A Loving Memory
"Hold her down."
"L-Let me go, you traitors...!"
Momofuku valiantly fought and squirmed against the uprising in her own hideout, but it was no use. On her right side, her wrist throbbed with a sickening, bone-deep pain, likely fractured from her clash with the [Irate Object]. On her left, she clutched the recently obtained [Koharu Masamune], its blade bare and gleaming, any careless move capable of hurting the maids crowding her.
"You are bleeding out," Alyona pointed out, a roll of gauze in one hand and a bottle of antiseptic in the other.
Parfaite's hands were firm on Momofuku's shoulders. "I apologize, Boss, but hygiene is paramount."
"I'm fine! It's all scratches!"
Parfaite, conditioned to please her Boss above all, immediately released her grip, forgoing Alyona's request.
It was all the opening the sukeban needed. She shoved back with a final burst of rebellious energy, but at the same time, Alyona moved in to compensate for the lost maid-power. The two went down in a tangle of limbs, a yelp, and a soft whumpf.
Momofuku found herself flat on her back, sunk deep into a large, worn beanbag chair, the impact knocking the wind from her lungs. Alyona had landed right on top of her, her knees on either side of Momofuku's hips, a flush of surprise on her own pale cheeks.
Pinned in place, Momofuku let her head thump back against the fabric. Alyona, now pressed snugly against her chest, began dabbing at a cut on her forehead. Parfaite knelt beside the beanbag, leaning over from above to carefully clean the grime and dried blood from Momofuku's knuckles.
Although effectively surrounded, too hurt, too weak, and too worried about the bare blade in her hand to do anything, her pride still demanded one last stand.
"This is so unnecessary..." she muttered, her face flushed a deep crimson. "I was gonna take a bath when I got home. A long one..."
Alyona didn't even look up from her work, her brow furrowed in concentration. "You will not rub blood and ashes over anything I cleaned," she retorted, her voice a low murmur close to Momofuku's ear.
"Risk of infection must be mitigated at the earliest opportunity," Parfaite added matter-of-factly from above.
The mention of infection incensed Alyona further. "You're an idiot," she muttered, her blue eyes scanning the myriad of smaller cuts and blossoming bruises. "Charging into a dusty apartment after being wounded. Do you think [Oni] blood makes you immune to tetanus?"
Before Momofuku could muster a counter-argument, movement caught the corner of her eye.
Belladonna, who had been silently observing this entire nursing ambush, was attempting to slide past them and make for the stairs.
"Dawn. C'mere."
She froze, then slowly turned and approached the beanbag mound of bodies. "Yes, Boss?"
Still pinned by Alyona, Momofuku held up the beautiful, bare katana. "I need a sheath. I can't keep carrying her like this. If I try to draw from my skirt pocket in a fight, I'll end up slicing my own clothes."
She cringed slightly at the mental image.
"Not a good look. Help me find one online."
Belladonna gave a slow blink, then nodded. She pulled a tablet from her bag and, without ceremony, sat down on the other side of the large beanbag chair, sinking into the fabric beside Momofuku. The seat groaned but heroically held under the weight of three girls.
As Momofuku leaned closer to her tech-savvy to peer at the screen, Alyona frowned.
"Aren't you wasting your time?" she asked, her voice laced with a haughty irritation that didn't quite mask something else. "I may not be an expert in these matters, but I even know a proper katana sheath is commission work. You cannot buy it from some... online retailer," she finished with disgust, her wealthy upbringing bleeding through.
"Well she didn't come with registration papers," Momo grunted. "Besides, look here."
The sukeban shifted, the movement causing Alyona to adjust her seating on her lap.
With the little dexterity left in her, Momofuku lifted the guard, revealing the elegant name engraved near the base.
Masamune.
Momofuku had discovered it on the walk to the hideout. Perhaps it was a latent imprint from the original bokken, a spiritual signature made manifest in the reforging.
She still needed to add the characters for Koharu herself, but that was besides the point.
"If I walk into some craftsman's shop with an unregistered blade that has his name on it," Momofuku continued, lowering the sword, "the cops will be at my door and this thing will end up behind glass in a museum. Not happening."
As Alyona was about to raise a counter-argument involving their less-than-legal connections, Momofuku's eyes snapped back to Belladonna's tablet.
"That one! The red one. Check that."
【Special Listing】 Edo Period, Red-Skin Lacquered Saya, Full Mounting, With Fittings, Beautiful Item
(Please Inquire For Price)
An Edo-period sword mounting handled by our Ginza shop. Red-skin lacquered saya with shakudou nanako-ji fittings. This is an art-grade mounting meant for a real blade. For detailed condition, price, and consultation regarding fitting your own blade, you MUST inquire via email and provide proof of appraisal before bidding, not after. To avoid unnecessary trouble, we appreciate your understanding.
ginza_touken_antique
And it would've fit her colors so perfectly...
Momofuku let out a long, defeated groan, her body sagging deeper into the beanbag's embrace, which in turn caused Alyona to sink further with her. The Russian girl let out a soft, indignant huff but continued dabbing at a cut on Momofuku's collarbone with renewed, if slightly annoyed, vigor.
Belladonna scrolled silently. After a minute, she stopped. "Here. Not from a registered shop."
Momofuku perked up, leaning in again.
【Authentic】 Sword Mounting Saya, Genuine!
¥12,800 (Buy It Now!)
Cleaning out my grandfather's belongings. I believe this is a sheath for a real katana. The weight and the lacquer feel authentic! I don't know the details, but I think it's in good condition. Please, no claims, no returns. Shipping via Yu-Pack.
kamakura_dream
The product photos were amateurish, blurry, and taken in poor lighting against a worn tatami mat. But the shape and length looked roughly correct. It was a simple black saya with minimal fittings.
"Hmm..."
Alyona watched Momofuku's face, saw the fleeting spark of hope. Even Belladonna tilted her head, awaiting the verdict.
"...No," Momofuku said finally, sinking back. "Pass. Keep scrolling."
"Why?" Alyona asked, curiosity overriding her feigned disinterest.
"It looks too round," Momofuku muttered, gesturing vaguely. "The blade'd rattle around in there if I had to move fast. Would drive me nuts."
Parfaite paused her cleaning to peer at the blurry image on the tablet. "Boss is correct. That curvature and the visible koiguchi opening are indicative of a mass-produced iaitou. The seller is likely engaging in false advertisement."
A spark of annoyance flared in Momofuku's tired eyes. "Tch. Almost got me. Dawn, wreck that guy's little scam."
To everyone's surprise, Belladonna immediately stood up from the beanbag.
"Oi. Where are you going?"
"To retrieve my primary notebook. I will require access to his device to dismantle his sales platform and report him to the relevant consumer protection authorities," she stated, already turning toward the stairs.
Momofuku stared, nonplussed. "... I just wanted you to leave a comment. Y'know, call him a liar."
Belladonna stopped. A faint, almost imperceptible blush tinged her cheeks. "Oh. I can do that."
She sat back down, her fingers already tapping out a scathingly accurate and grammatically perfect critique on the product page.
Soon, the digital hunt continued.
【New】 For Iaitou, Honoki Wood Saya, Standard Size 2 Shaku 3 Sun 5 Bu [~71.2cm]
¥45,000 (Starting Bid) | ¥68,000 (Buy It Now!)
This is a new honoki wood saya for iaitou, sold by our store (Seibukan* Budou shop in Osaka). For zinc-aluminum alloy iaitou only. Dimensions as in title. Lacquer finish. We also list the matching fittings (kojiri, semegane). Please view our other items.
bushido_heart_osaka
【Miyazaki Kaji】 Iaitou-Specific Saya, Full Custom Order
¥125,000 (Standard)
¥185,000 (With custom lacquer color/design)
A high-end saya for iaitou supervised by modern swordsmith Kazunaga Murachi. Please send your iaitou (must be alloy-made) to our store, and a craftsman will hand-make a perfectly fitted saya one by one. Production takes approx. 90 days. This product is for unsharpened iaitou used in swordsmanship. Please note we do not cater to sharpened blades.
big_one_martial_arts_equipment
However, each promising saya that Belladonna pulled up, while the right shape and size, was explicitly marketed for blunted practice swords .
Momofuku's grumble was a low rumble in her chest. "... what's the big difference anyway?"
Belladonna opened a new browser tab. In her soft, monotone whisper, she began reciting facts. "Primary differences: material density, moisture resistance, internal channel precision, structural integrity under stress..."
Momofuku zeroed in on the cultural argument. Using a cheap, mass-produced accessory meant for a practice tool on a real sword would be profoundly disrespectful, signaling that the owner saw it as a costume piece, not a revered object of art and spirit.
In her hand, [Koharu Masamune] gave the faintest, warm pulse, like a quiet heartbeat of agreement. Disrespectful. To the memory that now lived in the steel? Unthinkable.
"Okay, fine," Momofuku conceded.
"I can filter out the products for iaitou, Boss," Belladonna offered. At the sukeban's nod, she tapped at the tablet.
The screen refreshed.
No results match your search!
"..."
"..."
The two girls stared at the white void. Momofuku could feel some smug satisfaction radiating from Alyona, and pointedly refused to meet her smug gaze even as the other girl leaned closer to clean a scratch on her jawline.
"... Other site?" Momofuku asked, holding back a hiss at the sting of disinfectant on her skin.
The girl with the tablet nodded, navigating to Rakuten. The filter was applied again. This time, a handful of results remained. Hope, fragile and fleeting, sparked. It was quickly extinguished.
Registration papers required for verification... Official appraisal referral mandatory... Certified artisan workshop only...
Momofuku's head thumped back against the beanbag. It was hopeless.
As she was about to tell her friend to close the tablet and concede to Alyona's unspoken "I told you so," a listing at the very bottom of the page caught her eye.
Sword Saya, Letting it go, Condition Excellent◎
¥16,500 (Willing To Negotiate)
A sword saya found in a warehouse. I think it's in clean condition. Don't know the details. Please judge by the photos. Can buy immediately. Will ship fast. We welcome buyers who make transactions smooth.
Fukufuku Recycle Market
She nudged Belladonna, who opened it. The photos were clear, not blurry attic shots. The saya was a dignified, unadorned black lacquer with a dark bronze seme wrap. It looked legitimate. And the name... Fukufuku. Auspicious. Lucky. A sign.
"I smell a scam," Alyona began, immediately deflating her dreams.
Momofuku turned a light glare toward the blonde. "You don't know that."
"Yes I do," Alyona retorted, finally looking up, her blue eyes sharp. "You have no idea of the trials I endured to procure limited-edition DVDs from so-called reputable resellers. The lies. The broken promises. The bootlegs."
A flash of genuine, historical pain crossed her features before she shook it off. Oh, the bootlegs...
"... trust me on this," the blonde finished.
"... alright, maybe you know. But this is the last offer. There's no harm in chatting with the seller for a bit before we call it quits."
Alyona rolled her eyes dramatically and returned to her self-appointed duties with a dismissive huff. Parfaite, having finished with Momofuku's left side, gently took the sukeban's right hand.
"May I examine the injury here, Boss? The wrist appears significantly distressed."
Momofuku offered her swollen, discolored wrist, wincing as Parfaite's expert fingers probed with gentle pressure. "Dawn, ask for the dimensions of the sheath."
She typed out the precise, technical inquiry. They waited in a tense silence, broken only by the rustle of Parfaite retrieving a small medical splint and bandages from her seemingly bottomless apron.
As Parfaite worked, deftly immobilizing the broken wrist with efficient care, she offered quiet advice. "You must keep this elevated, Boss. If you let it hang, the swelling will worsen and impede healing."
Momofuku nodded tiredly. Once the splint was secure, she tried to lift her arm to follow the instruction. But the exhaustion from the day's battles was total. Her muscles trembled, and her arm slumped back down after only a few seconds.
Almost without thinking, she let her splinted hand come to rest on Alyona's far shoulder, using the Russian girl as a support to keep her injured limb propped up.
Alyona had just finished dabbing the last scrape and was shifting her weight, preparing to extricate herself from Momofuku's lap. The sudden weight of an arm around her shoulders made her pause. She sat perfectly still for a moment, her back rigid. A flustered calculation took place in her mind.
She was injured. She needed support. This was a medical necessity, not anything else. Satisfied with this flawless logic, Alyona settled back down, sitting sideways on the sukeban's lap, making no move to dislodge the arm or herself.
A chime from the tablet broke the quiet concentration. The seller had replied. Two messages.
Fukufuku Recycle Market:
Sorry, I don't have anything on hand to measure it right now. What kind of sword are you looking to sheathe?
Momofuku's eyes narrowed. "Don't answer the second one," she muttered, now wary thanks to Alyona. "Also, tell him he should have—"
But Belladonna's fingers had flown over the keyboard before Momofuku finished her sentence.
princesspeach3001: if you didn't have the measurements, then you should've waited to reply. don't waste our time
Momofuku let out a snort at the surprisingly sharp retort. "Okay, okay, go easy on them. Maybe they're just disorganized."
Fukufuku Recycle Market:
I wanted to reply fast so you didn't think I was ghosting! The saya is in a warehouse. It's a hassle to fetch it for measurements if we don't have a deal. Can you at least tell me the type of blade?
Alyona, intrigued by the development, shifted subtly on Momofuku's lap, leaning closer to see the screen. "Put some pressure on him."
Momo nodded. "Yeah, threaten to pull out."
princesspeach3001: if it's such a hassle, i'll look for it elsewhere
Fukufuku Recycle Market:
If you're here, it's because of the price or because you can't use the official shops. You won't find another one like this.
It was a stalemate. The seller knew they were the most desperate party. They needed to break the deadlock, even if it meant making some concessions.
"Parfaite," the sukeban called, offering [Koharu Masamune] carefully with her left hand. "Get the measurements.
Parfaite accepted the blade with reverent care. Producing a soft cloth tape measure from her apron, because of course she had one. She laid the katana on a clean towel on the floor. Her movements were precise, clinical. "Blade length: 73 centimeters. Handle length: 27 centimeters. Curvature: 1.5 centimeters."
Fukufuku Recycle Market:
The handle length seems like it would fit. The blade might be a little long, but it could work
"Might be? Could work?" Momofuku grumbled. "That's no good. Ask for more pictures. Specific ones. The inside of the koiguchi, the end cap."
Belladonna sent the request.
"Check his account history," Alyona ordered, her business instincts fully activated. "Creation date. Reviews."
While they waited for more photos, Belladonna navigated to the seller's profile. The account was new, with none of the site's trust badges or verification markers. A disposable burner, by all appearances. Yet, scrolling down, there were pages of positive reviews for their other products.
"Huh," Momofuku mumbled, a flicker of optimism returning. "Lots of happy customers. Maybe they're just migrating sites."
Alyona and Belladonna shared a look. "Fake accounts," they said in near unison.
Without a word, the hacker began clicking on the profiles of the reviewers. One after another, a damning pattern emerged. Each account was created within the last month. Each had left exactly one review, for one of Fukufuku Recycle Market's products, and had no other activity whatsoever.
The reality of the digital grift settled over Momofuku, and she slumped back into the beanbag chair.
"Ugh," she groaned, closing her eyes. "Online shopping sucks."
A new chime sounded from the tablet.
"Wait, online shopping rules."
The seller, perhaps sensing the deal slipping away, had sent several new photos. They were of decent quality, showing the black lacquer saya from multiple angles. The background was indeed a cluttered warehouse shelf, with other boxes and items visible, corroborating the story. To Momofuku's admittedly untrained eye, it looked legitimate. The sheath appeared solid, the fittings clean.
She turned her head slightly, her cheek almost brushing Alyona's hair, and stared pointedly at the Russian girl.
"... what are you staring at me for?"
"I'm waiting for your judgment, expert in buying DVDs online."
Alyona scoffed, though a faint flush colored her neck at their proximity. "Yes, DVDs. I do not know sheaths any more than you do. The pictures seem... plausible."
"They're fake."
While Momofuku's guard was down, it was Belladonna who delivered the killing blow. Her trained eyes had detected inconsistencies within areas of the picture. The background exhibited artifacts and lighting noise consistent with a standard camera, yet the sheath was clearly more detailed, limited only by the display resolution of her device.
The amateur seller could have access to a higher quality camera. He could have manipulated the picture digitally, but only to blur the background and give more focus to the sheath. However, considering their unwillingness for things considered a "hassle", it was unlikely they'd put this much effort now. Not only that, but if they were capable of such effort, they would have placed the tailored pictures in the initial advert and saved time.
No. This was a desperation play. A stock photo of higher quality, similar to the sheath advertised, and edited into the warehouse.
Belladonna explained none of this. She simply spoke, and trusted her Boss would trust her in return.
"That's it. Blow the deal off."
Belladonna nodded.
"And later? Go get your notebook and ruin this guy for real."
A small smile threatened to tug at the hacker's lips. She moved to close the private message, but not before one last farewell.
princesspeach3001: eat shit, scammer u suck at photoshop btw
"Pfft..."
Momofuku sputtered, then nudged Belladonna's shoulder with her own. "Well look at you, Internet tough guy. You know that's a bad habit, right?"
"Ah. My bad?" the girl apologized on reflex, not knowing what she did wrong.
"No, no, now you were supposed to tell me to eat shit too. I want that energy on and off the keyboard, not neither."
Alyona watched the exchange, a quiet warmth spreading through her chest. The heavy grief that had cloaked the sukeban since Itsuki's death was slowly lifting away. Alyona herself had little connection to the boy, and she'd struggled to find a way to bridge the gap to Momofuku's raw sorrow. Seeing her smile, even a tired, exasperated one, was refreshing.
She gently cleared her throat, calling Momofuku's attention back. "So. What is your new plan? To commission a sheath from Kageoka's criminal elements?"
"I've got a better one." She sat up a little straighter, wincing only slightly. "We don't buy a sheath for [Koharu Masamune]. We buy a sheath for [Kagutsuchi Masamune]."
Alyona blinked. "The... bokken? The one that no longer exists?"
"The bokken," Momofuku confirmed one half "Which is the same length. And is registered with Higan. Buying an iaitou sheath for a real katana is disrespectful. But... there's gotta be nothing wrong with being overly respectful and buying a nice and proper sheath for a practice sword, right? Especially one that has Masamune on it."
Alyona stared at Momofuku, her expression caught between disbelief and grudging respect. Then she shook her head, a small, incredulous smile touching her lips. "You are an incorrigible delinquent."
"Boss."
Momofuku looked at the returning Parfaite, who held [Koharu Masamune], now expertly wrapped in several layers of dark, soft cloth and secured with discreet ties. It looked like nothing more than a long, slender parcel, perfectly innocuous for public carry.
"Keeping holding onto it for now. Until we get the sheath, you'll be my..." Momofuku trailed off, then turned to the girl on her left. "What's that word your [Idolon]'s always using?"
"Armiger," Belladonna stated, a small frown crossing her brow. She quickly schooled her expression back to neutral, puzzling over the foreign sense of frustration that had accompanied her words, supplied by the [Dawn] persona within her.
"Right, that. You'll be my armiger," Momofuku declared, pointing at Parfaite.
Parfaite accepted the duty with a graceful dip of her head, cradling the cloth-wrapped blade as if it were a sacred relic. Then, a flicker of concern crossed her perfectly composed face. "Boss, with your permission, I must procure the proper supplies. I lack choji oil for maintenance. I should go and purchase some."
Momofuku opened her mouth, an automatic rebuttal on her lips. Fumiko probably had some oil that would work just fine. But she looked at the carefully wrapped blade, thought of the memory sleeping within her, and of Parfaite's unwavering, meticulous care. It was her money, she reasoned. Besides... Koharu deserved the good stuff.
"Permission granted," Momofuku said instead. "Get whatever you need."
Parfaite bowed deeply, a small, pleased smile touching her lips, and glided out of the hideout on her new mission.
Belladonna was next, standing up and making her way towards the staircase leading to her technological nest.
"Sorry I couldn't find anything, Boss."
"It's no problem. Thanks for the help, anyway."
And then, they were alone.
Momofuku.
Alyona.
Alyona, who was still sitting on Momofuku's lap.
With the distraction of shopping gone, a sudden, ringing silence took its place. Momofuku's awareness, no longer divided, zeroed in with laser focus
The warm, solid weight of Alyona against her. The softness of the maid outfit fabric under her splinted hand, which still rested on Alyona's shoulder. The faint, clean scent of Alyona's perfume, something floral and expensive, cutting through the scents of antiseptic and dust.
"So," the sukeban blurted out, her voice slightly too loud. "What are you... I mean, why are you still here?"
Alyona, who had been lost in her own quiet contemplation of the sukeban's proximity, jolted slightly. She straightened her back, the motion pressing her more firmly against Momofuku for a fleeting second before she tried to regain composure. "Your arm... requires elevation. I am... supporting it. As per Sukemori's instructions." It was the excuse she'd crafted earlier, and she clung to it like a lifeline.
The delinquent's brain, usually so quick with retorts, seized on the logic. It was a good excuse. A solid excuse. One that meant Alyona didn't have to move.
"Oh. Right," Momofuku mumbled, the fight draining out of her. She adjusted her splinted arm slightly, her fingers giving an almost imperceptible squeeze to Alyona's shoulder. "... guess you can stay."
MINOR TRIVIA #1
princesspeach3001 is not Dawn's personal Rakuten account, but instead one of her many burners for the purpose of purchasing supplies for the Fujiwara Senki. The username was inspired by the "Momo" in her Boss' name, but it's also untraceable back to her thanks to the far more popular character.
Momofuku Chikata has no idea about this.
Madoka Onguuchi is entirely responsible for this.
Higan Academy. Last period. A symphony of polite goodbyes and the shuffle of loafers on pavement. Alyona Rodionova, having just parted ways with a stoic Renka and a loudly complaining Archie, was steps from the sanctuary of her waiting black sedan when a sound cut through the civilized air.
It was a throaty, aggressive rumble that vibrated up through the soles of her shoes. Heads turned. A sleek, black and red motorcycle slid to a halt right at the curb, blocking the sedan's path. Astride the heavily modified kaizōsha, one booted foot planted on the asphalt, was Momofuku Chikata.
She wore no helmet, her raven hair tousled by the wind. Under her arm, she cradled a single gray helmet. Her left hand, clad in a form-fitting black glove that masked her claws, rested casually on the throttle.
"Yo," Momofuku greeted, as if meeting in a back alley, not the school's main gate. "Wanna go shopping for that sheath?"
Alyona stared. "Are you even in a state to drive?" she managed, her eyes darting to Momofuku's right wrist, which had been a swollen, splinted mess less than 24 hours ago.
In answer, Momofuku lifted her gloved hand and flexed it slowly, making a loose fist. Each finger moved independently, without a hint of pain. "Got a little help in the student council room."
Alyona understood the hidden meaning. But that understanding was quickly drowned out by a more immediate concern. She became acutely aware of the gathering attention. Students had stopped to stare, whispering behind their hands. Teachers by the gate were frowning.
She stepped closer, lowering her voice to a furious hiss. "What are you thinking, approaching me here of all places?"
Momofuku finally seemed to register the audience. She glanced around, her expression more puzzled than concerned. "You embarrassed by the ride?" She gave the gleaming fuel tank an affectionate pat. "It's still loud, sure, but Fumiko gave it a fresh paint job. Looks way less tacky."
"The problem," Alyona ground out through a tight smile for the benefit of onlookers, "is that you are blatantly operating a motor vehicle without a license directly in front of the school's gates...!"
Momofuku groaned. "What's done is done. Been a while since I got caught anyway. Bound to happen." She hefted the helmet. "So? You coming or not? I even brought a helmet this time."
Every rational cell in Alyona's body screamed no. She was still on thin ice with the faculty, her every move scrutinized. Associating with this... brute in such a flagrant way was social and academic suicide.
But the bike purred, a promise of speed and freedom. Momofuku sat astride it, looking utterly unrepentant and somehow, incredibly compelling. The fantasy unspooled in Alyona's mind instantly. The noble princess, weary of her gilded cage, whisked away by the dashing, rebellious outlaw...
"If anything happens, a single scratch, a traffic citation, anything, I am blaming you entirely. I will tell them you abducted me."
Logic lost.
Before Momofuku could say another word, Alyona deftly fastened the helmet, swung a leg over the seat behind the sukeban, and settled in, her hands finding a tentative grip on Momofuku's sides. The engine's rumble intensified, vibrating through them both.
"Y'know what, sure."
With a final, deafening rev that made a few schoolgirls jump, Momofuku kicked the bike into gear. The peeled away from the curb, leaving behind a stunned student body and a slightly annoyed chauffeur.
The ride was a blur of adrenaline and illicit shortcuts. Momofuku wove through traffic with reckless grace, veering into narrow side streets and cutting through several Forbidden Zones, where the police rarely patrolled. The world became a streaking painting of grey concrete and neon signs, the rumble of the engine a constant thunder in Alyona's chest. She clung tightly, her earlier protest forgotten, lost in the visceral thrill of speed and the solid feel of Momofuku's back against her.
Finally, the urban sprawl gave way to older, quieter streets. The air grew cleaner, scented with pine and the faint, earthy smell of incense. They were on the border between Kageoka's Traditional Arts District and the wooded foothills that housed the Shrine Network. Momofuku slowed the bike to a purr and parked it neatly alongside a weathered stone wall.
Alyona dismounted, her legs jittery, and removed her helmet, shaking out her perfectly styled hair. She watched as Momofuku rummaged in a small trunk attached to the back of the bike and pulled out a heavy-duty chain and lock.
"Do you seriously think anyone would attempt to steal it here?" Alyona asked, gesturing to the serene, almost sleepy street. The only establishments in sight were a calligraphy supply store, a small tea house, and the distant rooftops of shrine buildings nestled among trees. "We are surrounded by craftsmen and ascetics."
Momofuku shrugged, looping the chain through the bike's frame and around a sturdy lamppost. "Fumiko talked my ear off' until I took it. Might as well use the thing." She finished locking it and stood, accepting the helmet Alyona handed her. She let it dangle from the handlebar by its strap. "C'mon. It's this way."
They walked a short distance down the cobbled street to their destination: Warrior's Repose. The shop was housed in a traditional kura-style building with white plaster walls and dark wooden beams. Its front was dominated by a large, sliding lattice door, currently open to reveal a deep, shadowy interior. A simple wooden sign hung above, bearing the shop's name in elegant brushstrokes. The window display was sparse but evocative: a single, beautifully crafted dō on a stand, a rack of high-quality hakama trousers, and practice fans arranged like a sunrise.
As they neared the entrance, a voice called out from behind them.
"Yo! Boss! Alyona!"
They turned to see Sayaka Koujin jogging towards them, her face flushed from exertion. She was still in her Higan Academy gym uniform, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. A city bus was pulling away from a stop further down the road.
Sayaka's sharp eyes immediately went to the chained-up motorcycle.
"Whoa, is that a new paintjob? Looks awesome," she praised, a genuine grin splitting her face.
Momofuku's posture immediately straightened with pride. She thrust a fist out, which Sayaka met with a satisfying smack. "At least someone notices it..."
Alyona merely rolled her eyes.
"What're you guys doing all the way out here?" Sayaka asked, falling into step with them as they approached the shop's entrance. "School just let out."
"I could ask you the same question," Alyona countered smoothly, raising a delicate eyebrow.
Sayaka's confident demeanor faltered. She scratched the back of her neck, suddenly looking sheepish. "Uh... I kinda broke the wing chun dummy at the kung fu club trying out a new move. Again. Gotta replace it before the club manager finds out and bans me from the dojo... Again."
She then turned her curious gaze back to Momofuku. "So? What's your excuse?"
"Commissioning a sword sheath," Momofuku stated, stepping through the open doorway into the cool, incense-scented interior of the shop.
Sayaka blinked. "A sheath? For what? You use bokken."
"It's a recent thing," Momofuku said vaguely, her eyes already scanning the shelves lined with lacquered wood, bamboo practice swords, and rolls of silk cord. "I'll explain later. You'd know about it if you hadn't been MIA from the hideout."
A shadow passed over Sayaka's normally fierce expression. Her shoulders slumped slightly. "Yeah... sorry about that. I've been trying to keep Mei company. You know, after... the news. She took it pretty hard. They trained together a lot, before he left to discover his new style. She feels... responsible, I think. Like she should've seen it coming or something."
With their moods dampened, the two sides parted ways. Sayaka gave Momofuku a tight, understanding nod before pulling to a different aisle, returning to her mission of find a replacement training. Momofuku watched her go for a second, then squared her shoulders and approached the long, polished wooden counter at the back of the shop, Alyona a silent, elegant shadow at her side.
Behind the counter stood the shop's manager, a man the sukeban knew to be Daiki Watanabe. He was in his late fifties, with the sturdy build of a former practitioner and a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. His eyes, behind a pair of simple reading glasses perched on his nose, were sharp and discerning. He wore a traditional happi coat over a dark shirt, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms marked with old, faint scars.
"Can I help you?" Watanabe asked, his voice a low, practiced rumble.
Momofuku met his gaze. "We spoke on the phone yesterday. About commissioning a saya for a sword. I'm here to finalize the details."
Watanabe's eyes flickered with recognition. "Ah, yes. The bokken commission. You'll need to provide the documents I mentioned, then."
"Right."
Momofuku's hand dove into the pocket of her skirt. Her fingers closed around the folded papers she'd meticulously prepared. The official Higan Academy Kendo Club registration for the practice sword [Kagutsuchi Masamune], complete with the school's stamp and the club advisor's signature.
She slid the documents across the smooth counter.
Daiki picked them up, adjusting his glasses. The silence that followed was thick and heavy, broken only by the distant rustle of Sayaka examining wooden dummies. Alyona stood perfectly still, her expression one of cool detachment, but Momofuku could feel the tension radiating from her.
The weight of her own audacity pressed upon her shoulders.
How screwed was she if this didn't work? The thought was a drumbeat in her skull. She'd already broken a dozen traffic laws to get here. If this registration gambit failed, she'd be exposed trying to scam a reputable shop with school documents. The leniency Higan Academy extended to its Awakened students was not infinite, and this could very well shatter it.
And yet, she didn't have many other options. Sure, she could have taken the bus here, but an underage delinquent like her couldn't commission anything for a real blade without some level of illegal activity or powerful connections.
Higan looked the other way for the sake of their supernatural activities, but it wouldn't arm them with real steel. Their [Idolons] were already their weapons. Everything else was to remain strictly within the bounds of school clubs and training. Asking the school to commission a saya for a real katana would have been pushing that unspoken agreement too far.
Furthermore... it would have felt… wrong. Like abusing a privilege granted for protecting the city, and twisting it for a personal, sentimental reason.
So, she'd chosen this. To play her role as Momofuu-ki, the gang leader who took what she wanted. If it all went wrong, the consequences would land on her, not on Higan's reputation or the fragile system that kept [Awakened] operating in the shadows. That was a burden she was willing to carry.
Finally, Daiki lowered the papers. He gave a slow, considering nod. "The documents are in order." He looked at Momofuku over the rim of his glasses. "I'll speak with the blacksmith. He's in the back. Be warned, though. He's a grumpy old geezer. He won't be happy about being pulled away from forging actual blades to make a sheath for a practice stick."
"I understand," Momofuku said, her voice steady.
Watanabe gave another nod and disappeared through a beaded curtain behind the counter, the papers in hand.
The moment he was gone, Alyona let out a soft, controlled breath, the tension in her shoulders easing a fraction. The first hurdle was cleared.
Momofuku, however, didn't relax. She crossed her arms, her gloved fingers tapping a restless rhythm against her bicep.
Daiki returned a few minutes later, parting the beaded curtain. "He'll see you. But tread carefully."
He gestured for them to come behind the counter, then pointed towards a heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor.
The air changed the moment they stepped through, charged with the potent stench of burning charcoal, hot metal, and curing wood.
Inside, the space was divided into two distinct sections. One side was a woodworker's paradise: racks of different woods: honoki, kashi, sakura, all neatly stacked, along with trays of metal fittings, and rolls of ray skin and silk cord. The other side was the heart of the forge: a sunken hearth glowing with intense heat, a large bellows, buckets of water and clay slurry, piles of straw ash, and a heavy, scarred anvil standing like an altar.
Standing at the anvil, his back to them, was the blacksmith. He was a man in his late sixties or early seventies, but built like a gnarled oak tree. His arms, bare and gleaming with sweat, were corded with muscle that spoke of a lifetime of hammering steel. He wore a leather apron blackened with soot and age, and a white hachimaki headband kept sweat from his eyes. His hair, what little of it wasn't covered, was steel grey and cropped short. He was in the process of drawing out a length of glowing steel, his hammer falling in rhythmic, precise strikes.
Momofuku approached, the heat of the forge washing over her. "Excuse me," she began, raising her voice over the hiss of hot metal and the crackle of the coals.
The hammering stopped. The blacksmith didn't turn around immediately. He carefully placed the glowing steel back into the forge, then slowly straightened. He turned, and his eyes, a flinty, unforgiving grey, swept over Momofuku and Alyona like a physical blow.
"No."
Before Momofuku could finish introducing herself or her request, he spoke. His voice was a gravelly rumble, deeper than Daiki's and twice as harsh.
"I haven't even—"
"I said no. Get out of my forge." He wiped his hands on his apron, leaving dark streaks. "I don't make trinkets for punks. Or for foreign girls playing dress-up." His gaze lingered on Alyona.
Momofuku felt a white-hot spike of anger pierce her frustration. Her demon blood simmered, and it took every ounce of her will to keep her claws from tearing through her gloves.
"Oi, old fart," she forced her voice to remain level, but couldn't do the same for her words. "Are you really turning around on a genuine Masamune article? Just like that?"
The blacksmith's lips twitched. "Masamune. On a bokken. A student's practice stick. It's a novelty. You can buy a sheath for it off any rack in the front. Don't waste my time with this nonsense."
"If you'd listen," Momofuku shot back, her control fraying, "you'd understand I want a genuine saya for the [Kagutsuchi Masamune], not some mass-produced tube."
"Genuine?!" he roared, eyes blazing. "You speak of genuine? You want to dress a student in the garments of a master! To put a fine scabbard on a stick! This is the problem! You children, you care only for the look! The aesthetic! The vibe! Like those cosplay fools who buy cheap katanas for their pictures!" He jabbed a thick, calloused finger at Momofuku. "The sheath is part of the soul of the blade! It is earned! It is matched! You come to me when you have a blade worthy of a sheath! A real blade! Not a toy with a famous name scribbled on it!"
He was trembling with a purist's fury. "Now get out. And if you waste my time with this disrespect again, I will make sure you are blacklisted from every smith worthy of the name left in Kageoka. Get out!"
The final shout echoed in the high-ceiling workshop, yet the sukeban stood in place.
Meanwhile, Alyona's eyes remained on the fuming blacksmith, her mind racing. A bribe? An offer to commission something else? Her eyes scanned the workshop, looking for a weakness, a price.
At that moment, Momofuku turned on her heel without another word and strode out.
"Momo!" Alyona called after her, but she was already gone. Looking back, and seeing the old man's pride was a wall as solid as his anvil, she she gave a curt, polite bow, and hurried after the other girl.
She found her outside, not by the bike, but sitting on the edge of the cobbled sidewalk a little way down the street. Momofuku had her knees drawn up, her arms wrapped around them, her forehead resting on her arms.
Alyona approached slowly and sat down beside her.
After a minute, Momofuku's muffled voice came from the cradle of her arms. "He's right."
He was right, but he was also wrong.
It was disrespectful... to the craft, to the tradition, to the swordsmith, to ask for a saya for a bokken.
But it was a ruse. The saya was meant for Koharu, who was a real katana, born from memory and fire and a desperate love. She was worthy of that sheath. But because she was a product of the [Idea World], Momofuku had no legitimate path to give her what she deserved.
What was she supposed to do? Try to explain an [Irate Object] to that geezer?
No, her words wouldn't matter. The blacksmith had barely listened to her, he just glanced at her and wrote her off. The modified uniform, the posture... Maybe if she'd come in a proper outfit, with humility... but no. She'd barreled in with her usual cocky, half-baked scheme. Didn't she swear to stop doing that?
A shift in the light, a presence beside her. She lifted her head fully and saw Alyona sitting there, a silent statue of expensive fabric and quiet concern. The sight pulled her out of the spiraling thoughts.
"Sorry," Momofuku muttered, her voice rough. "Dragged you all the way here for nothing."
Alyona didn't look at her, instead watching a sparrow hop along the gutter. "I was already planning on doing nothing. I told you I know nothing about sword sheathes." Her tone was deliberately flat, but there was no malice in it.
"... I wanted to learn together with you. I wanted to pick something you wouldn't think is lame."
Because her opinion mattered. Because she mattered.
Flustered by words spoken and unspoken, Momofuku looked away. Alyona said nothing, but a faint, delicate pink colored the tips of her ears.
The moment was shattered by the shop door opening. Sayaka emerged, struggling slightly with a long, cylindrical bag containing the disassembled pieces of a new wing chun dummy. "Hey! How'd it... oh." She took in their defeated postures on the curb.
"That bad, huh?"
She hoisted the bag more securely and adopted a fierce grin. "Don't let it get to you, Boss. That guy's a known picky old geezer. We can find another smith who's not stuck up his own—"
"He threatened to blacklist me," Momofuku interrupted dully, getting to her feet. "From every smith in Kageoka."
Sayaka's grin vanished, replaced by stunned disbelief. "What did you do? Did you challenge him to a duel or something?"
"I existed, apparently," Momofuku grumbled. She turned and offered a hand to Alyona. Without hesitation, Alyona took it, letting Momofuku pull her up. Their hands stayed linked for a second longer than necessary before falling apart. "C'mon. I'll drive you home. Mission's a bust."
As Momofuku started walking towards the chained bike, Sayaka shuffled awkwardly, the long bag bumping against her legs. "Uh, Boss? Hate to ask, but…" She looked between the bike and the distant, empty bus stop. "Is there… room for one more? I kinda forgot I'd have to wait for the bus back to school with this thing, and if the club manager finds the dummy broken before I replace it…"
Momofuku looked at the bike, then at Sayaka's hopeful, slightly embarrassed face, then at Alyona, who raised a single, elegant eyebrow.
With a resigned sigh that wasn't entirely annoyed, Momofuku unlocked the chain. "Fine. But if we get pulled over, you're the one who abducted us both."
"Deal!"
The ride was a tense, wobbly affair. Momofuku at the front, Alyona sandwiched in the middle, and Sayaka perched precariously on the very back, her arms wrapped around the long, cylindrical bag containing whatever parts of the dummy wouldn't fit in the trunk.
They dropped Sayaka off at the Higan gates, the girl hopping off with a grateful salute. "Hey, Boss," she said, hefting the bag. "If you're still looking for a sheath this weekend, we could check out Grandmei's antique shop. She's got all sorts of weird old stuff. Might get lucky."
Momofuku, relieved to have one passenger down, nodded. "Yeah. Weekend. Sounds like a plan."
"Cool. See you then!" Sayaka vanished into the school grounds, presumably to perform a covert dummy swap.
And then it was just the two of them again. The silence that settled over the ride was comfortable, no longer broken by muttered curses from Momofuku whenever they took a corner or awkward apologies from Sayaka whenever the bag nudged Alyona.
The Russian's residence loomed, a bastion of imported European opulence amidst traditional Japanese gardens. Passing the imposing front gates, Momofuku killed the engine at the massive oak door. As Alyona dismounted and removed her helmet, two people answered the door at the first bell ring.
Standing there was Ludmilla Rodionova, Alyona's mother. She was a stunning woman in her forties, with the same sharp blue eyes and platinum blonde hair as her daughter, though hers was styled in a severe, elegant chignon. Behind her loomed a large, silent man in a suit.
Ludmilla's eyes swept over the scene: her daughter, disheveled from the helmet and the ride, and the girl who had taken the time to visit them after that dreadful abduction crisis. Concern, exasperation, a hint of wary curiosity, all crossed her perfectly composed face.
"Alyonushka," she called. "You did not mention you would be... gallivanting after school. I would have been worried if I hadn't recognized Ilya's description of your... company." Her gaze settled on Momofuku, appraising.
Alyona flushed. "Mother, it was not gallivanting. It was an errand. And I am perfectly capable—"
"Of course you are, zvezda moya," Ludmilla cut in smoothly, though her eyes didn't leave the other girl. "Momo-chan, would you care to come in for some refreshments? To thank you for seeing my daughter home safely."
The sukeban hesitated, shifting her weight. She had been avoiding sharing meals with her grandmother due to the recent changes to her body, and this was a step even beyond that.
Sensing her discomfort, Alyona stepped in, her voice firm. "That is not necessary, Mother. Momo has prior arrangements with her... associates."
Momofuku took the out, dipping her head slightly. "Yeah. Gang stuff. Maybe another time."
Ludmilla's smile was unreadable. "Of course. Another time." She gave a slight nod, then gently guided Alyona inside with a hand on her shoulder. The Bratva guard's eyes followed Momofuku until the heavy door began to swing shut with a soft, final thud.
Momofuku stood on the driveway, the engine cooling with soft ticks. But she didn't move to leave. Alyona's expression in that last moment, the polite mask, the slight tension in her shoulders, it nagged at her mind.
Was she okay with that? Did she want Momofuku to leave?
Her own excuse echoed hollowly. Gang stuff. What gang stuff? Checking if Parfaite had bought the oil? Chasing loose leads on who had snatched Fumiko's pieces from the hideout? She had nothing pressing.
Maybe Alyona wanted space after the fruitless day. That was reasonable. But maybe she didn't.
Why was she even overthinking it? It was just tea and treats. Her mom would be there, so nothing weird would happen. Not that she wanted anything weird to happen...!
Ding Dong~
Her body moved before her mind.
The door opened much quicker this time. Alyona stood there, having clearly not moved far into the house. She looked surprised, a question in her eyes.
Momofuku stared at her, her brain blank, heart hammering. "I, uh..." she stammered, then blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Can't say no to free food."
A slow smile spread across Alyona's face. She stepped back, holding the door wide open. "Of course. Please, come in."
MINOR TRIVIA #2
Parfaite's corner of the Fujiwara Senki hideout possesses a corkboard covered in photos of the gang, alongside notes on how to be more like them, and a stat sheet to visualize areas where she may be lacking. For her Boss, it also contains cryptic, translated phrases such as:
"I’ll break your face" = expression of concern
"Don't be stupid" = please be careful
"Whatever" = I am emotionally compromised and cannot articulate further.
She studies it before potentially stressful interactions and considers it vital field intelligence.
Saturday morning. Shrine Network. Momofuku Chikata navigated the serene, stone-lined paths not in her signature black and red gakuran, but in civilian clothes. She wore dark, durable cargo pants, a simple black t-shirt with a faded band logo, and a worn, unzipped leather jacket over it.
On her right, Parfaite carried the cloth-wrapped [Koharu Masamune] with the care of a holy relic. She was in her usual, impeccably neat maid outfit, a small bag of 'just-in-case' supplies hanging from her shoulder. On Momofuku's left, Sayaka strolled with her hands laced behind her head, dressed in comfortable athletic wear, her expression relaxed.
"A sheath without a blade? Girl, you think any self-respecting seller would part the two? The saya is the blade's soul-mate! To separate them is bad business and worse karma!"
Momofuku's mind replayed the earlier encounter at Grandmei's place. The old crone did have an antique blade, she admitted, gone blunt with age, still in its original sheath. But Momofuku had refused. The idea of buying a blade to discard it, or worse, shamelessly evicting another sword's spirit to make room for Koharu, was profoundly twisted. Plus, as Grandmei had cheerfully announced the antique's price, the reality had sunk in. The sukeban was not swimming in the kind of cash required for such historical purchases.
"Hey, Boss. You actually gonna swallow those?"
Sayaka's voice jerked Momofuku back to the present.
She'd left the shop with nothing for Koharu, but Grandmei, a shrewd businesswoman to her core, hadn't let her leave empty-handed.
Momofuku looked down at the small, ornate ceramic bottle, full of exotic Chinese pills.
"The creepy hag wouldn't poison me," Momofuku muttered, popping the cork stopper. "She'd miss the chance to scam me again next time."
She peered inside. Some pills were glossy black, others a matte crimson, a few were speckled gold. Their shapes were irregular, round, oblong, one even vaguely star-shaped. Even their textures were visibly different.
It was, in all likelihood, a bottle of expensive and questionable placebo. Or, given Grandmei's known connections to the mystical side of things, something meant to balance her demonic Qi. The promise, however vague, of something that might temper Aramasa's influence or reduce her obvious [Oni] features had been enough to part her with the last of her pocket money.
She shook one out into her palm, a bumpy, dark green pill that smelled faintly of moss and iron.
Unbidden, a smirk crept into her lips.
"Hey, Parfaite. Since you're already my armiger, you wouldn't mind being my food tester too, right?"
"Of course. I'd be anything for you, Boss."
Before Sayaka or a stunned Momofuku could react, the maid stepped closer and gently plucked the pill and swallowed it.
She then stood perfectly still, as if waiting for symptoms.
Sayaka burst out laughing. "Holy crap, she actually did it!"
"S-Spit it out, you idiot! I was joking! Don't just swallow mysterious pills from weird hags!"
Parfaite blinked. "Apologies. However, initial analysis suggests no immediate toxicity. The aftertaste is... earthy."
Momofuku groaned, rubbing her face with her free hand.
The trio continued their walk, but the sukeban kept shooting sideways glances at the maid, scrutinizing her for any sign of transformation: a third eye, glowing skin, spontaneous bonsai growth. Nothing. Parfaite remained the picture of flawless, unflappable servitude.
Sensing her Boss's stare, she offered a reassuring smile. "I assure you, I feel no different."
"Maybe it hasn't gone down your system yet."
"Or maybe it only works on people who do internal alchemy."
Momofuku's head snapped towards Sayaka. "Care to test that theory?"
She fished the bottle back out and, with a magician's flourish, plucked out another of the mossy-green, earthy-smelling pills.
Sayaka took a step back, holding her hands up. "Whoa, no thanks."
"What's the matter?" Momofuku taunted, waggling the pill. "Less guts than Parfaite?"
"I wouldn't call what she has guts," Sayaka retorted. "Besides, if you're so sure it's fine, why don't you take one? Where's your guts without a food tester, oh fearless leader?"
Momofuku's grin faltered. "The food tester thing was a joke," she grumbled. But Sayaka's challenging smirk was too much.
The gauntlet had been thrown.
With a dramatic scowl, she pulled down her mask and popped the pill into her mouth.
For a second, nothing happened. Then, her eyes went wide.
"Ah, shit."
A sharp, cramping pain twisted in her lower belly. It felt like her [Metal]-aligned Qi, normally a clean, sharp current, had just slammed into a suddenly reinforced, mud-like wall in an [Earth] meridian. The flow stuttered, clogged. Her breath hitched.
"Boss?" Parfaite asked, her serene mask cracking with concern.
"...need... [Metal]..." Momofuku gasped, fumbling with the bottle. Her vision swam as she desperately shook out a different pill, this one a shiny, silver-grey orb. She chucked it back.
The new pill hit her system like a lightning bolt in a dry forest. A searing, metallic heat erupted in her chest, directly clashing with the smoldering [Aramasa]'s fire qi, always present in her Wood meridians. It was like pouring molten lead into a green sapling. Momofuku's body convulsed, and
"W-Who the hell makes the [Fire] pill silver?!" she coughed, a fine spray of crimson mist painting the cobblestones.
"S-Stop taking them!" Sayaka stammered.
But Momofuku, now in a panic-driven, alchemical free-for-all, was beyond reason. She wrestled two more pills from the bottle, a fiery orange one and a golden one. If the silvery one was [Fire], then the orange one had to be [Wood], right?
KACHUNK. FWOOSH.
The internal blockage was destroyed so violently that the three girls heard it from outside the dantian. Strengthened [Fire] and [Metal] Qi roared through Momofuku's pathways, briefly harmonious in their newfound power. Then, they converged like rival armies on a tiny, peaceful [Water] acupoint.
Momofuku's knees buckled. She hit the ground hard, her skin flushing a deep, feverish red. Sweat beaded on her forehead instantly. Her vision swam with heat haze.
"So hot... need... the blue one..." she babbled, pawing at Parfaite. "The blue pill... final form..."
Parfaite picked up the bottle, searching for its contents.
Sayaka snatched it away, eyes wide. "Are you insane too?!" She looked down at the bottle. "T-There's not even a blue one!"
She and Parfaite each hooked an arm under Momofuku's shoulders and hauled her to her feet, half-dragging, half-carrying her.
Suddenly, the dead weight between them shifted. Momofuku's feet planted firmly on the ground.
"I'm fine, you worrywarts," Momofuku(?) said, her voice a touch lower. She patted a stunned Sayaka and a confused Parfaite on their chests.
At that exact moment, a wooden shōji door in the wall beside them slid open with a sharp clack. They had, in their frantic stumbling, arrived at their destination.
Kanae Jinguuji stood in the doorway, a bag of garbage in one hand. Her gloomy eyes swept over the scene: the panting girls, the bizarre bottle in Sayaka's death grip, and...
Kanae stared at Momofuku(?).
Momofuku(?) stared at Kanae.
"Ah, shit."
Momofuku(?) shrugged off the bodies against her, claws tearing through her gloves.
But the shugenja was already within range. Her free hand darted into the sleeve of her kimono and emerged holding a pre-written ofuda talisman. In one fluid, unimpressed motion, she stepped forward and slapped the paper directly onto Momofuku's(?) forehead.
She yelped as the holy paper seared her skin with a pain that was purely spiritual and intensely annoying.
In that split-second opening, Kanae's hand shot out again. Between her fingers was another pill from the bottle: a small, deep cobalt sphere Sayaka hadn't noticed. Kanae shoved it straight into the open, yowling mouth.
GULP.
Amber eyes rolled back into red, a possessed body went rigid, and Momofuku tipped over like a felled tree, landing face first on the stairs.
"Pick that up," Kanae said, walking past them to fulfill her original duty.
"You're not gonna throw her along with the trash, are you?" Sayaka wondered.
The shugenja remained silent, honestly pondering the question.
Meanwhile, inside the chaotic landscape of Momofuku Chikata's mind, a strange scene unfolded. In a sun-dappled clearing in a serene mental forest, Momofuku sat cross-legged on the soft grass, fuming.
A few feet away lay [Aramasa], wearing a distorted, exaggerated version of Momofuku's own body with longer horns, sharper claws...
A~Hahahaha!
And a truly insufferable laughter.
And then—and then you took the silver one! the ancient [Oni] wheezed, clutching her stomach. The [Fire] pill! While your [Metal] Qi was still clumped in the [Earth] channels! It was like watching one of your modern culinarians start a grease fire!
The longer the cackling continued, the deeper Momofuku's embarrassment grew, painting her cheeks a brilliant scarlet. Finally, with a wordless roar of pure shame, she launched herself at her demonic doppelganger, fingers aiming for her throat.
[Aramasa], still giggling, didn't even look. She simply raised a hand and swatted her vessel away like an irritating fly. The love-tap, fueled by ancient demonic strength, felt like being hit by a truck.
Momofuku's mental form pinwheeled through the air, the sound of several bones breaking echoing. She sailed across the clearing and landed head-first into the trunk of a large pine tree with a definitive THONK.
Everything went pleasantly, blessedly black.
Momofuku's physical eyes blinked open to a world of dull aches and soft warmth. She looked up without moving her neck and saw Parfaite Sukemori's serene face looking down at her. A lap pillow. It should have been nice. Instead, Momofuku's expression settled into a deep, volcanic scowl.
"I'm gonna kill that vile hag," she grumbled, the words thick in her dry throat.
From nearby, Sayaka's voice chimed in. "Please don't go after Grandmei, Boss. I wouldn't know who to cheer for."
"Not that vile hag," Momofuku snarled, pushing herself up slightly. The movement made her wince.
Her gaze swept the room. It was small, dusty, and smelled of old wood and tatami. Definitely not Kanae's meticulously clean, if gloomy, living space. "Kanae. Why'd you drag us to a dusty old shed? Couldn't afford a real guest room?"
Kanae, who was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, didn't even blink.
"I didn't want to risk bringing you into any sort of sacred place. You're welcome for the save, by the way."
Momofuku grunted, a sound that could charitably be interpreted as gratitude. Her eyes continued to scan, searching.
"... where are the rest of the pills?"
Sayaka looked at her with profound disappointment. "Seriously?"
Kanae's eyebrows lifted a millimeter. "Is [Intoxication] already here? Do we need to schedule an exorcism?"
Ever-helpful, Parfaite's hand dipped into the seemingly bottomless pocket of her maid's apron and emerged with the ornate ceramic bottle.
Momofuku glared at the non-believers. "I paid for the whole bottle, I'm gonna use the whole bottle! Besides," she added, a spark of manic pride in her eyes, "I figured out the right order. Gimme the blue one, Parfaite."
Parfaite, however, did not pour a pill into Momofuku's waiting palm. Instead, her hand closed around a single azure pill and moved toward Momofuku's face, hovering near her lips, waiting.
Momofuku stared at the offered fingers, then up at Parfaite's earnest, expectant face. A weak glare formed. "I can feed myself, you know."
Parfaite's brilliant smile didn't falter, but her eyes dimmed just a fraction. The sudden, irrational punch of guilt that hit Momofuku was almost as bad as the pill-induced internal combustion. She remembered, vividly, that late night of [Fushihara]'s first appearance, and how she force fed the maid. And now, she was trying to return the favor, in her weird, literal way.
With a sigh that was more of a defeated hiss, she opened her mouth.
Parfaite's smile reignited to full, blinding wattage. Gently, she placed the blue pill on Momofuku's tongue. Momofuku closed her mouth, chewed with theatrical reluctance, and swallowed. "... now the orange one."
As Parfaite began the meticulous process of hand-feeding her Boss, Kanae watched, her frown deepening into a trench. "Did you come to my home to laze around like some roman emperor?"
Momofuku, now busy swallowing a silver orb that made her ears steam slightly, couldn't answer.
Sayaka decided to cut to the chase. She pushed off from the wall she'd been leaning against and walked to the corner of the shed where the cloth-wrapped Koharu Masamune had been carefully placed. She picked it up and began to unwrap it, the beautiful, misty grey blade catching the slivers of light filtering through the dusty window.
Kanae's gloomy eyes, usually half-lidded, widened a fraction as she looked at [Koharu Masamune]... no, at Koharu herself. Her spiritual senses, honed by a lifetime of seeing the unseen, peered past the physical steel and into the memory of a girl.
She quickly schooled her expression back to its usual flatness.
"I don't have a sheath for her," she stated bluntly.
Sayaka nodded, not surprised. "We figured. But we were hoping you might know a lead. Something from the [Idea World]. A [Yokai], a particular kind of [Idea], an [Urban Legend]... something that could help make or find one."
For a long moment, the shugenja was silent.
Then...
"I might know of something."
arfaite's hands paused mid-pill-selection. Sayaka leaned forward. Momofuku's ears twitched.
"But it's a terrible idea," Kanae finished.
The spark fizzled out, replaced by a trio of deflated postures.
Kanae turned her full, solemn gaze on Momofuku. "The [Idea World] is supposed to be temporary, ya know? You shouldn't be thinking of it as a way to solve your problems in the human world. Looking out for [Yokai] to bargain with is really stupid. Like, cautionary tale stupid."
Momofuku pushed herself up, indignation overriding her pill-induced haze. "Koharu isn't a problem! And she's not from the human world either! She's from there! I've been struggling because I've been trying to treat her like a normal sword. That's what got me laughed out of a blacksmith's forge."
"She is not fully of the Idea World either," Kanae countered, her voice unwavering. "She is a unique existence belonging to both and neither. Unlike our Idolons, she will not vanish when the boundary is sealed."
"Then what am I supposed to do?" Momofuku's voice cracked with frustration. "How do I give her a place in any world when she doesn't have one?!"
"You break the law. The blade only exists because you two rebelled. Koharu, by refusing to move on. You, by refusing to exorcise her. If you want a good ending, you two can't half-ass it now. Go all the way."
She held up two fingers. "One: you strike a deal with a denizen of the [Idea World], something with the power to craft or provide what you need. The consequences are vast and unpredictable. Two: you use the human world's underworld. Make your goons go to work."
Kanae let her hand drop. "As a shugenja, I'd obviously favor the latter."
Momofuku stared at her.
She knew the yakuza, or the gangs working for the yakuza, could help her get what she wanted.
However, none of those gangs owed her a favor for her to cash in, and she didn't want to be owing them any favors instead.
But now, it was either that, or owing a favor to some monster or vengeful spirit.
"I'll… think about it," she muttered as she leaned against a wall, the words lacking her usual fiery conviction.
She then lazily lifted a hand, making a 'gimme' motion towards Parfaite. "The rest. Gold and silver. Let's finish this."
An awkward, heavy silence filled the shed as Parfaite resumed her duty, placing each bizarre pill into Momofuku's waiting mouth. Momofuku swallowed with a grimace, her mind clearly elsewhere.
Sayaka watched the bizarre ritual, and the micro-expressions that flashed across the sukeban's scowling face. The slight raise of a brow at the golden one, a puff of steam from her ears with the silver, a small shiver when it was all finished.
"... do those actually taste any good?" she asked, unable to contain her curiosity.
"Kinda. Like weird, salty snacks."
Sayaka's eyes lit up with interest. "Salty snacks, you say?" She sidled closer to Parfaite, who was recorking the now nearly-empty bottle. "Hey, Parfaite, let me try. The orange one looked fun."
Before Parfaite could react, Momofuku's hand shot out, grabbing the maid by the shoulder and yanking her back, putting herself between Parfaite and Sayaka. "Oi, oi, oi, get your own."
Sayaka reached around Momofuku, trying to snag the bottle from Parfaite's grasp. "Don't be so stingy, Boss! Sharing is caring!"
"Don't be such a moocher!" Momofuku countered. "I'm sure that greedy hag would be happy to sell you a bottle."
The two of them ended up shaking a bemused Parfaite back and forth between them like a prize in a tug-of-war, the maid maintaining her perfect posture even as she was jostled.
"Moocher!"
"Stingy!"
Kanae watched the juvenile spectacle, her expression one of profound, weary resignation.
"Fufufu~"
A faint chuckle echoed in the room, and the shugenja's eyes darted to [Koharu Masamune].
"Don't laugh. That's your wielder for the foreseeable future."
The memory of the girl only smiled wider.