Edo, late at night.
Only one dim oil lamp burned in the inn room. Its flame flickered, casting shadows that stretched and shrank across the paper door. The street outside had fallen quiet. Now and then, the clack of a night watchman's wooden clapper sounded, only to fade back into the darkness.
Kashimo stood in the doorway, the Ruyi Staff in hand, and looked back at the figure curled up on the bed.
"Don't go wandering off, got it?"
Rinko clutched the blanket, leaving only half her face exposed. The lamplight shimmered in her eyes, bright as those of a startled fawn.
"Am I staying here alone?"
Her voice was muffled, tinged with uncertainty.
Kashimo scratched his head.
"Yeah..." He paused. "Anyway, it's safe. Nothing's going to happen."
He sounded perfectly confident, but he wasn't actually all that sure himself. Edo Castle was enormous. How would he know whether something might sneak in during the night?
Still, he couldn't admit that.
Rinko watched him without saying anything or loosening her grip.
Kashimo waited a couple of seconds. Seeing that she had no intention of moving, he set a pitch-black short blade on the cabinet beside the bed.
Then he simply turned and slid the door open.
"I left you a cursed tool on the cabinet. Use it if you're in danger."
"I'll be back soon."
The door closed softly.
His footsteps gradually receded, disappearing at the end of the corridor.
Clutching the blanket, Rinko stared at the door for a long time. The flame flickered, and the clapper outside sounded once more.
"...Okay."
Kashimo disappeared into the night.
The inn's corridor fell quiet, leaving only the faint sound of the night watchman's clapper in the distance. Rinko clutched her blanket and stared at the closed door for a long time.
He must be going to intercept the sorcerers arriving tonight before anyone else gets to them.
Rinko remembered what Kashimo had said that afternoon: "Even a tiny EXP pack is still EXP." She didn't really understand what an EXP pack was, but she could more or less guess that he had gone to pick fights.
She reached for the blade on the cabinet beside her, then huddled down again and buried herself in the blanket.
It was all right when Kashimo was there. Though he didn't talk much, though he always looked so laid-back, though he was the man who had killed her father, as long as he was beside her, she felt that everything would be fine.
But he wasn't there.
Now she was all alone.
Rinko pulled the blanket higher, covering half her face. There was only one oil lamp in the room, and its flickering flame made the cabinet's shadow in the corner stretch and shrink. A breeze passed outside, and the paper door rustled softly.
She whipped her head around.
There was nothing there.
Rinko slowly drew back, curling herself into an even smaller ball.
Her father had entrusted her to this man. The dying words his killer had brought back were her father's final instructions. She didn't know why her father had chosen the man who killed him to look after his daughter, but that was what had happened.
Kashimo was the only shelter she had left.
But now, that shelter had walked out the door.
The clapper outside sounded again. Rinko closed her eyes, then opened them. With her eyes shut, she kept feeling as though something in the darkness was watching her. With them open, she was afraid she might see something.
She took a deep breath and pulled the blanket over her head.
Please come back soon.
She repeated the plea silently.
The night deepened.
Inside the inn room, the oil lamp finally burned through its last drop of oil. The flame struggled, flickered twice, and went out with a soft puff. Darkness rushed in at once, filling every corner.
Rinko curled up in the dark.
At some point, she had drifted into sleep with the blade in her arms, but her sleep was shallow. Her dreams were a jumble of things: her father lying in a pool of blood, her senior fellow disciple Haruta twitching on the ground, and the wind roaring past her ears as Kashimo raced along with her on his back.
At the edge of her dream, something was approaching.
A pitch-black phantom appeared silently at the window. The moonlight filtering through the paper could not reveal its shape. All that could be seen was a mass of black deeper than the night, like thick ink slowly seeping inside.
Negative emotions nourished cursed spirits.
This was common knowledge in Jujutsu Society. Human fear, resentment, and sorrow all attracted those things that fed on negative emotions and flesh. Even though Rinko had no cursed energy because of her Heavenly Restriction, negative emotions themselves were the finest bait.
And tonight, she was terrified.
The phantom slipped in along the edge of her dream, like a drop of ink falling into clear water and slowly spreading.
Rinko frowned in her sleep.
What was she dreaming about?
The scene in her dream changed. Her father's corpse was gone, and so were Haruta's screams. In their place was somewhere completely unfamiliar: a gray, desolate wilderness beneath a sky so low it pressed down on her, making it hard to breathe.
She stood there alone, gripping the blade.
In the distance, something was watching her.
Rinko wanted to run, but her legs were as heavy as lead. She wanted to shout, but no sound would come from her throat. The thing drew closer and closer.
The phantom at the window had seeped completely into her dream.
It had no physical form, only a mass of chaotic darkness, but its eyes shone-deathly white eyes without pupils, staring straight at Rinko in her dream.
"Found you..."
The voice came from every direction, as though countless people were whispering in her ears.
Rinko began to tremble. Even in her sleep, she could not stop shaking.
The phantom extended an equally black hand, slowly reaching toward her face.
The next instant, Rinko's vision blurred.
The gray wilderness vanished, along with that suffocating pressure. In its place was somewhere she knew better than anywhere else.
The dojo.
The slanting evening sunlight streamed through the paper doors, spreading a warm yellow glow across the floor. The air held a faint scent of incense, along with the smell she had known since childhood: her father's sweat mingled with wood as he practiced his swordsmanship.
She stood there, staring blankly at the man before her.
Kujū Jūrō.
Her father stood before her in that old robe washed pale with wear, his back to the setting sun outside the window, looking down at her. His gaze was so gentle, and there was even a faint smile on his lips. It was just the way he had always looked at her when she grew tired from sword practice as a child.
"Rinko."
He spoke, and his voice was just as familiar: deep, gentle, and slightly hoarse.
Rinko's eyes suddenly burned.
"F-Father..."
She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but her legs would not move, as though they were nailed to the floor. She wanted to cry, but no tears would come. She could only stand there, looking at the man who was supposed to be dead, now standing alive before her.
Kujū Jūrō reached out and gently ruffled her hair, just as he had when she was little.
"It's all right now," he said.
"Your father is here."
Out in the wilderness.
Moonlight spilled over a clearing in the woods, illuminating several figures sprawled in every direction. Some were curled up, some lay facedown, and others lay on their backs. Their expressions varied, but they had one thing in common: none of them moved.
Kashimo stood beside one of them and gave him a light kick.
No response.
He kicked him again.
Still no response.
"Tch." He drew his foot back and rubbed his nose. "You acted so tough. How come you couldn't take a beating?"
No one answered him.
The night breeze swept up a few fallen leaves, sending them spinning past him. Kashimo rested the Ruyi Staff on his shoulder and surveyed his surroundings.
These woods had been pretty lively a little while ago. Sorcerers had appeared in twos and threes from different directions, probably arriving early to scout the area. He had happened to block the route they all had to take. If one came, he beat one. If two came, he beat both.
And the result?
They were all down.
Not a single one could put up a fight.
Kashimo curled his lip and turned deeper into the woods. The moonlight stretched his shadow long behind him, and it faded in and out among the trees as he walked.