Cow Thief: Chapter 2

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The lantern beneath the eaves swayed in the wind. Closing his paper umbrella, water poured from its tip like a waterfall. As Ryoichiro stepped inside through the entrance, the sound of the sliding door seemed to alert Tokuma, who appeared in the hallway without needing to be called. Ryoichiro held out the package he had carefully carried home, ensuring it didn’t get wet.

“I bought something for you and the old woman too. We’ll eat it later,” he said.

Tokuma accepted the bundle of sweets with a smile. Passing it to the old woman, who had emerged after him, Tokuma used a hand towel to wipe the water off Ryoichiro’s shoulders and feet.

After changing into dry clothes, it was time for dinner. Ryoichiro sat at the table, facing Tokuma as they ate. Though he had once invited the old woman to join them, she politely declined, saying she wasn’t used to the Western-style table and chairs.

When Ryoichiro didn’t speak, meals were a quiet affair. The sound of the rain pounding outside filled the air, creating an oppressive yet faintly lonely atmosphere.

After the meal, Ryoichiro instructed the old woman to bring sake and the sweets to the living room. She brought in the sake bottle and tray, and though Ryoichiro offered her some, she politely refused, saying, “I couldn’t possibly.” However, she took the sweets without hesitation and cheerfully retreated to her own room. Left alone in the dim lamplight, Ryoichiro sipped sake with Tokuma. Even with the fusuma (sliding doors) closed, the sound of the rain was incessant.

Tokuma was able to drink, and when Ryoichiro offered him more, he didn’t refuse. Ryoichiro silently enjoyed the sight of Tokuma’s white face and neck gradually turning a reddish hue from the alcohol.

“By the way, have you ever eaten gyumeshi (beef rice)?” Ryoichiro asked.

Tokuma shook his head.

“I went to eat it with some students the other day—it was quite good. I’ll take you next time.”

Tokuma nodded, still red in the face. When Ryoichiro picked up his sake cup, Tokuma leaned forward to pour for him.

“If my father heard I’d eaten beef, he’d probably think it was the end of the world,” Ryoichiro said, drinking another cup before picking up a manju bun.

“Do you know what this manju is called?”

Tokuma shook his head again.

“They call it Doran. But don’t worry, no grass or flowers will come out when you eat it,” he joked.

Tokuma narrowed his eyes in a smile at the bad joke, and Ryoichiro laughed too. He had bought the manju just to see Tokuma’s face light up like that. Buzzing pleasantly from the sake, Ryoichiro felt deeply content as they laughed together.

He stretched out on the tatami, lying flat on his back. A sense of languor washed over him, as if his soul were escaping into the ceiling. When the tatami creaked softly, he opened his eyes to find Tokuma kneeling beside him.

Tokuma placed a hand over Ryoichiro’s eyes, then gestured to the right as if urging him to move. It seemed he was indicating that the futon had been laid out and Ryoichiro should go there to sleep.

“I’m going to drink a little more,” Ryoichiro replied.

Tokuma shook his head slowly and repeated the same gesture.

“No, I’m drinking,” Ryoichiro said defiantly, sitting up. Pouring himself three more cups in quick succession, he then deliberately laid his head on Tokuma’s lap. Tokuma neither protested nor moved, so Ryoichiro took advantage of the situation and pretended to fall asleep on his lap.

It reminded him of how, when he was a child, his mother—before her disappearance—would often rest her head on his father’s lap. The thought brought a sudden pang of curiosity about his father’s well-being. He had intended to ask Tokuma, who had recently returned from visiting their hometown, but he had put it off until the moment felt awkward. Now, it seemed too late to ask.

Tokuma occasionally returned to the countryside, but Ryoichiro only visited during the New Year. Officially, it was because of work, but the truth was that he didn’t want to go back.

As the eldest son of a rural sake brewery, Ryoichiro was technically expected to inherit the business. Studying botany leisurely at the university was hardly a proper pursuit for someone in his position. However, his father’s second wife had given birth to a son, which allowed Ryoichiro the freedom to remain in Tokyo.

Ryoichiro's father remarried when Ryoichiro was twelve and in middle school, six years after his mother Yone had disappeared. His new stepmother was the nineteen-year-old daughter of a wealthy village headman. Unable to let go of his memories of his biological mother, Ryoichiro struggled to accept this new maternal figure. In the midst of this, a younger brother was born, and Ryoichiro began to feel increasingly out of place within his own home. This sense of estrangement only grew with time, and by the time Ryoichiro started university and limited his trips home to twice a year, it had become all the more pronounced.

Being in this house with Tokuma was far more comfortable than being at his family home. Yet, a lingering sense of nostalgia remained—a faint ache for a place that now felt unfamiliar, but which still pulled at his heart in its own way.

When Ryoichiro opened his eyes, Tokuma's almond-shaped ones were gazing down at him. His slightly parted lips seemed strangely seductive, perhaps because of the faint intoxication that softened their shape. The fleeting thought of kissing those lips flashed through Ryoichiro's mind, racing through his body as an almost overwhelming urge. Oblivious to Ryoichiro's turbulent emotions, Tokuma stroked his forehead gently, as though soothing a child.

“I came back through the main gate today,” Ryoichiro said.

Tokuma’s eyes widened.

“You told me to use the back gate, but it felt cowardly to avoid it while leaving others to face the risk,” Ryoichiro explained.

The corners of Tokuma’s mouth twitched into a vague, ambiguous shape.

“Did the misfortune attach itself to me?” Ryoichiro asked.

Tokuma slowly shook his head.

“I see,” Ryoichiro murmured, then smiled.

“I must have strong luck.”

Leaning his body slightly, he pressed his face against the man’s lap, burying it near the sash tied around his lower abdomen. Pretending to act playful and affectionate, he inhaled deeply. Somewhere in his mind, a wicked thought lingered, wondering if he might catch the scent of the man’s essence.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

In early June, Associate Professors, assistants, and a handful of students set off to collect plant specimens at the Tani-no-se mountain, about five leagues away. Ryoichiro brought Tokuma along to help carry the inevitable haul of plants he would collect.

As Ryoichiro roamed around with his collecting box slung over his shoulder, Tokuma followed behind, carrying field books and their lunch. Having accompanied Ryoichiro on similar outings since childhood and assisted with specimen organization, Tokuma was more knowledgeable about plant names than most students. As they collected, Ryoichiro often asked Tokuma questions like, What’s this? What about that? Since some students didn’t know Tokuma couldn’t speak, they occasionally mistook Ryoichiro’s habit of talking to him as eccentric muttering to himself.

In the forest, Ryoichiro discovered Miyama Enreisou, a species in the lily family. Its green-tinted outer petals made it easy to overlook, but there it was in bloom. Although Ryoichiro had visited the Tani-no-se mountain several times before, this was his first time encountering the plant. Its roots were thick and deeply embedded, so he crouched to dig carefully, pushing aside the soil. As he worked, he overheard the voices of nearby students.

“Fukushima-sensei isn’t here today,” remarked Itami, a somewhat talkative and slightly frivolous student, addressing Hara.

“Apparently, he’s feeling unwell,” Hara replied.

Itami shrugged and let out a sly laugh. “Is that all it is? Fukushima-sensei’s escapades are becoming quite infamous. The gossip is that he’s obsessed with a courtesan in Yoshiwara.”

“Don’t say such careless things!” Hara snapped, but Itami only backed away playfully.

“It’s not baseless gossip. Everyone’s saying it. Nobody faults him for needing some diversion, but they do say he should know his limits. When it starts affecting his work, it’s a case of misplaced priorities.”

Hara was left without a retort, and Itami departed, satisfied with himself. Hara soon wandered off as well, leaving Ryoichiro with a sour feeling in his chest.

Fukushima had been frequently absent from the university lately, supposedly due to health issues. Ryoichiro hadn’t heard any other rumors, nor had he tried to learn more.

Ryoichiro himself had visited courtesans a few times in the past—or rather, he had been taken to visit them, as that would be more accurate.

The arms of women were soft and warm. Yet Ryoichiro had never truly lost himself in their embrace. Even in the midst of intimacy, his mind would remain strangely detached, growing colder the more heightened his excitement became. And, inexplicably, he found himself longing for Tokuma during those moments.

Ryoichiro had no intention of ever confessing his feelings for his older servant to anyone. Yet the closeness shared with a courtesan—the intimacy that required no deeper connection—had led him to admit, There’s someone I love.

The courtesan had responded casually, “If it’s just a servant, you should simply claim him for yourself. A master as kind as you are, surely he’d be moved by your affections.”

It wasn’t as if Ryoichiro had never thought about it. If he demanded Tokuma share his bed, he might comply more easily than Ryoichiro expected. After all, Ryoichiro was Tokuma’s employer, paying him a monthly salary that defined the parameters of their relationship. It seemed likely that Tokuma would see even such an intimate request as part of his duties.

Yet Ryoichiro couldn’t completely discount the role money played in their relationship, nor could he imagine it existing without it.

“If you dislike the bond created by money, then simply tell him you love him,” the courtesan had said.

It was true, Ryoichiro thought. He could simply confess. Yet he looked down, closing his mouth. Even if he admitted his feelings, he doubted Tokuma, as a man, could ever return them in a romantic sense. If that were the case, rejection would be inevitable.

After being rejected, would he still be able to touch Tokuma as casually as he did now? Could he still rest his head on Tokuma’s lap under the pretense of being drunk? The answer was no. Such a rejection would undoubtedly strain both of them, distorting their relationship beyond recognition.

And yet, letting go of Tokuma was equally unthinkable.

As Ryoichiro fell silent with a serious expression, the courtesan pointed at him and laughed.

"You’re afraid of being rejected by her, aren’t you? But if you stay silent, someday she’ll end up belonging to someone else."

Ryoichiro carefully shook the soil off the plant roots and wrapped them in newspaper. When he opened his collecting box, it was packed tightly with grasses and flowers. Tokuma spread a field book over the plants in the box, and Ryoichiro removed the specimens and neatly arranged them on top. Once the plants were placed, Tokuma covered them again with newspaper, closed the field book, and secured it with a leather strap. Watching Tokuma’s fingers fasten the belt, Ryoichiro spoke.

“Do you ever think about taking a wife?”

Tokuma looked up, tilting his head in confusion at the abrupt question.

“Not right away,” Ryoichiro clarified. “I mean sometime in the future.”

Tokuma retrieved a pencil and paper from his pocket and wrote: ‘Will you take a wife, Ryoichiro-san?’

Instead of answering, Tokuma turned the question back on him.

“Me? No, I won’t.”

‘Why not?’

Tokuma pressed him for a reason.

“An old woman like the housekeeper is enough for cooking meals. Besides, I’m busy with my studies.”

Tokuma laughed but offered no answer to Ryoichiro’s original question.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The plants collected that day were brought back to the university and promptly pressed. Once the pressing was complete, previously collected and sorted specimens were bundled with their accompanying newspapers and moved to the specimen room. The volume was significant, and even with Tokuma’s help, it took three trips between the assistant’s room and the specimen room to finish the task.

When it was finally done, Ryoichiro noted that night had already fallen as he walked down the university’s hallway, bathed in the light of the setting sun. He called out to Tokuma, who walked alongside him. Suddenly, the clatter of wooden sandals echoed from ahead, and a woman came running toward them, her kimono hem fluttering. Women were a rare sight on campus, and Ryoichiro was startled, especially by the wild look on her face, which sent a chill down his spine.

It reminded him of a theatrical painting he had once seen during a summer festival in the countryside—grotesque imagery of blood splatter and despair that had left a lasting impression on him as a child. The woman’s desperate expression resembled that of a figure in the painting, one screaming in their final moments.

Ryoichiro recognized the woman. She was Fukushima’s wife. He had met her once during a visit to Fukushima’s home. She had seemed a quiet and reserved woman who spoke in a soft voice.

Their eyes met, and she grabbed the sleeve of Ryoichiro’s shirt with surprising strength, shaking him violently.

“Do you know where my husband has gone? Please, tell me!” she cried.

“What happened to Fukushima-sensei?” Ryoichiro asked.

Her face crumpled, caught somewhere between grief and fury.

“You know, don’t you? You’re hiding it from me! Please, I beg you, tell me!”

She broke down in tears, wailing loudly enough to draw students and lecturers who were still on campus. Soon, Associate Professor Kamikawa, a close acquaintance of Fukushima, arrived and escorted her to the reception room.

Not knowing what had happened, Ryoichiro left the matter to the associate professor and returned home with the others.

The next day at the university, Ryoichiro heard from a student that Fukushima had left behind a single note and eloped with a courtesan from Yoshiwara. Apparently, he had borrowed large sums of money to fund his visits to her, and his house and possessions had been seized.

Fukushima’s wife, unaware of his infatuation with a courtesan, had trusted that his expenditures were for his academic work and that his late nights were due to research. A woman who neither doubted nor questioned, she could be described as either pure-hearted or naive to the ways of the world.

There is nothing that spreads faster than scandal. Fukushima was dismissed from the university, and the debt he left behind—too large to be covered even after his relatives gathered—was entirely assumed by the associate professor, who took pity on Fukushima’s wife.

Hara, a student who had studied under Fukushima, was reassigned to work with Ryoichiro. The relationship between Ryoichiro and Fukushima had been infamously contentious, so many were puzzled that one of Fukushima’s protégés would now work under Ryoichiro.

In the first week of July, Ryoichiro planned a plant-collecting trip to a nearby mountain with Hara and Tokuma. However, just as they were preparing to leave, a heavy rain began, rattling the windowpanes. Reluctantly, they decided to cancel the outing.

With no other options, Ryoichiro turned his attention to identifying the scientific names of previously collected but unclassified specimens using foreign botanical references.

He peered through a magnifying glass, examining the stamens, pistils, sepals, and leaf shapes. Lost in the work, he often lost track of time.

Looking up from the book, Ryoichiro met Tokuma’s gaze. He had brought Tokuma along to accompany them on the collection trip, but with the rain, Tokuma had instead been helping organize specimens. Tokuma pressed his stomach and pointed at the clock. It was just past 1 p.m., and as soon as Ryoichiro registered the time, he realized he was hungry.

“Hara-kun, shall we have lunch soon?” he asked.

Hara, who had been sketching specimens in the corner, turned around. “Sounds good.”

“Should we head out? Though this rain doesn’t seem to be letting up,” Ryoichiro mused aloud.

Standing nearby, Tokuma scribbled on a piece of paper: ‘I can go buy some onigiri f you’d like.’

“I see. Then order for Hara-kun as well,” Ryoichiro said.

Handing some money to Tokuma, Hara quickly interjected, “I’ll go instead,” stepping forward anxiously. Tokuma held out his right hand to stop him, smiled faintly, and walked out into the rain. Left behind, Hara wandered aimlessly around the room before finally turning to Ryoichiro.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“What for?” Ryoichiro asked.

“Well, Tokuma-san is your assistant. I should have been the one to go instead,” Hara explained.

Ryoichiro chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. He was probably bored anyway.”

Hara apologized again and then glanced out the window. “Tokuma-san is an unusual person, isn’t he?”

“Hm?” Ryoichiro responded.

“At first, I thought he was a student, so I was surprised to hear he’s your servant. He has such an intelligent air about him, and he can read English and Russian, too. I’ve seen him looking through foreign botanical encyclopedias with you.”

“He went to the same private academy as I did back home. They taught English, Russian, and a variety of other subjects there,” Ryoichiro explained.

“Oh, I see…” Hara replied, nodding as if to himself. He then fell silent, gazing out the rain-streaked window, and sighed suddenly.

“Recently, I received a letter from Fukushima-sensei,” he said.

“Did you?” Ryoichiro replied simply, not pressing for details. It had been nearly a month since Fukushima had eloped with a courtesan.

“He apologized for being ungrateful to the professors, the associate professors, his wife, and even me,” Hara continued.

“I see,” Ryoichiro replied again. After a long pause, Hara murmured, “You’re not going to ask me anything about it, are you?”

“Well, you haven’t volunteered anything, have you?” Ryoichiro snapped, irritation creeping into his tone.

Hara smiled faintly, lowering his eyes. “He wrote that there are Sasayuri lilies blooming near where he’s settled. He said he misses the university.”

Sasayuri lilies, Ryoichiro thought, pondering whether Fukushima had ended up somewhere in the west.

The conversation dwindled after that. When Tokuma returned with the onigiri and pickles, the three of them ate together. Not long after, Hara was called away by another student and left the assistant’s room.

“Apparently, Fukushima sent Hara-kun a letter,” Ryoichiro mentioned to Tokuma.

Whenever Ryoichiro brought Tokuma along on plant-collecting trips, Fukushima would inevitably complain: “I don’t think it’s appropriate to have a complete outsider participating in university workshops.” It wasn’t so much about Tokuma himself as it was about the fact that he was Ryoichiro’s servant, which seemed to particularly irk Fukushima.

Tokuma gazed at Ryoichiro for a moment before writing something on a piece of paper: ‘That man had a “fox of lust” attached to him.’

Ryoichiro read it and tilted his head. “A fox of lust? What’s that?”

Tokuma hesitated, his fingers hovering over the paper, before continuing to write: ‘It’s a fox spirit of carnal desire. When it attaches itself to someone, they become consumed by lust.’

Ryoichiro was taken aback. “Are you saying you saw that fox attached to Fukushima?”

Tokuma nodded silently.

“Then why didn’t you tell him? Letting someone fall into ruin because of a fox spirit—don’t you think that’s tragic?”

Tokuma lowered his eyes.

“Was it because you hated Fukushima? Because we didn’t get along, you thought it served him right, so you stayed quiet?” Ryoichiro demanded, grabbing Tokuma’s slender shoulders and shaking him roughly.

“Say something!” he shouted.

Twisting out of Ryoichiro’s grasp, Tokuma wrote another message: ‘I see far more mononoke and other yokai than you can imagine, Ryoichiro-san. Just because I can see them doesn’t mean I can do anything about them. That’s why I keep quiet.’

Ryoichiro started to protest, but Tokuma added more to the paper: ‘When the neighbor’s wife passed away, I saw a dog-like mononoke on her back as well.’

Ryoichiro recalled the elderly neighbor who had recently passed away. She had been quite old, and her sudden death, without prolonged illness, had seemed like a blessing at the time. He had even commented about it lightheartedly with the old housekeeper.

Perhaps Tokuma was right—maybe there really was nothing that could be done. Yet Ryoichiro couldn’t accept it. No, he didn’t want to accept it.

‘I don’t fully understand the nature of the mononoke I see. But I think they latch onto people because of some weakness in their hearts.’

“Even so, couldn’t you have at least tried to do something? Isn’t it better to attempt what you can, rather than doing nothing because you assume you can’t?”

Tokuma met Ryoichiro’s gaze as he listened, then wrote again:

‘That’s because Fukushima is someone you know, Ryoichirou-san. But if it were a stranger I passed by in town who had a mononoke clinging to them, would you really think to intervene? As I mentioned, I see countless yokai and mononoke. Trying to deal with every single one would be impossible. That’s why I leave them be. People’s lives are, to some extent, always influenced by such things.’

Ryoichiro could only bite his lip in frustration. Tokuma didn’t look away, holding his ground as his fingers began to move again on the paper:

‘I, too, harbor an oni within me. I’ve never shown it to you, and I never will—unless the oni inside me brings some calamity upon you.’

Ryoichiro studied the man before him anew, this man who spoke of carrying an oni inside himself. But all he saw was the same familiar figure—his trusted, kind, and beloved older servant, who always smiled and indulged his whims.

The words ideal and reality flickered through Ryoichiro’s mind. He couldn’t reconcile them, couldn’t digest them. Instead, he turned his back on Tokuma, unable to respond.

An hour passed in silence. The creak of the door broke the stillness, followed by the soft click of it closing. Ryoichiro turned to find the room empty. Tokuma was gone. In his place, a slip of paper rested atop the newly completed specimens:

‘I’ve taken my leave.’

Outside, the rain had stopped without Ryoichiro noticing. The clouds had parted, revealing patches of sky. Yet the clouds in Ryoichiro’s heart showed no sign of clearing anytime soon.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Ryoichiro had long known that Tokuma could see yokai and mononoke. However, Tokuma only ever mentioned such sightings when they posed a potential threat to Ryoichiro, so he hadn’t given it much thought. In fact, he had even felt a sense of selfish satisfaction that Tokuma’s abilities—feared by others—caused people to distance themselves from him, leaving Tokuma as Ryoichiro’s exclusive servant.

Though he neither hated Tokuma nor felt his affection for him waning, Ryoichiro began to create distance between them. He couldn’t reconcile himself with Tokuma’s assertion that “even if I see them, there’s nothing I can do.” He understood all too well how narrow-minded this reaction was, which only made his frustration grow.

Ryoichiro knew that people couldn’t live purely on ideals. Even within the academic world he belonged to, conflicts and disagreements were commonplace, and he could accept that. But he had wanted Tokuma to remain untouched by such human flaws. Simply put, Ryoichiro had wished for Tokuma to stay pure—a pristine, unsullied existence, like the white kimono Tokuma wore. He knew full well that no such person could exist, but he still wished it were so.

When Ryoichiro went on plant-collecting trips, he began taking only Hara along, leaving Tokuma behind. After two or three such outings, Hara finally asked, “Tokuma-san hasn’t been joining us lately, has he?”

“He has chores at home,” Ryoichiro replied curtly. Hara simply responded with, “I see,” and didn’t press further. Yet the mere mention of Tokuma made the simmering unease in Ryoichiro’s chest flare up, to the point where he could no longer focus on the plants in front of him.

“Hara-kun, Hara-kun,” Ryoichiro called out. Hara, who had been by the riverbank, hurried back.

“Is something wrong, Sensei?”

“No, it’s just…” Ryoichiro trailed off, unsure how to continue. Finally, he suggested, “Let’s take a short break,” and led Hara to a shady spot under a tree.

As they cooled off in the shade, Ryoichiro hesitated over whether to speak. At last, he decided to ask, “Hara-kun, how do you see Tokuma?”

Hara turned, tilting his head. “Tokuma-san?”

“Yes, Tokuma.”

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Hara murmured. “He’s so handsome it seems almost a waste for him to be a man. I can’t help but think that if I had a face like his, I’d have no trouble charming women. But Tokuma-san has his difficulties with speech, so it reminds me of the saying, ‘The gods do not grant two blessings.’”

“I’m not asking about how he looks,” Ryoichiro pressed. “What about his character?”

Hara, looking troubled, replied, “Well, wouldn’t you know him better than I do, Sensei?”

“If I understood him, I wouldn’t be asking,” Ryoichiro shot back irritably.

Hara chuckled, as if amused. “I only see Tokuma-san when we go collecting plants or organize specimens. We hardly talk, so I can’t speak to anything beyond what’s on the surface.”

Hara’s response was perfectly reasonable, and Ryoichiro fell silent once more.

“Have you two had a fight?” Hara ventured.

Ryoichiro let out a vague grunt, to which Hara responded with another laugh.

“Sensei, it seems to me that Tokuma-san is very fond of you,” Hara said.

“Fond of me?”

“I don’t know if that’s the right word, but I think Tokuma-san holds you in high regard, just as much as you value him,” Hara explained.

Hearing this, Ryoichiro felt a small sense of relief, as though the tension in his chest had loosened just a little.

That evening, upon returning home, Tokuma came to the entrance to greet him. Ryoichiro handed over his collecting box, removed his shoes, and stepped into the hallway. After relaxing for a while in the sitting room, dinner was prepared, and they ate together.

After the meal, Tokuma handed Ryoichiro a note that read, ‘I have something I would like to discuss with you.’

Curious, Ryoichiro followed Tokuma to the sitting room, where they sat facing each other across the table.

Tokuma didn’t immediately say what he wanted to, even when Ryoichiro asked, “Well? What is it?” He kept his head lowered in silence. The chirping of insects echoed faintly from the veranda. Ryoichiro was curious about what Tokuma wanted to discuss, but forcing it out of him seemed unkind. “Call me when you’re ready to talk,” he said, leaving Tokuma behind as he moved to the veranda to cool off.

After a while, Tokuma finally came to join him and handed him a note. It was too dark on the veranda to read, so Ryoichiro took it inside, unfolding the paper in the lamplight.

‘This is something I’ve been considering for a while. I’d like to return to our hometown and take care of my mother. She’s getting old, and I’m increasingly worried about leaving her alone. I have no siblings, and it’s been on my mind. I deeply regret this, but I hope you can forgive me.’

Ryoichiro finished reading and looked up, only to meet Tokuma’s gaze as the man bowed deeply.

“What is this supposed to mean?”

His fingers trembled as they gripped the paper.

“I asked you, what is this?” he shouted, his voice rising. Tokuma closed his eyes briefly, then picked up the pencil again and wrote:

‘I would like to resign from my position here.’

Ryoichiro’s trembling stopped, but a storm raged within his chest.

“What are you planning to do after you leave?” he demanded.

‘I’ll work back home,’ Tokuma wrote.

“Work? What kind of work do you think you’ll find in a rural village like that? You’re mute—no one will hire someone like you!”

Even Tokuma’s sorrowful expression did nothing to stop Ryoichiro’s outburst.

“Who in their right mind would want a man cursed by mononoke and oni?” he spat, grabbing Tokuma by the collar and pulling him close.

“Have you come to hate me that much?” he asked, his eyes boring into Tokuma’s.

“Have you come to hate me so much that you can’t bear to stay by my side?”

Even though Tokuma shook his head, Ryoichiro refused to acknowledge the gesture. He shoved Tokuma away roughly, crumpled the note in his hand, and threw it at Tokuma’s pale face.

“If you’re so desperate to go back to that village, then go! You ungrateful wretch!” he roared.

Standing abruptly, Ryoichiro saw Tokuma reach for his paper and pencil again, as if to respond. Enraged, Ryoichiro grabbed them and flung them into the garden. A splash followed—the items must have landed in the pond.

Leaving Tokuma standing there in stunned silence, staring out at the garden, Ryoichiro stormed into his sleeping quarters. Fully clothed, he threw himself onto his bedding, though he was far too agitated to sleep.

As he stewed in frustration, a voice called from the other side of the sliding door: “Sir, would you like your bath prepared?” It was the old housekeeper.

“No,” Ryoichiro replied curtly.

“What about Tokuma?” he asked after a pause.

“Hmm? I haven’t seen him…” the housekeeper answered uncertainly.

Her reply jolted Ryoichiro upright. He stormed out of the room, sliding the door open with such force that the housekeeper jumped.

“What do you mean you haven’t seen him?” he barked.

The old woman blinked her wrinkled eyes and answered hesitantly, “I haven’t seen him around, so I assumed he must be in his room.”

Without responding, Ryoichiro stomped down the hallway, the sound of his footsteps echoing loudly. He didn’t bother calling out as he slid open the door to Tokuma’s small, four-and-a-half-mat room.

Tokuma was there. The closet door was open, and the bag Ryoichiro had bought for short trips home was out, its contents partially packed. Just seeing Tokuma preparing to leave made the blood rush to Ryoichiro’s head.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted down at him.

Tokuma lowered his head slowly, almost as if the weight of his thoughts pressed it down.

“I won’t allow you to leave this house without my permission,” Ryoichiro declared.

Tokuma raised his head, then knelt before him, pressing his hands to the floor in a gesture of supplication.

“Try leaving without my consent,” Ryoichiro spat, “and I’ll have your mother, working as a servant in the countryside, thrown out as well.” With those venomous words, he stormed out of the room.

Though he crawled back into bed, the fury raging in his mind made sleep impossible. Emotions swirled chaotically in his chest, and more than once, like a restless dog, he sank his teeth into his pillow.

The night deepened, and sometime after midnight, rain began to fall. The loud drumming of the downpour was almost deafening. Ryoichiro pulled the blanket over his head, clenching his eyes shut against the noise.

The next morning, Tokuma came to wake him as usual. But long before the familiar sound of the sliding door, Ryoichiro had already been awake. As was his habit, Tokuma knocked lightly, and when no response came, he slid the door open. Finding Ryoichiro seated cross-legged atop his futon, Tokuma’s face showed brief surprise before he immediately averted his gaze.

His eyes seemed faintly red, as though he had been crying.

Though Ryoichiro’s anger had subsided, he didn’t know how to address Tokuma after the previous day’s events. Saying nothing, he brushed past the kneeling man.

Breakfast passed in much the same way. Though they sat facing each other at the table, neither looked at the other. The oppressive atmosphere lingered until Tokuma left the room. Once alone, Ryoichiro pressed a hand to his forehead and let out a heavy sigh.

It had been four days since Tokuma had first said he wanted to leave. Each morning since, Ryoichiro had risen before Tokuma came to wake him. Night after night, he found himself waking multiple times, unable to calm his nerves. On more than one occasion, he took a lamp, stepped into the hallway, and slid open the door to Tokuma’s room. Peering inside, he allowed a sliver of light to fall on Tokuma’s futon, finding reassurance in the sight of his sleeping form. Only then could he relax enough to rest again.

The fear that Tokuma might leave haunted Ryoichiro day and night. During the day, he sent Hara to fetch forgotten books from home, using the errand as a pretext to confirm Tokuma’s presence. But at night, there was no one to rely on but himself.

He hadn’t spoken to Tokuma since their confrontation. He knew this avoidance couldn’t continue, yet he couldn’t bring himself to face Tokuma again. He feared that if they talked, and Tokuma insisted on leaving, he would have no choice but to let him go. And that, Ryoichiro couldn’t bear.

That morning, Ryoichiro assisted a professor with a lecture. In the afternoon, just as he was preparing to sort through some unsorted specimens, he was summoned to the associate professor’s office.

The day was clear, but the associate professor’s office was stiflingly hot. Though the windows were open, the air barely moved. Sitting at his desk, Kamikawa, the associate professor, dabbed at the sweat on his brow with a handkerchief while lazily fanning himself with a bamboo fan.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” Kamikawa began. “You’re aware that the professor is overseeing the publication of the Illustrated Flora of Japan, yes? I’ve been thinking that you’d be perfect to handle the Poaceae family. What do you think?”

The Poaceae family—grasses such as silver grass and wild oats—was a group Ryoichiro particularly enjoyed collecting and categorizing. He had no objections. “Understood,” he replied.

Just as Kamikawa nodded, the office door was knocked on hurriedly.

“Excuse me, is Satake-sensei here?” Hara’s voice called from the other side.

Kamikawa looked up at Ryoichiro, tilting his head slightly. “We’re in the middle of a discussion. Is it urgent?”

Before receiving permission to enter, the door burst open. Hara rushed in, his face pale and panicked.

“Satake-sensei, it’s terrible—your family’s…” Hara trailed off, unable to finish. Instead, he thrust a telegram into Ryoichiro’s hands.

As Ryoichiro unfolded the crumpled paper and read its contents, the blood drained from his face.

"Satake, what’s the matter?" Kamikawa asked, his voice filled with concern.

But it wasn’t Ryoichiro who responded—it was Hara.

“There was a fire at his family home. His stepmother and younger brother passed away, and his father is in critical condition…”

“How terrible,” Kamikawa said, rising from his seat. While Ryoichiro sat in a daze, Kamikawa took swift action, instructing students to arrange for a rickshaw and check the train schedules. He also lent Ryoichiro some money, understanding that he likely wasn’t prepared for such an emergency.

“Pull yourself together, Sensei,” Hara urged, gripping Ryoichiro’s shoulders and shaking him as he slumped onto the sofa in Kamikawa’s office.

“Satake, hurry up,” Kamikawa called out. “If you leave now, you can catch the 3 PM train.”

Those words brought Ryoichiro halfway back to his senses.

“Tokuma…” he muttered. His voice was so faint that Hara leaned closer, asking, “What did you say?”

“I can’t go back without Tokuma. I need him. His mother… she’s gone too, apparently.”

“Tokuma’s in the assistant’s office,” Hara said. “He’s the one who brought the telegram to the university.”

At that, Ryoichiro shot to his feet, bolting out of the room. He shoved aside students in his path and flung open the door to the assistant’s office.

Tokuma stood by the window. He turned slowly to face Ryoichiro, his complexion pale but his expression far calmer than Ryoichiro’s own.

“…We’re going home,” Ryoichiro said.

Tokuma nodded slowly in response.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The train arrived at the rural station at 7 PM the day after receiving the telegram. They headed straight to the hospital, but his father had already passed away.

The bodies were taken to his uncle’s house since his own home had burned down, leaving nowhere to place them. In a twelve-tatami room (approximately 19.8 m² or 213 ft²) at the uncle’s house lay his father, stepmother, younger brother, and Tokuma’s mother, who had no other relatives. Many people came to the wake. The family’s sake brewery had a long history, and his father was well-connected.

Ryoichiro greeted the visitors, thanked them, and saw them off. He repeated this mindlessly, over and over, without time to truly grieve.

It wasn’t until after the funeral that he was finally left alone. In the countryside, post-funeral gatherings included meals with the guests. Offering only a token greeting, Ryoichiro slipped away and secretly went to see the ruins of the family home. The sprawling estate was reduced to ashes, with only the charred remnants of pillars and the blackened hedge hinting at its former glory.

He circled the property before stepping inside. The acrid smell of soot filled the air. A sharp crack beneath his feet revealed a scorched teacup shattering under his weight.

By the time he returned to his uncle’s house, evening had fallen, but the post-funeral gathering continued. Ryoichiro exchanged brief words with relatives who had traveled from afar before retreating to a six-tatami room in the western wing, where his uncle had told him to rest.

Tokuma was there, sitting upright by the window, gazing outside. The uncle’s house was modest, and Ryoichiro shared the room with him.

Noticing Ryoichiro’s movement, Tokuma turned and stared at him intently. Ignoring the gaze, Ryoichiro silently walked to the corner of the room and sat cross-legged. From the time they’d departed for the countryside, Ryoichiro had barely spoken a word. Even at his uncle’s house, aside from discussing funeral arrangements, he hadn’t said much.

Tokuma remained calm throughout. He had arrived at the university with a large bag containing Ryoichiro’s mourning attire and a few changes of clothes, prepared the moment he read the telegram. Unlike Ryoichiro, who had been frozen in shock, Tokuma had acted decisively.

A cool breeze drifted in through the open window. Ryoichiro changed his position, wrapping his arms around his knees. From far off, the chirping of insects mixed with faint voices from the gathering for the departed. The creaking of tatami mats broke the stillness, followed by the sliding sound of a door. As footsteps grew distant, a crushing sense of loneliness overwhelmed Ryoichiro. Hugging his knees tighter, he shrank into himself.

The door slid open again, suddenly this time, prompting Ryoichiro to reflexively lift his head. Tokuma stood there, looking down at him. For some reason, he found the sight terrifying.

Tokuma knelt beside him, holding a fan in his hand. He began fanning Ryoichiro’s face, two or three gentle waves of air, before pressing his fingers to the tatami and tracing characters on it.

"You must be tired. Please lie down and rest for a while," the message read.

The white fingers moved again.

"I’ll fan you until you fall asleep."

Ryoichiro couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed the hand tracing letters on the tatami.

“Aren’t you sad?”

Tokuma gazed at him.

“Don’t you hate me?”

Tokuma didn’t answer. No, he couldn’t answer. The words Tokuma might say were now held in Ryoichiro’s grasp.

“If I hadn’t been so stubborn, if I’d let you leave when you asked for time off, maybe you wouldn’t have had to leave your mother alone to die.”

Regret poured out of him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, squeezing Tokuma’s fingers tightly, his forehead pressed to the tatami.

“Please, forgive me,” he begged, his voice trembling.

“Forgive me.”

A sensation touched his head. A soft, gentle stroking. It felt like he was a child again.

When he looked up, Tokuma placed both hands at the corners of his eyes. When Ryoichiro was a boy, searching fruitlessly for his missing mother and crying in despair, Tokuma had always pressed his hands to his tearful eyes, trying to stop the flow of tears.

"I'm not crying," Ryoichiro said, just as a tear slipped down his cheek. Even he was startled by it.

"I..."

Even when he closed his eyes, tears continued to flow. As Tokuma's hand gently stroked his head again, Ryoichiro was certain he was being forgiven. Relief washed over him, and something within him seemed to burst.

Clinging to Tokuma's lap, Ryoichiro wept. He did so without a sound, silently shedding tears. Only now, at last, did it feel like he could truly cry for the family he had lost.

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