at a moment’s notice.
“We can just pick any old branch,” Moe replied.
Yashiki wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that, but they all looked at him expectantly. With a heavy sigh, he picked out a branch, but he didn’t have a knife to cut it with. Out of one of his many pockets, Mashita produced a utility knife and passed it to Yashiki. Taking it in hand, Yashiki studied it for a moment, then studied Mashita, and Mashita stared back as if to ask if there was going to be a problem. Yashiki shrugged and cut the branch, returning the knife to Mashita.
They continued down the tunnel of trees, the red light growing stronger the farther they ventured until even the petals on the trees seemed to be saturated in its hue.
“Is this supposed to be romantic?” Mashita scoffed.
Christie covered her mouth and nose with a handkerchief, “The smell is so strong here.”
Mashita sniffed the air, “I don’t smell anything.”
Covering the lower half of her face with her hat, Moe chimed in, “No, I smell it too. It’s like someone used too much perfume.”
Yashiki could also detect the odor, but not as strongly as the women. It reminded him of Hanahiko, and he cringed as he imagined Saya’s corpse under his feet. But, this wasn’t the mansion; this was the plum grove. And, he was with his friends.
“I’m getting a headache,” Christie complained.
Moe whined too, “I’m gonna hurl.”
Up ahead, Yashiki spotted a man-made arch decorated with blossoms, lanterns, and red and white ribbons. He pointed toward it, “We’re almost there.”
Out of the corner of his eye, something moved. He stopped and tried to look at it, but he couldn’t see through the darkness in the gaps between the trees. Not even the lantern lights illuminated that space, so how could he have seen anything?
“What are you looking at?” Mashita asked.
“I thought I saw something.”
“Nothing’s there. Let’s just complete this challenge and leave.”
He nodded and continued walking when Christie tugged on his arm, but his eyes lingered on the space where he had seen the flicker of movement. If he wasn’t mistaken, he thought he might have seen the white flash of an eye between the trees. Something like the reflective gleam of an animal’s eye in moonlight.
Finally, they reached the archway at the end of the tunnel. Beneath its branches and blossoms lay a stone altar, and behind it stood a larger-than-average plum blossom tree with a trunk around 90 centimeters wide. If the stone altar in front of a large tree wasn’t enough of a curiosity, a giant knot seemed to protrude from the tree above the altar, the shape of which reminded Yashiki of someone curled up in a fetal position.
“That’s gross,” Mashita snarled, his signature line.
Christie and Moe were both pale. The elder of the two women pointed at the knot, “Is it…moving?”
“Like a heart…” Moe agreed.
Staring at it closer, Yashiki could see that it was moving. Something wriggled beneath the bark, like a bug crawling under the skin. It sent an uncomfortable shiver down his spine, and sweat condensed on his palms. He passed the branch between his hands to wipe dry whichever was free before turning to Christie.
“Shall we?”
“Is there some kind of procedure?” Mashita asked Moe.
“I don’t think so,” she replied. “I think you just put the flowers on the altar and ask for a blessing.”
“No special words?” Yashiki added.
Moe checked her notepad, flipping through the pages, “I think they just say something like ‘Spirit of the Plum Tree, please bless us.’”
The new “couple” nodded, Christie shaking in her heels. They looked more like a father giving away the bride with cold feet than a pair of lovebirds. With the eerie, pulsing blob above them, even Yashiki was starting to feel nervous.
Once they reached the arch, he placed the plum blossom branch on the altar and pressed his hands together. Christie copied him, and together they said, “Spirit of the Plum Blossom, please bless us.” The effect was instantaneous.
Above them, the pustule-like knot in the tree began to undulate. And then, a slit opened up in the middle, revealing a giant, red eyeball, the shape of the iris resembling a plum blossom itself. Christie shrieked. Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed onto the ground like a pile of bricks.
“Hang in there,” Yashiki knelt to help Christie, the eye tracking his movements.
He sat her up, checking her for any injuries. Then, he heard a sound like something cracking followed by a wet squelch and looked up. Staring back at him was a woman’s face. She was mostly human, her expression desolate, except that her eyes were covered by a loose cloth. A hole opened in her middle, her withered, vine-like innards winding around her hip and up into the air to connect her to the plum tree like an umbilical cord. In fact, she seemed to have been birthed from the bulbous knot itself, the loose strands of her tied hair matted down by a dark, sticky substance.
Suddenly, her crooked, gnarled body jerked, and her hands snapped, gripping his shoulders. They dug into his skin with piercing sharpness, and when he looked, he saw that her hands were wooden, her fingers jagged branches themselves. Her jaw lowered, seeming to split open to reveal needle-like teeth.
Immediately, Yashiki tried to pull away, but the sharp branches cut into his shoulders and held him in place. Mashita and Moe ran to help him, and he shoved Christie into Mashita’s arms.
“Take her!”
Mashita grabbed Christie under her arms and dragged her away while Moe tried to pull the branches off of Yashiki’s shoulder, but it wouldn't budge. The spirit, presumed to be Yabai-san, finished her motion without acknowledging Moe’s efforts at all.
Yashiki was now peering down the maw of a monster. The monster stared back. Yabai-san’s tongue was green, a stem with a red blossom at the end. With the speed of a flicking frog, it sprang out from between her teeth and enveloped his face, latching on to his skin with sharp pins. He shouted and tried to pull it off, but it released a puff of some floral-scented substance into his face and caused him to cough.
Finally, it released him, returning to Yabai-san’s mouth, which snapped shut like a trash bin. She retreated back into her shell, pausing for a moment to say only one word:
“Liar.”
Mashita was at his side before he could even try to blink the pollen out of his eyelashes. He must have dumped Christie onto the ground to get to him, even though Moe was closer. A bottle of water popped out of his coat as if he had endless pockets, and he practically ripped Yashiki’s glasses off his face before tilting his head back. Warm water poured over his eyes, and Yashiki blinked rapidly to clear the pollen away. Then, Mashita scrubbed at his face with the sleeve of his coat, roughly wiping away the blood and excess water.
“Idiot, you should have just run away!” He scolded Yashiki.
“How?” Yashiki muttered.
“You could have left Christie.”
He gave Mashita a scathing side eye, and the ex-cop shrugged. After cleaning his glasses, Yashiki placed them back on his nose and looked around. Somehow, they were all crowded outside of the small shrine in T Grove, the red and white lanterns swaying in the small breeze. There was no arch nor altar, and there was no giant plum blossom tree.
Moe gave Yashiki a worried glance and went to help Christie, who was beginning to stir. Mashita helped him to his feet, and Yashiki brushed off his rumpled clothes. He wiped off his own cheeks and chin for good measure, making sure no pollen was stuck in his beard, and then he went to help Christie as well. She groaned and rubbed her temples. Yashiki knelt down to face her, but then he felt hands in his hair.
Looking up and over his shoulder, Mashita was behind him, raking his fingers through his hair for some reason. Yashiki squinted at him, but Mashita just clicked his tongue and dusted off his shoulders. Christie balked at them.
“Ridiculous. Why did I even come here?”
“Are you okay,” Yashiki asked her.
“Peachy,” she huffed and used him to help push herself onto her feet. “Is the ghost gone? I swear, if I’m cursed again because of you…”
She sighed when she saw the look the three of them exchanged, “Why did I agree to this?”
“Everyone, just make sure to check yourself for any signs of curses when you get home,” Yashiki warned them.
“I think you should be worried about yourself, Mister,” Moe said, pointing at his cut-up face and shoulders.
“Why, what’s wrong with you?” Christie covered her mouth with her hand when she finally noticed, “Oh my goodness, you’re a sight. You need to disinfect those!”
Mashita groused, “Let’s just get out of here.”
Three days had passed since then. Moe and Mashita were fine; they had no marks or adverse side effects of any kind. Even though Christie had done the ritual with him, she had not gotten ill like any of the OOPArts BBS users, nor had she been cursed.
It was only Yashiki who had become ill.
To anyone else, he just had a light cough, but that was because he was hiding the truth. When no one else was around, he coughed and coughed until he felt something wet splatter against his hand. Droplets of blood decorated lancet-shaped, white petals that stuck to his palm.
After another fit, he went to the bathroom to wash his hands, and then he prepared himself some tea and honey. He considered consulting Yasuoka, but he knew that the seasoned spiritualist was a gossip, and she would not hesitate to spread his condition to the others. Then, Yashiki would be drowning in well-wishers treating him like he was an infirm patient. Just the thought of it had him rolling his eyes.
Sitting at his computer, he scoured the BBS for those users who reported being ill after visiting Yabai-san. One had been updated recently, but by someone other than the original poster. The thread was organized by displaying the most recent post first, and after reading the username, the first words he saw were: “Unfortunately, Tsubaki-shi has passed away, so this thread is going to be shut down.” His fingers went numb.
Yashiki quickly scrolled through the entire thread. “Akai Tsubaki,” the original poster, had gone to Yabai-san with his girlfriend H-ko to propose. The two of them were paranormal enthusiasts, hence why they were users of the OOPArts BBS. But, after asking to be blessed at the altar, he had gotten sick. He described having a terrible cough, trouble breathing, and even producing flower petals covered in phlegm and blood. Ironically, they had been camellia petals, which were dissimilar to Yashiki’s petals, but the rest of it was close enough that he felt connected to this man.
As he continued to scroll up the thread, he read that Tsubaki-shi’s illness had eventually progressed to coughing up flower buds of various sizes until he had eventually coughed up a full flower head. That was the last post he had made, only a few days before. Overall, the entire progression had been a little over a week. Which meant that Yashiki didn’t have much time.
Other users who had posted similar threads to Tsubaki-shi’s were panicking after the latest update. Yashiki explored their threads as well, and they had similar issues to Tsubaki’s. They had gone to Yabai-san with their partners to ask to be blessed, but a day or so after, they had started coughing up flower petals. The type of petals varied, and not one of them had mentioned actually seeing Yabai-san. Nor had they seen the writhing knot on the large plum tree or encountered any pollen.
What did they all have in common? Yashiki tried to compare their stories, but he was interrupted by his front door opening. From his place at his desk, he could see the front door through his open office door, and heading in his direction was Mashita. He panicked, feeling a tickle in the back of his throat.
Before he said anything, Mashita spied Yashiki’s mug on his desk. His mouth opened, shut again, and then he tapped his chin.
“...Tea?”
Leave it to a detective to notice such minute details.
“Is that a problem,” Yashiki grumbled.
“Yeah, actually,” Mashita shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled. “It means you’re still sick.”
Yashiki looked away and coughed lightly. This sparked a chain reaction. Mashita grit his teeth and came around Yashiki’s desk to his chair, pulling it back and kicking Yashiki out. He grabbed Yashiki by the back of his shirt collar and dragged him toward the front door. An embarrassed flush rose to Yashiki’s cheeks as he protested, and then he was doomed.
He started coughing in earnest.
Mashita stopped his march and switched to holding him up so that he wouldn’t collapse onto his knees from the force of the coughs wracking his body, “Keep it together!”
A few drops of blood hit the ground. Yashiki clenched his fist, feeling the petals between his fingers, and he tried to wipe them off in his pocket before Mashita could see, but the detective always had a keen eye. He grabbed Yashiki’s wrist and peeled his fingers open, revealing the red and white mess with horror.
“...You’ve been hiding this?”
With his free hand, Yashiki wiped his mouth, “That’s the first time it’s been that bad.”
“What the hell?” Mashita glared at him, “Why haven’t you gone to the doctor?”
“I just said it hasn’t been that bad. Besides, what can a doctor do for this?”
“So, you’re saying this is a curse?” Mashita picked one of the petals and observed it, “Yabai-san’s curse.”
Yashiki nodded. Mashita released his wrist and continued pushing him towards the door. Despite digging his heels in, Mashita was stronger than Yashiki, and he was eventually bullied into Mashita’s car and driven to Daimon’s clinic. After all, who would know about paranormal illnesses other than a doctor who had experienced them before?
Daimon welcomed them in with surprise. Mashita quickly explained the situation, and Daimon guided Yashiki to an examination room. Knowing that Mashita wouldn’t wait quietly, he was invited to join them.
After checking his airway with a depressor and kneading on his neck, Daimon pressed a stethoscope to Yashiki’s back. The chill seeped into his spine, and he gasped. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Mashita flinching. Daimon soothed him with a quick pat to his shoulder blade before asking him to breathe.
The icy stethoscope glided across his skin, making Yashiki nervous. He didn’t particularly like hospitals or exams. Not mentioning the fact that he was there frequently, it reminded him that human lives were fragile, and healing walked hand-in-hand with death. One wrong move, and he’d be in a casket.
“Your breathing is obstructed,” Daimon confirmed. “And you say you are having productive coughs?”
Yashiki nodded hesitantly. Daimon stroked his chin, likely flipping through his mental catalogue of respiratory conditions. While he waited, Yashiki twiddled his thumbs, dreading to hear what he already knew: “I don’t know.”
But instead, Daimon ordered an X-ray.
“You can afford it,” he said.
Just great. Yashiki sighed. He was told to wear a hospital gown, so he reluctantly changed while the other two stood outside the room. Then, when he was finished, he joined them on their journey to the X-ray room. Mashita stood behind them as they walked, his face a permanent scowl. If anyone said one wrong word, he was likely to bite their head off, but it was Yashiki he was glaring at. Frankly, Yashiki should have been the one to be angry, since he was the one who was sick.
Once they reached the room, Yashiki was directed to stand in front of a large mechanical arm with a square attachment at the end. The attachment had handrails on the back side of a detector panel that he was told to press his chest against. It made Yashiki uncomfortable to be posed like some doll, but with Mashita glaring at him like he was, he didn’t argue.
Sensing his discomfort, Daimon told him, “It’s just to keep your arms out of the way. Otherwise, they would block what we want to see, which is your lungs.”
This information calmed Yashiki down, and he nodded. Behind him, Daimon operated the generator. Yashiki heard a beep, and then a soft whir, and then it was over. He stepped away from the machine, his mind a bit fuzzy. Mashita and Daimon led him back to the examination room before Daimon disappeared to develop the X-ray.
Now alone, Mashita leaned against the wall while Yashiki sat on the cot. The detective’s expression was grim, and Yashiki couldn’t possibly imagine what he was thinking about. So, he asked him.
“What’s bothering you?”
“Everything,” Mashita looked at him like he was stupid. “Aren’t you annoyed by all this? Being cursed again?”
“Of course,” Yashiki said. “You think I’m not scared? Especially after what happened with Saya and Hanahiko?”
Mashita’s lips pinched together as if he hadn’t considered that fact, and he uncrossed his arms to shove them in his pockets again, looking slightly ashamed. It was a new expression that Yashiki hadn’t ever seen on him. Normally, he would have just bared his fangs and blamed him for something or other. But, this time, he had gone from a mad dog to a puppy.
His lungs jumped, and he coughed. Mashita quickly smacked his back, and he sputtered into his hand again. Then, once it was over, Yashiki felt Mashita’s hand rubbing his shoulders. It was gentle, so unlike the gruff detective. Leaning in, Mashita peered over his shoulder at his bloody hand, frowning. Their faces were nearly cheek-to-cheek.
“Gross.”
That was an understatement. Yashiki finally looked at his own hand and saw the same, white petals there. They looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place what kind of flower it was. He would have to keep a couple and ask a florist.
Finally, Daimon returned. He was startled to see the bloody mess in Yashiki’s hand and quickly cleaned it up, preserving some of it for further tests. Then, he clipped the X-ray to the wall above his desk and lit it up from behind.
It was obvious at first glance that Yashiki’s lungs were impaired. Using a pointing stick, he traced the outline of what he described as a “root anomaly.” That was to say, for all intents and purposes, it looked like a plant was growing in his lungs. A small, round object sat at the base of his esophagus. Likely, it was what was producing the petals.
“So how do we get rid of it,” Mashita asked. “It’s not like he can just huff weed killer.”
“I’m not sure,” Daimon admitted. “I’m going to prescribe an antiparasitic for now. But, it’s important that you come back in a week, so we can see if it’s working.”
He snapped his fingers, “Yashiki, are you listening?”
The truth was that, no, Yashiki was not listening. Seeing the plant in his lungs had triggered flashes of memories he wanted to bury. Stepping into that foul-smelling room, the dark stain in the carpet, seeing Saya’s body lying on the floor, stepping on it, and the veritable bouquet of unnatural flowers blooming from her chest. He covered his face, sweat painting his forehead.
“Yashiki,” Mashita shook his shoulder. “It’ll be okay. We know what it is, so we can get rid of it. You won’t end up like Saya Kujou. I won’t let it happen.”
Daimon nodded, “Neither will I. We’ll fight this together, like we always have.”
Letting out a trapped breath, Yashiki nodded. He pulled his hands away from his face, shaking, and Mashita grabbed one. This time, his touch was gentle, comforting.
But, if the BBS threads were to be believed, Yashiki didn’t have a week.
Mashita drove him home, silence pervading the cramped space of his car. Not even the radio was on. After parking in the garage, the detective even followed him back into the mansion. He sat on the other side of the desk after Yashiki returned to his computer to continue his research. In the end, Yashiki hadn’t told him about his deadline, but it was clear that Mashita suspected he was hiding something, though Yashiki never understood what his tell was.
“I’m not as knowledgeable about spirits and curses, so I’m going to defer to you,” he said, choosing each word carefully as if they were sharp and would slice his cheeks if he carelessly threw them out. “What do we need to do first?”
Yashiki sighed, powering on his computer, “Well, we’ve done the root cause analysis.”
He ignored the scathing look at his unintentional pun, “We know it’s Yabai-san’s curse. So, we should start by learning more about her. We need to know where the rumors started, whether it was on the BBS or through the villagers.”
“Call Nakamatsu for computer stuff. He’s probably not doing anything anyway.”
“Eita has a job now, you know,” Yashiki chuckled and then coughed. Mashita startled, but he waved him off. It was only a light scuff in his throat. “He can’t always be available at the drop of a hat.”
“Too bad. Your life is on the line here,” Mashita grumbled. “I bet if you told him that, he’d just leave right away and research anyway.”
Before Yashiki could stop him, Mashita pulled out his cellphone, likely dialing Eita. Sighing, he powered down his computer again, assuming the two of them were going to go back to the Plum Village. He chuckled and then let out a stronger cough.
But this time it wasn’t simple petals.
He quickly stood and left the room, trying not to look suspicious. Reaching the staircase in the middle of the foyer, he braced himself against the railing and wheezed. Whatever was clogging his throat, it was stuck in there. Beating his chest, he tried to dislodge the blockage, and beneath the sound of his heavy panting, he heard Mashita snap his phone shut.
Finally, he retched and a small bulb-shaped object tumbled out onto the steps with a fresh puddle of sputum. A flowerbud. He wheezed again and then squatted to pick it up. Two things happened.
The first, Mashita entered the room, expression stormy as he realized Yashiki was having a fit out of his sight.
The second, his front door opened. Again.
Christie entered. She seemed to have learned, like the rest of his friends, that she could just come and go as she pleased. Seeing Yashiki stooped over, picking up a bud from the floor, she pointed at it.
“That’s not what I think it is,” she warned in a low voice.
“What?”
Mashita barked out a laugh, “He does look like the type, huh?”
Finally catching on, Yashiki clicked his tongue and pocketed the flowerbud, “Very funny. But, no, it’s just something I dropped.”
“Still collecting trash,” Christie turned her head to the side and scoffed.
“How can I help you today?” He asked, rubbing his throat to make sure he didn’t sound like he had just been throwing up.
She looked between the two of them and crossed her arms, “I just came to check on you, since it’s been a few days since…that.”
He nodded, “Thank you. I’m doing fine. You’re well?”
Rolling her eyes, she chuffed, “Likely story. But, yes, I’m fine.”
Yashiki panicked when he noticed Mashita pointing at his own chin and drawing a line there. With a snap of his wrist, he wiped his mouth, feeling that he had indeed been drooling. Wonderful. Christie likely noticed, which was why she’d laughed at him.
Digging into her purse, she removed a jar of okayu and passed it to him. He accepted it gratefully, not knowing how or when or from whom she had heard that he was sick in order to make this ahead of time. Questioning it would be looking a gift horse in the mouth, though, so he thanked her, but then she handed him a small tupperware.
He lifted the lid and grimaced. Umeboshi. How thematic.
“Not honeyed daikon?”
“It’s a cure-all in my family. Put it in the okayu.”
“Or, you know, take medicine?” Mashita suggested from the side, glaring at the food like it had personally offended him.
Christie flashed him a smug, knowing smirk, “You can do both.”
As he had suspected, Mashita took him back to Plum Village. He’d told Yashiki that Eita agreed to research the BBS’s for him, since looking at them might just drive Yashiki into a greater panic. Yashiki insisted that he was capable of doing it himself, but Mashita shut him down, telling him that there was a reason officers weren’t allowed to investigate personal cases and reminding him that throwing himself headfirst into his own trauma and burning out was what spirits like Mary wanted. It made too much sense, so he couldn’t argue. That was followed up by another round of hacking up flower petals.
T Mountain Plum Village was the same as it had been days ago. Tourists happily walked along the trails, taking pictures and laughing. Some sat beneath the trees, drinking, reading or just staring up at the sky. Yashiki remembered when he had smelled the soft scent of the blossoms, walking along the Promenade without worrying that he would be cursed to fall deathly ill and die in a week.
This time, they hired a tour guide who took them through fantastic sightseeing spots but also regaled them with fun facts and occasionally the history of the village. When they reached S Grove, she stopped in front of a fenced-off plot with an information board, one that Yashiki’s group had overlooked during their first visit. His glasses were fogging up from the breath being diverted by his face mask. Walking around so much wore him out, and he had to clean them to be able to actually focus on what the tour guide was showing them. Once they were finally clean, he took a look. Around the plot were sanshuyu trees, and inside the fenced area was a monument that was inscribed:
“Historical Site of K Barrier.”
Hence, the name of the grove.
The tour guide kindly waited for him and then explained that the barrier was established by the Hojo in the Sengoku period, but then maintained by the Tokugawa Shogunate in the Edo period. It was a place where weapons were seized from travelers to Edo as well as to keep the wives and children of daimyo from escaping Edo in accordance with the Sankin-kotai. While the building had since been torn down, the foundation remained.
Then, she brought them back to T Grove and stopped at the shrine to the God of Learning, once again waiting for Yashiki to be able to see before directing his attention toward the shrine. She gave a brief history on Takeuchi-no-Sukune while Yashiki looked behind him where the tunnel of trees had been. Because it was daytime, it wasn’t there, but he couldn’t help but get chills while remembering it.
“Question,” Mashita interrupted her, bringing Yashiki back on track. “I’ve been hearing that people are coming here to get a blessing for luck in love.”
“No, this is a shrine to learning. A lot of students come here for help with their exams, but we don’t get people coming for relationship blessings,” she said.
“Not from Tenjin, but from Yabai-san,” Yashiki explained. “Have you heard of this rumor?”
“Excuse me? Yabai?” She looked confused, “Like, ‘Yabai!’?”
“Um, no, like plum.”
She shook her head, “I haven’t heard of any such legend, but there have been more young couples around than usual.”
“We’re investigating the basis of the rumors,” Yashiki said. “This would be a woman in traditional wear, a plum blossom kosode.”
If he took into account the historical monument from earlier and the general appearance of the spirit, he would guess, “Likely from the Edo period and associated with the plum blossom trees.”
“That’s a little difficult to know off the top of my head,” the woman chuckled nervously. She tapped her chin as she searched her mental database, “It might be better to check the library, to be honest.”
Yashiki sighed as he tried to drum up some other leads, “This shrine might be important as well.”
He didn’t want to tell her that they were in the haunted location. But, the inclusion of the shrine, coupled with the Edo period, seemed to spark something in her memory. She hummed.
“It's not a ghost or death story, but there is a love story that’s been passed down in the village. Now that I think of it, this might fit what you're looking for.
“There was a story of forbidden love between a young lord and a peasant. They would meet here at the shrine every night for a month straight. Then, the rumor goes that he gifted her a hairpin decorated like a plum blossom, and they eloped, never to be seen again. For good reasons, of course.”
That sounded exactly like what they were looking for. A small ray of hope broke through the clouds of Yashiki’s distress. He asked, “Did they have names, this couple?”
“Hmm,” the tour guide pondered some more, “Nothing like ‘Yabai,’ but the man in the story might have been called Umetarou, considering the location, and I think the woman’s name might have been Haruka.”
Yashiki committed that to memory, “Umetarou and Haruka. Thank you. You’ve been a great help.”
The train ride back was quiet. Yashiki spent most of the time writing in his notebook, and Mashita sat on his left side, napping. At one point, the train lurched, and Mashita’s head bumped into the wall behind him. He nearly tilted over onto the woman sitting to his own left, so Yashiki grabbed him and pulled him closer to himself instead, the detective’s head resting on his shoulder. His brush-like hair ticked Yashiki’s cheek, nearly causing him to sneeze.
Instead, he coughed. And then, he kept coughing.
Obviously, Mashita woke up. He grabbed Yashiki’s hand which was hanging in the air as if seeking purchase, and he tried to help him through his ordeal. The people around them stared and tried to give them space, not wanting to catch whatever it was Yashiki had. Slowly, the plaster-white face mask was dyed red, a wet splotch of blood spreading over the area where his mouth was hidden.
When it was finally over, their positions had swapped, and Yashiki was leaning against Mashita, trying to catch his breath. He carefully used a handkerchief to remove the flower bud from under his mask and then wiped his bloody hand clean. The detective’s expression was severe as he straightened Yashiki’s posture and handed him a clean mask to use.
“It’s getting worse.”
“I haven’t even started the medication,” Yashiki reminded him as he swapped the masks out.
“You're hiding something from me, and I can't figure out why.” Mashita scowled, “It pisses me off.”
Not knowing what to say in response, Yashiki went silent. Mashita sighed and focused on discussing the spirit instead, throwing out his theories on what might begrudge a woman who ran away to be with her lover. His ideas ranged from poverty to abandonment to a tragic death of one or both of them.
“If it’s a legend, though,” Yashiki said, “The details could have been drastically skewed. It might not even be a love story.”
“True,” Mashita agreed, “Most of these spirits have been murder victims.”
When they reached the mansion, Eita was waiting for them at Yashiki’s desk. Moe was also there, and the two were happily discussing recent OOPArts BBS threads and rumors. As Yashiki and Mashita approached, Moe bounded over to them like a puppy.
“What'd you find out about Yabai-san?”
She must have heard about where they had gone from Eita. Yashiki told her about the legend, and she wrote the couple’s names down in her notebook. Then, she tapped her pen against her lips.
“I’ll look into this legend for you. You just take it easy, Mister. You look like you’re about to keel over.”
And boy did he feel like it, too.
“Thanks, Moe,” he said with a smile.
Odd. He’d picked up on a trend lately that whenever he felt nice, he’d start coughing, but this time he was perfectly fine. None of the others seemed to notice, though, so he kept it to himself. Unverified facts would only confuse the investigation.
Moe jammed her finger in Mashita’s direction, “You’d better take good care of him, Mr. Mashita.”
“Excuse me?” Yashiki blinked.
Not “he’d better take good care of himself,” but “Mashita had better take good care of him?” He felt the beginnings of a cough as his ears turned red.
Mashita huffed at her, “Of course. You think I can’t?”
“You look like you’d let a cactus starve.”
“Who do you think has been keeping him alive all these months?”
Rude.
Thankfully, his savior Eita cut in, “I think I found something interesting.”
The three of them crowded behind his back, watching the computer screen as he clicked around various threads. All of them were threads discussing Yabai-san’s curse, including the one where Akai Tsubaki had been confirmed dead. That meant Eita knew Yashiki only had a short time before the curse killed him, but he hadn’t mentioned it yet.
“The rumors started just this spring, after someone said that they had broken up with their boyfriend in front of the Tenjin shrine. She claimed that her boyfriend disappeared after that day, and then she got drunk and snuck back into the garden after dark. She wanted to visit the place where her love ended and vent some feelings, but she found the arch, and surprisingly enough he was waiting for her there with flowers like nothing had happened.
“Others read her thread and checked it out for themselves, and they confirmed the arch was there. But most of these threads don’t really have a lot of follow-up. In the ones where someone has gotten sick…”
He glanced uncomfortably toward Yashiki and then continued, “Well, people claimed they failed the test. It’s unknown how they failed, but this is where I started thinking something was familiar. It’s like Hanayome’s fiancé.
“All of the victims are men.”
Yashiki frowned, his hand going to his chin, “So Yabai-san is begrudging a man.”
Then, he said, “But not every man who’s done the ritual has gotten cursed. So what do the cursed men have in common?”
“I tried to think of that, but all I know is they failed the challenge somehow.”
Thinking back to the other night, Yashiki said, “She called me a liar.”
“A liar,” Moe asked, punching Mashita in the arm when he laughed. “What did they lie about?”
Mashita seemed to have a stroke of inspiration, “They're horny bastards.”
Jaw dropping, Yashiki exclaimed, “Not in front of Moe!”
“Are you saying Mr. Yashiki is a horny bastard?” Moe puffed her cheeks out in protest, “That’s not a good look for you, Mr. Mashita.”
“Shut up,” Mashita frowned. “He’s different. But those other guys, they either weren’t dating those girls or they were using the ritual as an excuse to get laid…”
“So because Mr. Yashiki and Ms. Arimura weren’t dating, Mr. Yashiki got cursed.” Moe’s face fell, “It’s all my fault for suggesting to try the ritual…”
Mashita’s expression was just as stormy, “No, it’s mine. I brought Arimura.”
This was no good. They wouldn’t get anywhere if the chaotic pair were uncharacteristically moody. He tried to cheer them up, but before he could, Eita finished them off by dropping the bombshell Yashiki had hoped he wouldn't mention.
“There’s been a death, too. He died a couple of days ago. They said he’d coughed up whole camellias after just a week.”
“That’s awful,” Moe cried.
“This guy’s already spitting out buds…” Mashita added.
Trying to lighten the mood, Yashiki quipped, “I guess I’m ahead of schedule.”
“It’s nothing to laugh about,” Mashita, the last person Yashiki would have expected to get upset, practically chewed him out. “Don’t pretend you're not scared! Take yourself seriously for once!”
Moe placed her hand on the detective’s arm, “Mr. Mashita…”
Admonished, Yashiki looked away from him. He had admitted to Mashita earlier that he was terrified, and now it was coming back to haunt him. Mashita was a man who cherished his friends; it was the whole reason he intentionally got cursed by Shimi-O, to avenge his dead friend. But even then, he was joking, and Yashiki had been the one to scold him. Was he angry now because he felt responsible?
“Quit with the puppy dog eyes,” Mashita groaned and ran a hand down his face. “Just take those pills Daimon gave you. We’ll have to trust his skills and try to solve this quickly.”
“I’ll get to work right away!” Moe saluted them, “We’ll figure this out, Mr. Yashiki, just you wait!”
With a wave, she scurried out the door into the setting sun. Eita left soon after, promising to try to figure out some leads on what Yabai-san’s grudge might be, based on the victim pattern. This left Yashiki and Mashita alone again. Before, the silence had been comfortable, but now it was overbearing.
“I’m sorry,” he tried apologizing. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Mashita chuffed, “Don’t apologize if you don’t mean it. I know you’ll just throw yourself in front of a ghost again when you get the chance. But, that’s what makes us different.”
He smirked, “You care about everyone, even ghosts. I’m just a selfish guy who wants to hold on to what's his, even it makes me the bad guy.”
“You’re not a bad guy, Mashita.”
“And you’re not worthless.”
Neither of them looked like they believed the other, though. They both laughed and clapped each other on the shoulder. Then, Mashita pulled Yashiki under his arm and ruffled his hair. A couple of coughs escaped him, but Yashiki chewed the petals, feeling a heavier weight settle in his chest instead.
Daimon called Yashiki the next day. Yashiki reported that he’d taken the medication but didn't feel much different. On Daimon’s side, he said he'd taken the flower petals to a florist and identified them as Chrysanthemum petals. It didn’t immediately clarify anything in regards to Yabai-san, but Yashiki knew now that he could look forward to choking on a sizable blossom.
“Have you thought about hanakotoba,” Daimon suggested.
Christie had mentioned something similar when they were on the train. Flower language. No one victim had the same flower, though, and he couldn't ascribe any of this situation towards the endurance, health, or good fortune of plum blossoms.
He considered the camellia, but he didn’t know anything about Tsubaki-shi, and so he couldn’t say if it was accurate or not. The only one he could judge was himself, and leave it to him to get the funeral flower. Daimon interrupted his verbal thought process.
“The florist told me that white chrysanthemums could mean honesty as well.”
Supposedly, Yashiki was the liar amongst all those men. It was starting to sound like Yabai-san saw the truth but said the opposite. Or were the flowers false?
“Thanks, Daimon. You’ve given me something to think about.”
“Keep taking the medicine. One day isn't going to change a lot,” Daimon impressed upon him the importance of maintaining his regimen. “Come see me if your cough acts up again.”
“Worry about yourself.”
“When did you become a comedian?”
They ended the call and Yashiki started researching hanakotoba. He didn’t learn anything new. While searching for hobbies with his sister in the past, he had dabbled in ikebana and while not explicitly tied to hanakotoba, they sometimes overlapped. Ergo, he once again doubted that flower meaning had any bearing on the case. It might have just been a means of mockery towards the victims as spirits were wont to do.
Mashita entered the room with a mug of tea. He set it down on the desk and peered around to spy on his monitor.
“That’s not a bad train of thought,” he said.
“It’s a dead end, though.”
“Maybe you’re just not thinking broad enough,” Mashita shrugged.
“Try me.”
Pulling up a chair, Mashita asked, “So what does your flower mean?”
“It’s a white chrysanthemum.”
That practically killed the conversation right there. Mashita laughed once and crossed his leg over his lap, “Is she telling you to just die?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. The one dead guy was coughing up camellias.”
“That’s unlucky.”
“Daimon said the flower can mean honesty, too.”
“So she wants you to be honest.”
Mashita was framing it as a message rather than a representation of the curse bearer. Yashiki nodded. That sounded like a spirit thing to do. Yabai-san had wanted Tsubaki-shi to love (or die), and Yashiki was meant to be honest (or die).
“That’s confusing,” he groaned.
“Heh, then I guess you've got to figure out what you need to be honest about,” Mashita smirked. Compared to the night before, he looked hopeful.
Seeing the befuddlement on Yashiki's face, he smiled brighter. Then, he stood, patted Yashiki on the shoulder, and left. And Yashiki just knew, on the other side of the door, that the sly detective was laughing at him, the jerk.
He smiled.
Suddenly, something caught in his throat. He tried to push it down by drinking from his mug of tea, but it didn't help. The panic that always accompanied his brushes with death seized him, and he stood up, knees almost bending backwards.
Forcefully, he tried to cough, leaning against the side of his desk, but no air escaped him. From the other side of the door, he heard a shaky voice, likely frightened by the noise of him knocking things around.
“Yashiki?”
The door opened, and instead of Mashita, it was Christie. She yelped and ran over to him, looping her arms around his middle. Her thin hands pummeled into his stomach, and eventually the flower bud flew through the air, landing next to the open door.
Both of them watched it roll, and then Christie said, “So yesterday…that came from you.”
Yashiki wheezed, “Yeah…”
She released him, and he went to retrieve the flower bud before Mashita could see it and kick up a fuss. The bulb was larger and half open, a few white petals peeking out. Either they were getting too close to the spirit, or he was simply running out of time.
“I knew you were sick, but I didn’t think it was like that,” she said.
“It’s advanced quickly,” he mumbled. Then, he turned to her and asked. “What brings you by today?”
“Is it wrong for me to care?” She huffed and handed him another jar of porridge. He had only just eaten the last one for breakfast that morning. “Especially, since it’s my fault you're sick.”
“You’re the third person who’s told me that,” he said, taking the jar and setting it on his desk.
“If you hadn’t had to cover for me, this wouldn't have happened.”
He shook his head, “It would have happened anyway. This ghost has a bone to pick with men. I guess she thinks I’m a liar.”
“You?” Christie tilted her head, “It’s part of your job. She couldn’t be angry about that, could she?”
“If I knew what she meant, I wouldn’t be choking on funeral flowers.”
Christie took a seat, “Are you being dishonest with someone?”
“Not knowingly,” Yashiki rounded the desk again and sat in his chair. “I don’t have any reason to.”
“It’s funny that she cursed you and not me,” Christie chuckled humorlessly, “considering I was a dishonest woman for such a long time.”
“But you’ve changed,” Yashiki was quick to reassure her. “You’ve really become someone amazing, Christie.”
She shook her head, “Flattery will get you nowhere.
“I can’t say I’ve changed all that much, though. I just stopped lying, especially to myself.”
Two days later, Yashiki finally understood what she meant. At least, in relation to himself. He was, somehow, lying to himself. But how was he supposed to know what he was lying to himself about if he hadn’t even known he was lying to himself?
The unfortunate addition to this was that his medication was not working. At all. And now, he was confined to his bed because the plant growing in his lungs was making him winded even when he was wandering the mansion.
Yesterday, he had vomited up a full flower into the toilet and then collapsed at the top of his steps on his way to his bedroom, so Mashita had to whisk him off to the hospital again. There, Daimon took another X-ray, and the plant was like a little monster, printed there in stark black and white. The round thing at the base of his throat looked like it was opening up, and it had teeth. Its roots gripped Yashiki’s lungs to squeeze any and all oxygen out of them. Frankly, it was devastating for the doctor to see, but it was even moreso for Yashiki who had to live with it.
“I’m sorry,” Daimon had apologized.
“Can’t you just cut it out of him,” Mashita had asked, “take a weed whacker to it?”
Daimon shook his head, “It’d be too risky. It’s too tangled…we would have to find some other way to destroy it.”
Then, he took Yashiki’s hand and promised, “We’ll figure this out. Rest assured.”
However, more bad news came in the form of a phone call that night from Eita. Unfortunately, he hadn’t drummed up any leads from the BBS. Everyone was just panicking because the sick users had all suddenly stopped posting.
“I think I know why,” Yashiki mumbled in a tired, raspy voice.
Now, a day later, Mashita had assumed command of the investigation and was not in the room with them, so Christie sat at his bedside, reading to him. His eyes worked perfectly fine, but she insisted, and so he listened to her recite works by Yasunari Kawabata, which seemed to be her interest lately. As much as he wanted to indulge her, he was too focused on his impending doom to truly be engaged. He couldn’t just sit around and wait for the others; he hated feeling useless. It dug too deeply into his insecurities.
She was in the middle of Snow Country when he asked:
“How did you know what you were lying to yourself about?”
A beat passed, then two, and then she asked, “Were you even listening to the story?”
“Sorry, no.”
A sigh, “Well, when you get your entire reputation gutted on a national scale, it’s kind of hard not to do at least a little bit of introspection.
“I realized I was deluding myself around the time I met you. Don’t get a big head though, you had nothing to do with it. It’s just…when I was confronted with death, I realized that I didn’t actually want to die. I just wanted love…but when he didn’t answer my calls, I realized I was seeking the wrong kind of love. I had fooled myself into believing he loved me when we were just using each other…
“I needed to change, to be more confident in myself and not to rely on anyone else for fulfilment.”
Yashiki listened politely, but at the same time, he felt disconnected. No offense to Christie, but they lead vastly different lives. She was always in the public eye, and he preferred the solitude of his dusty mansion. Gently, she grasped his hand, having set the book on the nightstand, and she looked him in the eye, reading his emotions on his face as everyone around him seemed to be able to do.
“You and I aren’t entirely different,” she said, empathy lacing her words. “Yashiki, you have to let people in, but to do that, you have to love yourself first. You shut us out because you think we won’t like you, but have you noticed just how hard everyone is working to save you? We want you to live, Yashiki. We love you.”
His chest hurt, but not because of the curse. Tears shimmered in the lamplight, and they spilled out over his cheeks. He removed his glasses, and she patted his eyes dry with a handkerchief. When she was done, she held his face between her hands.
“What’s hurting you, Yashiki? Tell me. Please?”
But his throat clamped up. He had to force the words out, and they emerged in a harsh squeak, dying in the air, “I…how can I ever be someone worthy? After everything I’ve done?”
She hugged his head to her chest as he continued to babble, “I’ve killed people. I’ve let them die. I watched them die in front of me.”
“You didn’t kill anyone, Yashiki.”
“I killed Saya. My own sister.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I knew the risks, and I still failed. I wasn’t here when she died. She died all alone in such a horrible way. And I let Mary puppet me around for weeks while countless people died because of her. I couldn’t even seal her properly.”
“And that’s not your fault, Yashiki. Think of all the people whose lives you’ve saved already. You saved my life.”
Silently, he nodded, so she continued, “You’re a little gloomy, and you smell sometimes, and you’re clumsy and make mistakes, but that just makes you human. You’re human, Yashiki, and charming. You’ve drawn all sorts of people to you. Don’t disappear on us.”
When he nodded again, she let him go and dried his face once more, “Mashita is gonna kill me for making you cry. Actually, he should thank me.”
“Huh?” Yashiki wiped his nose with a tissue she offered him.
Chuckling, she said, “You really are deluding yourself.”
Mashita didn’t kill Christie, but he drilled a hole in the back of her head with his glaring. She grabbed her book and placed it back into her purse before standing, freeing up the chair for him to sit next to Yashiki. With a swift wave, she bid Yashiki goodbye, scurrying off before things could get awkward.
The detective sat down, crossing his legs, and informed Yashiki of the current status of the investigation. Daimon hadn’t had any leads researching any cures that a human would be able to survive. It wasn’t like they could spoon him herbicide like an antibiotic.
Eita’s only lead was still the fact that all the men participating in the ritual were there with romantic interests, and the ones who fell sick were not actually in love with their partner, which is what happened to Yashiki. After the clue about hanakotoba, he confirmed that the flowers they were cursed to ingest lined up with their stories.
“What does Moe have to say about the legend?” Yashiki asked.
“I haven’t heard from her,” Mashita admitted. “Damn kid better show up soon.”
“Can you call her?”
“That’d light a fire under her ass, huh?” He pulled out his cellphone, but just as he did, they heard the front door slam open.
Mashita jumped to his feet and went to the bedroom door, opening it to check the situation. The sound of feet pounding against the floor grew louder, as did the voice of their owner. In seconds, a new visitor excitedly burst into the room.
“Mister! Listen to this!”
Moe swept past Mashita and took his chair. She waved her notebook around and then flipped to the appropriate page, “Umetarou and Haruka were real people. There were still records for the checkpoint in the government archives, and they were digitized. With Eita’s help, I was able to access them, and we located an incident where a woman named Haruka was stopped at the checkpoint attempting to leave with stolen property. A plum blossom hairpin engraved with the crest of a daimyo’s clan. They sent her to the clan, and later, she was found dead at T Grove. She was poisoned.”
Yashiki listened, but he wasn’t sure where to find a clue for her grudge. There was plenty to resent, but something made her begrudge Umetarou specifically. He continued to watch Moe as she flipped to the next page and continued to report. Mashita crossed his arms, leaning against the wall near the door while he listened in.
“So much for happily ever after,” he joked.
“She didn’t work for the clan, so we guessed that she was given the hairpin, and it was misunderstood to be stolen. Which means that someone from the clan gave it to her, and there had to have been a basis for that rumor, so it had to have been Umetarou.”
“Isn’t that a bit of a stretch,” Yashiki asked.
“Well, who else would give her the hairpin?”
“Maybe a male servant stole it to give to her?”
“The rumors state that the man was a noble, so he must have been dressed like a noble while in the village for people to see him,” Moe argued. He nodded and let her continue her story. “So, I think he seduced her.”
“Then why was she trying to leave,” asked Mashita.
“Maybe they were discovered,” suggested Yashiki.
“And she took the hairpin to remember him,” Moe nodded vigorously, agreeing.
Mashita laughed, “Then why was she poisoned? Why not beat her to death if she stole from them? I don’t think people would have cared much at that time.”
Brutal as always. Yashiki smiled fondly and felt a disturbance in his chest, so he sat up straighter, “Could he have stepped in and helped her?”
“Then why did she die?”
Moe hummed, “The report given when they found her body stated that she had bruises, so she was beaten. But she died by poison.”
“So she either was poisoned at home, or she took it herself,” Yashiki stated.
“She probably took it herself,” Mashita said.
“How sad,” Moe frowned. “No one helped her. Not even Umetarou. She died all alone in the place where she met her love…”
Sighing, Yashiki stared down at his hands, remembering his conversation with Christie. He couldn’t help but project Saya’s image onto Yabai-san. They lived in different eras and in different places, but neither of them had loved ones to lean on for help. Both were abandoned.
But, could he continue down this road? Christie had told him to forgive himself because he had tried to help, and there was nothing he could have done to change the circumstances. He wasn’t like Umetarou. The daimyo’s son had most likely turned Haruka away deliberately.
When he looked up again, both Moe and Mashita were staring at him. He smiled wanly, “Don’t mind me. Continue.”
“So in conclusion, Yabai-san is most likely Haruka, a village girl who was seduced and abandoned by a daimyo’s son under the alias Umetarou. For some reason, she tried to leave the village, taking a hairpin he gave her, but she was caught at the checkpoint and sent to the daimyo’s estate as a thief where she was beaten. Umetarou didn’t help her, and she was cast out. She later took poison and died at their regular meeting place,” Moe read from her notebook aloud.
“That sounds right to me,” Mashita agreed.
Going over the facts in his mind, Yashiki tried to pinpoint her grudge, “So she hates men who pretend to have feelings for their partners.”
Dropping her fist into her open palm, Moe exclaimed, “That’s it! You have to redo the ritual honestly!”
“In this condition?” Yashiki coughed lightly to disperse the lingering tightness in his chest. Moe looked troubled, her hands falling to her lap.
“Well, it’s better than dying,” Mashita said, pushing off the wall. “I’ll take you.”
“How am I supposed to request a couple’s blessing alone,” Yashiki asked.
He was taken aback by the disappointed looks from his friends. They glanced at each other and then shook their heads sadly. Moe broached the sensitive subject first.
“Why would you do the ritual alone?”
“It’d be dishonest if I didn’t.” Yashiki placed a hand on his chest, delivering his new outlook on life in a proud, wheezy voice, “Christie told me earlier, I have to love myself so I can let others in. I’m working on it, but I think I can confidently do at least that much now.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have let her go so easily,” Mashita grumbled.
Moe gave Mashita a pitying look before addressing Yashiki, “Let Mr. Mashita do the ritual with you, for safety. I think the ghost can tell the difference.”
Yashiki didn’t think so, but he had no reason to turn Mashita away. He knew for certain that he needed his help to break into the gardens after dark. So, he turned toward Mashita and smiled.
“Then, let’s do it together, partner.”
Mashita chuckled, “Gross.”
Compared to Mary who was a hollowed-out, porcelain doll, Yashiki was a fully grown human man with density. Mashita couldn’t carry Yashiki everywhere, as if Yashiki would let him without either of them dying of embarrassment, so he walked with him at Yashiki’s pace, waiting with him when he needed to catch his breath. This meant they moved very slowly, and by the time they arrived, the gardens were closed anyway. In his current condition, Yashiki was not going to be hopping any fences, so Mashita picked the locks on the gates and let them in. Since it was a wide, open area, they were very careful to keep an eye out for security guards.
Hiking nearly sent Yashiki to the grave, especially when they reached T Grove and started going uphill. Standing at the bottom of the steps, he stared at the steep slope with a growing sense of defeat. Then, Mashita stooped low, holding his hands behind his back.
“Hurry up.”
That action nearly killed him as well, thrusting him into another fit where he threw up a full, bloody flower into his face mask to which he then threw the flower head onto the ground next to him and kicked into the bushes. Mashita stared at the bloody toe of Yashiki’s shoe with disgust, but before he could deliver his catchphrase, Yashiki held up a hand, wiping his lips.
“Don’t you dare.”
“Fair enough.” Mashita gave him a new mask and then bowed his back again, “Get over here already.”
Wobbling like a newborn calf, Yashiki approached and climbed onto Mashita’s back before exchanging the bloodied mask for the clean one. The detective grunted but braced his legs and started climbing the steps. By the time they reached the landing for the shrine, the poor detective was a mess: red-cheeked and puffing. He let Yashiki down and wiped the pool of sweat from his brow.
“Pay me a fare next time you use me as a taxi.”
“You’re the one who asked.”
Yashiki stared down the tunnel of trees that had once again opened for them. Then, he pointed at the holster on Mashita’s hip. It wasn’t holding a gun.
“May I ask why you thought to bring a hatchet?”
“That’s a stupid question.”
Offended, Yashiki scoffed, “You’re not going to chop down the tree with that. It’s too small.”
“It’s not for the tree. It’s for self-defense.”
“Oh.” That made sense.
Mashita smirked and started down the lantern-lit tunnel. He stopped to cut another branch, letting Yashiki catch up with him again. Yashiki wasn’t sure if Mashita noticed, but the atmosphere had changed since the last time they were there.
In between the trees, dozens of pairs of eyes were watching them. White and pupilless, like animals in the night. They made no sound, though, applying pressure with their silent, threatening gaze under the red light. Yashiki swallowed dry air and continued hobbling after Mashita.
They reached the arch soon after. Yashiki paled at the sight. The ribbons had been replaced with entrails of some beast, the blossoms sharp and staring with wide blinking eyes in their cores, and the lanterns were now human skulls with flames in their mouths. Above them, the massive plum-blossom eye had already opened up and bore its heavy gaze down upon them.
Yashiki took the plum blossom branch from Mashita and approached the altar.
“Idiot, we’re supposed to do it together!”
But, Yashiki placed the branch onto the altar and clapped his hands together, “Spirit of the Plum Blossom, please bless me.”
Below his feet, Yashiki felt the earth rumble as the giant tree shook. The knot above them ruptured, and Yabai-san tumbled out in a deluge of limbs and sticky sap. Cautiously, Yashiki took a step back and prepared to run if he had to.
Yabai-san stood on her awkward, wooden feet, bent in separate directions, and turned her head towards him. Her mouth opened up to reveal her spiny teeth, and then she lunged. Mashita was between them in an instant, absorbing her biting attack with the handle of his hatchet and throwing her off. When she came at him again with her piercing, branching fingers, he swung the blade of the hatchet and knocked them away.
Knowing that he should not be standing there without assisting, Yashiki removed the branch from the altar. But, that only seemed to upset Yabai-san even more. A rippling scream tore through her body, and, suddenly, the creature imprisoning Yashiki’s lungs started moving. He could feel it, its slippery stem climbing his throat and rising with stinging bile and blood.
Stumbling back even more, he opened his mouth to scream in pain, but the head of the flower burst forth in full bloom, screeching and tearing his cloth mask to shreds. Yashiki was reminded of when he woke in the overseas hospital after his car accident to find that he had been intubated during his coma. It had felt a lot like this.
Once again, Mashita threw Yabai-san off of him and chopped through the fibrous cord connecting her to the giant tree. Meanwhile, Yashiki sat on the ground behind him, suffocating and doing his damndest to try and chew through the impish little creature protruding from his body. Yabai-san fell to the forest floor, untethered and unmoving. Mashita then turned around to grab Yashiki, “You don’t get to fucking die on me!”
With one hand on the freakish plant and the other holding the hatchet, he decapitated the little parasite, chucking the still-screaming head onto the altar, “Bless this!”
Without its head, the stem shriveled up, and Yashiki finally bit it off and spat it out, gasping for air. They both looked at the crumpled form of Yabai-san on the ground. She still hadn’t moved.
“She can’t be dead,” Mashita hissed.
“No, she’s a spirit,” rasped Yashiki in retort.
He ignored Mashita’s stink eye and tried to stand, but his knees gave out from under him. Mashita held him firmly by the waist and kept him from falling, guiding him back to the ground without hurting him. As much as he groused and grumbled, the man had a soft center. It was why Yashiki liked him so much.
“Oh.”
How simple it all could have been, if he had just done it correctly from the start. With Mashita peering down at him worriedly, Yashiki grabbed him by his lapels and pulled him down with him. He pressed his lips against the detective’s with a little too much force, but it had the intended effect. Mashita froze like a startled prey animal, and the rumblings of the giant tree settled into stillness.
Yashiki let him go and rolled over, retching uncontrollably into the grass. Mashita’s hands were on his jacket and in his hair, holding it back while he upheaved the complex system of roots that had clogged his lungs for the better part of a week. In spite of the situation, the detective chuckled.
“I don't know if I should be offended.”
Once he could breathe again, unobstructed at last, Yashiki rolled on to his back, staring up into Mashita’s face. The detective used his sleeve to mop him up, and Yashiki wondered if he ever actually washed the thing. He hoped so.
“Are you gonna tell me what that was for?”
He was making him say it. It was necessary, but it didn’t make the words any easier to admit. Blushing, Yashiki stuttered out his confession.
“I—well—for a long time now, I might actually…”
“Might?”
“No! I mean, I do! Really!”
“Really what?”
“I like…you…”
Seeing the playful smirk on Mashita’s face, Yashiki was beginning to regret his confession. The detective teased him like a schoolyard bully, but it seemed it was in his nature to give the ones he liked a hard time. He snatched Yashiki’s glasses off of his face.
“Hey,” Yashiki protested.
“Come here, dummy,” Mashita pulled him in by his shirt collar for another, less life-threatening kiss.
Nevermind that Yashiki had just vomited a parasite out of his body, they still had the spirit to worry about. But, Mashita didn’t seem to care. He pulled back and whispered to him, half-annoyed, half-amused.
“None of my hints got through. I’m a kiss-or-die situation to you, huh?”
“It's not like that,” Yashiki complained. But then, Mashita’s words struck him, “Wait. Hints?”
“You never noticed,” Mashita chuckled, letting him go and helping them both to their feet. “You think I’d go this far for just anyone?”
“Hm.”
Just as he thought Mashita was about to get away with not saying it out loud, the detective leaned in and whispered to him again, “I like you.”
The word “idiot” may or may not have been tacked on to the end of the sentence, but Yashiki elected to ignore it. Instead, his head filled with electric static, and he stopped hearing anything for a few seconds altogether. When he came back to himself, Mashita was sliding his glasses back onto his face.
“So, let me make this clear for you,” Mashita said, patting him free of excess dirt. “We like each other, so you, me, the bar after we get you cleared by Daimon. Deal?”
He nodded dumbly, and Mashita grinned, “Great.”
Just then, the giant tree, which had until then been inactive, started to quake. Great branches snapped and fell to the earth with resounding bangs, and the entire thing seemed to split in half as if struck by lightning. When the dust settled, a man stood in its wake. He was young and wore an elegant, ume-themed kosode and hakama.
“Umetarou,” Yashiki whispered, awed.
Yabai-san had not been Haruka at all. It had been Umetarou. But why?
Looking at Yashiki specifically, the man smiled, “Thank you for realizing my dream.”
And then everything faded to white.
When they could see again, Yashiki and Mashita were standing in front of the shrine. They gave each other puzzled looks and started down the steps. Both of them took the steps slowly, exhausted from their encounter.
“Well, Mr. Spirit Doctor, you did it again,” Mashita congratulated him. “So spill it: why Umetarou and not Haruka?”
“If what Moe said was true,” Yashiki speculated, “maybe he felt immense guilt over turning Haruka away. He may have genuinely loved her, and so he tormented those who were dishonest with…their feelings…”
Mashita laughed at him for the entire trip back to the mansion.
Their success was duly congratulated by everyone involved, but their relationship was celebrated by everyone in their friend group. Of course, only after a round or two of teasing by the ones who knew Mashita had been pining for months while Yashiki was blissfully unaware. Which was everyone, even the children.
Their first date went swimmingly. In fact, it might have gone a little too well since he couldn’t get up right away the morning after. He lamented his aging body.
His bedroom door opened, and Mashita waltzed in with a tray of breakfast and a mug of coffee. He set them on the nightstand before crawling back into bed with him. Yashiki flinched at the cold touch of skin.
“Why’d you get breakfast if you were just going to crawl back in,” he complained.
“No ‘thank you?’ Humans have lost all respect nowadays.”
“Want me to kiss your feet, too?”
Mashita laughed, “You’re getting better at comebacks.”
“You really are rubbing off on me,” Yashiki smiled and pulled himself up, but Mashita pushed him back down.
“I can do more than that,” he said, his voice low and sharp eyes full of promise.
Praying his breakfast survived, Yashiki scooted back. A phone rang somewhere in the room. The God of Breakfast was listening.
With a heavy sigh, Mashita grabbed his phone off the opposite nightstand and answered it, “This better be good, hag.”
Ah. Yasuoka called. Yashiki sat up again and grabbed his breakfast plate, digging into the eggs. What had Mashita been thinking, threatening to let the eggs go cold? No one liked cold scrambled eggs. Though Yashiki was more of an over-easy sort of guy, scrambled eggs suited Mashita. Simple and easy to make when short on time, perfect for such a busy guy.
Most of the call was Mashita listening to whatever story Yasuoka was telling him before informing her that he’d look into it and hanging up. Then he swung his arm like he was going to throw the phone across the room before setting it back on the nightstand instead. Lastly, he collapsed onto the bed for a few moments until he sluggishly pulled himself up again.
“That woman is going to be the death of me. Why does she know so many needy people?”
“It keeps you in business.”
“I want to be a private eye, not a paranormal investigator.”
“Too late.”
“She should be calling you.”
“I think she likes your tenacity.”
“So do you,” Mashita chuckled at Yashiki's stupefied expression before giving him a kiss and gathering his clothes. “Let’s hope this doesn’t require your expertise. I don’t want to give you a heart attack from stress.”
Yashiki mindlessly nibbled on his bacon while Mashita dressed and grabbed his necessities. Then, he set the plate aside to see him out.
“I’ll walk you to the door.”
As they reached the landing, Yashiki tying the belt on his robe, the door opened. Christie stood on the other side. Catching sight of Yashiki wearing only a bathrobe, her face turned bright red, and she shrieked.
“Have some decency!”
His character was assassinated once again. Mashita pointed and guffawed at him and then patted his arm before walking out the door. Christie watched him go, shaking her head.
“Just think of it,” she said. “The next flowers you get will be from him. That’s almost scary.”
It was Yashiki’s turn to chuckle. Then, Christie seemed to remember where she was and who she was with and shooed him away, demanding he clean himself up. He acquiesced, and on his way back down the stairs after getting dressed, he saw her fiddling with a flower she must have found laying around the mansion. A rose.
It always started with flowers.