Craving Cantonese Food

The ore selection was over, and everyone had been assigned a Kasugai Crow. The one that landed on Rokuya's shoulder was noticeably larger than the other crows, with a vicious look in its eyes. It had just opened its beak to caw a couple of times and establish its status when one icy look from Rokuya scared it into swallowing the sound and meekly drawing in its neck.

It was time to part ways.

At the fork at the foot of the mountain, Rokuya and Kanae stood side by side. A breeze brushed past, lifting Kanae's hair, and her pink butterfly hair ornaments glittered in the sunlight.

"Rokuya, I should head back to my Cultivator's place to pick up Shinobu." Kanae lowered her head slightly, her hands folded in front of her, her fingers twisting together. She was clearly reluctant to leave.

"Yeah. Be careful on your way back. It's broad daylight, but there could still be small fry hiding in the shadows." Rokuya spoke mildly, gazing into the distance. "I need to head back to Mount Sagiri, too. That old man who wears a Tengu Mask all day is probably worrying himself sick at home."

Kanae raised her head, her gentle eyes fixed on Rokuya's stern profile, and asked softly, "Then... when will we see each other again? You haven't forgotten what you promised me, have you?"

Rokuya turned to look at the girl before him. He reached out and flicked her forehead without ceremony.

"Ow!" Kanae covered her forehead and gave him a reproachful look.

"You talk too much." Rokuya withdrew his hand, an almost imperceptible curve lifting the corner of his mouth. "I told you, I'll be Shinobu's blade. Anyone who dares call her a burden gets cut down. Of course I'll look out for you, too. Stay put with Shinobu. Once I make a name for myself in the Corps, I'll come find you."

Rokuya paused, his tone suddenly turning utterly serious, carrying an overbearing authority that brooked no defiance. "And remember this. Whatever kind of demon you run into, if you can't beat it, run. You're not allowed to die. Both your lives are under my protection now. Even King Yama has to ask my blade's permission before he takes you!"

Kanae froze. Looking into Rokuya's eyes, sharp as blades yet hiding deep concern, she suddenly felt her eyes grow hot. She nodded firmly and broke into a smile that seemed to drain the color from all the surrounding wisteria.

"I'll remember. Shinobu and I will always be waiting for you, Rokuya."

The two parted at the fork. Rokuya watched Kanae's retreating figure until she disappeared at the end of the road, then turned and strode toward Mount Sagiri.

"Well then... time to head back and report."

Three days later.

The foot of Mount Sagiri was still shrouded in the thin mist that never dispersed all year round. The air here was cool and crisp, carrying the scent of earth and pine needles.

Yet the lonely little wooden cabin halfway up the mountain was filled with a suffocating, deathly stillness.

Sakonji Urokodaki sat cross-legged before the hearth, the firelight reflecting off his red Tengu Mask and making it look especially gloomy. Wild vegetable soup bubbled in the iron pot over the hearth, but none of the three people in the room had any appetite.

Giyu Tomioka sat in a corner with his knees drawn up, biting hard on his lower lip, his vacant eyes staring at the floor.

Makomo hung her head, both hands gripping the hem of her clothes, tears pattering down like beads from a broken string.

Sabito paced endlessly around the room, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles cracked, his short, flesh-colored hair in disarray.

"It's already been half a month... the Final Selection should've ended ages ago..." Sabito stopped abruptly and shouted at Urokodaki, "Master Urokodaki! Why hasn't Rokuya come back yet?! He's so strong! There's no way he could've died on Mount Fujikasane!"

"Sabito, sit down." Urokodaki's voice was frighteningly hoarse, as though squeezed from deep within his throat.

"How am I supposed to sit still?!" Sabito's eyes were red, and even his voice shook. "He said he'd come back alive and fight me one-on-one! He said not even King Yama could take anyone under his protection! That bastard... how could that bastard who does nothing but freeload possibly die?!"

Giyu suddenly buried his head in his arms, letting out muffled sobs. "It's all my fault... if only I were stronger, if only I could've gone to the selection and helped him..."

Urokodaki slowly closed his eyes. Beneath the mask, his face had aged more than ten years.

Again.

Was it going to happen all over again?

He had taken in so many talented children and taught them Water Breathing, intending to give them the strength to survive in this cruel world. Yet why did every disciple he placed such high hopes in vanish without a word on that mountain where the wisteria bloomed?

Was his Water Breathing really too gentle?

Was he truly unworthy of being a teacher?

Urokodaki's withered fingers dug deep into the fabric over his thighs. The guilt and despair within him nearly crushed this former Water Hashira who had once commanded awe throughout the region.

Just then, heavy, dragging footsteps suddenly sounded outside the cabin door.

All four people in the room instantly froze.

Creak-

The old wooden door was unceremoniously kicked open, and cold wind flooded the dim room along with the sunlight.

A silver-haired boy stood in the doorway, his clothes in tatters and his body covered in dried blood. He carried a heavy object haphazardly wrapped in rags. His normally sharp eyes were now filled with exhaustion, and his stomach was even letting out exaggerated growls.

"Hey, old man." Rokuya hooked the door shut with his heel, casually tossed his katana into a corner, and walked straight over to sit beside the hearth. "Is the food ready? I spent seven days chewing on wild fruit on that lousy mountain. My mouth's practically forgotten what flavor is. I'm craving Cantonese food."

Dead silence.

The room fell deathly silent.

Sabito's eyes widened, his lips trembling, and he could not get a single word out for a long time; Makomo covered her mouth, her tears flowing even harder; Giyu jerked his head up and stared at that familiar figure, snot and tears smeared all over his face.

Sakonji Urokodaki's body shuddered violently. Without a word, he silently picked up a bowl and, with trembling hands, heaped it full of rice, poured a large ladleful of piping-hot wild vegetable soup over it, and held it out to Rokuya.

"...Eat." The old man's voice was thick and nasal.

Rokuya did not stand on ceremony. He took the bowl and shoveled down huge mouthfuls. The only sound left in the entire room was his ravenous eating.

When he finished the first bowl, Urokodaki silently handed him a second.

Only after eating fifteen full bowls did Rokuya let out a satisfied belch and casually wipe his mouth on his sleeve.

He glanced at the four people in the room, each wearing a different expression, and sighed.

"All right, stop looking like you're at a funeral. Aren't I sitting right here, perfectly fine?"

As he spoke, Rokuya reached out and pulled over the rag-wrapped bundle he had brought in earlier.