Kimiko and the Accidental Proposal

by Forthright

  Those yellow eyes took on an appreciative shine, and he responded in kind—surprised delight, acknowledgement of her reaver status, a promise of harmony. And after a moment’s pause, a wholly unnecessary—and intensely personal—compliment on the sweetness of her soul.

  Which was really very kind, but Kimiko didn’t let it go to her head. It was practically the only nice thing he could have said, given her low rating. But it was still nice to hear, and she flashed him a smile.

  A twittering giggle snagged her attention, and she tuned in to a whispered argument across the aisle.

  “No, you ask him.”

  “You’re the one who’s curious.”

  “Shhh!”

  Kimiko turned, and two high school girls were suddenly fascinated by their phones. This again? She scratched the side of her face and glanced sheepishly back at the wolf.

  He was laughing at her. Or them. Or maybe this whole silly situation. Any Amaranthine—with their keener senses—could detect something as basic as gender. With discreet gestures, the wolf called the human girls blind, he complimented Kimiko’s skill as a trickster, and he declared the advantage hers.

  Another kindness. But really, she didn’t need cheering up. It happened all the time. If it had bothered her, she could have changed her appearance or behavior. But she’d come to enjoy making people wonder.

  “Ask him.”

  “He must be a reaver. That tunic, for instance.”

  “Could be a knock-off. Besides, you can’t tell a reaver by looking. They’re human, but with skills.”

  “Would you date a reaver?”

  “Depends on his skills.”

  “Eee, I can’t believe you said that!”

  Kimiko wondered what these girls would think if they knew how totally unromantic reaver marriages usually were. It was hard to get excited about pedigree reports, progeny projections, and the filing of a dozen or more spousal applications. Often for a person you’d never met.

  As one of three unmatched daughters, she knew more than enough about the process.

  Even though looks and personality were of secondary consideration, Kimiko’s mother was forever comparing her to her older sister. Noriko was gentle and lovely and petite, just like Mama had been, back when she caught their father’s eye.

  Fourteen-year-old Sakiko was promisingly pretty, if a bit taller than average. But Kimiko’s younger sister would never be mistaken for a boy. Not when her straight black hair hung like a satin curtain almost to her knees.

  Kimiko was tall and flat-chested, and she kept her hair cropped. Reaver attire was unisex, and the freedom it offered only encouraged an unladylike stride. Her boots, which were standard issue for the Ingress Academy uniform, made her big feet look even bigger. Having grown up in a very normal human community, Kimiko knew she held exactly zero feminine appeal. But as a slightly-too-pretty boy, she turned heads.

  Most of the time, she ignored the whispers, giggles, and long looks. But once in a while, when the circumstances fit, she was silly in her own way. Kimiko understood the elation of being noticed. She so rarely was.

  So as the train neared her stop, she tucked her chin, making it even harder for her admirers to catch on. The hum of the subway changed pitch, and an automated voice announced Kikusawa’s station. Kimiko gathered up her shopping bags and, gazing up through the fringe of her bangs, caught the girls watching.

  She smirked, then strode out, adding some swagger to her step. Her harmless little performance was rewarded by gasps, giggles, and bright smiles.

  Curious if the wolf had seen, Kimiko continued along the side of the train to the back window. He was there, grinning now, all fang and fraternity. And he bid her farewell in a way that roughly translated you’ve made me glad our paths crossed.

  Kimiko returned the gesture, waved goodbye in a completely human way, then mounted the stairs to street level with even more spring in her step than usual.

  Home for Kimiko was Kikusawa, an aging neighborhood within Keishi, full of small shops and nosy neighbors. Faded paint, rusted metal, curling advertisements tacked to walls. She supposed Kikusawa was a little on the shabby side, but she preferred to focus on the good parts. Vivid bins of satsuma oranges at the grocers. The tempting sizzle of croquettes, served piping hot in paper sleeves. Sticky-sweet burned sugar smells coming from the tea shop that grilled their dango out front to lure in customers.

  People lived over shops or behind businesses. Poky alleys hid the entrances to restaurants, the barber, a hardware store, and the candy shop Kimiko had frequented since she could walk. She hoped this part of the city—her part—would never change. Everyone bought their produce from the Nakamura’s and their fish from Satoh and Sons. The Smiling Cat was famous for its western-style lunch menu, and The House of the Noble Chrysanthemum sold traditional sweets.

  It was a matter of pride to shop locally, which made Kimiko self-conscious about her collection of bags. But some things couldn’t be bought in Kikusawa.

  “Kimi-chan,” called Mrs. Miura, who was sprinkling salt on the public bath house’s front step. Wrinkles might hide the little old woman’s eyes, but she never missed a thing. “Adding to your collection?”

  “Yes, Auntie.” Kimiko hurried to her side and held out one of the bags. “I found these two stations over. Limited editions for the New Year.”

  Mrs. Miura pawed gently through the bag, humming and clucking. “I used to like these when I was a girl. My father worked for Junzi, you know.”

  She knew that, of course. Mrs. Miura had told her the story dozens of times. The local chocolate-maker was famous throughout Japan for the superior quality of their sweets and for the artistry in their packaging. “My grandfather used to buy them for me.”

  “I used to play with Miyabe-kun.” She lifted one of the squat chocolate bars, foil wrapped, with a heavy paper sleeve adorned with plum blossoms. “He always had a sweet tooth.”

  “Me, too. Would you like that one, Auntie?”

  “No, no, dear.” Mrs. Miura returned the chocolate to her bag. “Didn’t you go a long way for these? Only bring your book down sometime soon.”

  “As soon as I add these,” Kimiko promised.

  She’d been collecting labels from Junzi chocolate bars since grade school, when she’d first realized what limited edition meant. Her grandfather had helped her find them, buy them, and organize them. And he’d never left Keishi without bringing home Junzi chocolate bars exclusive to other prefectures.

  Kimiko missed him terribly.

  But her usual trick mostly worked. Focus on the good parts, like the tradition he had started and she would carry on. Not out of duty, but for love.

  With a parting wave for Mrs. Miura, Kimiko continued homeward. Theirs was a tight-knit community, mostly overlooked by outsiders and ruled by the Kikusawa Business Association and the Ladies Neighborhood Improvement Committee. They had their own schools—preschool through middle—and a community center where folks gathered to play shogi, mahjong, or table tennis. Kimiko passed the pharmacy, a twenty-four hour convenience store, and old Mr. Ryota’s steamy oden cart.

  “Miyabe-kun!”

  Kimiko waved cheerily at Mr. Fujiwara, who owned the butcher shop. The deep-voiced man with his craggy features and bloody apron used to frighten her when she was small. But there was a good nature behind his gruff way of speaking.

  He beckoned her over to the window at the front of his shop and its brightly-lit glass case. Making a big show of looking both ways, he passed her a steamed bun.

  “Are you sure?” she asked. The glossy white bread was hot against her palm.

  Mr. Fujiwara pointed knowingly at the bags looped over her arms. “Sweets aren’t strength, and you’ll be needing yours.”

  “Thank you!” Kimiko broke the bun in half, releasing a fragrant cloud of steam. “Will we see you up top tonight?”

  The man, who had gone to school with her mother, patted his muscular bicep. “You can count on me and my boys! These are the times
when friends and neighbors rally together!”

  “Until later.” Kimiko waved and called, “Thank you, again!”

  Many of the shops had closed up early. No doubt they were already hard at work, helping with the finishing touches for tomorrow’s New Year’s Eve festivities.

  She’d polished off the last of the pork bun by the time she reached the pair of ancient cherry trees that marked the turning to the elementary school. Then a covered bus stop. Beyond was a steep, forested slope, thick with evergreens. Nestled beneath the overhanging boughs was a long, narrow stairway, its foot framed by a distinctive red arch and a pair of crouching stone dragons.

  Home for Kimiko Miyabe was Kikusawa, but especially Kikusawa Shrine. Because the Miyabe family had always lived on the outermost edge of the In-between, serving the human community as shrinekeepers.

  FOUR

  Kikusawa Shrine

  “Are you waiting for me?” Kimiko called.

  “Not particularly. But welcome home, anyhow.”

  Her younger sister was sitting on the third step from the bottom, a round cushion protecting her posterior from frigid stone. The full legs of her red hakama billowed above the neat set of her feet, and her long hair pooled artfully at her side. She made a lovely picture. And knew it.

  It was Kimiko’s private opinion that her sister only exerted herself if a minimum of three reasons hung in the balance. Like a strategy quota.

  Sakiko took in her appearance with a sweeping gaze. “Your priorities are as baffling as ever.”

  Kimiko hunched her shoulders. “Daddy said I could go.”

  “I’m not sure we should be relying on his priorities, either.” Her sister’s chin lifted. “You need to make the best possible impression the day after tomorrow. Our future depends on it.”

  “One year at New Saga High School isn’t going to add any polish to our pedigree.”

  “No, but you’ll be meeting important people.” Sakiko shook a finger at her. “Connections lead to contracts!”

  While she didn’t necessarily share her sister’s ambitious brand of optimism, Kimiko couldn’t deny that New Saga represented a unique chance. All members of the Kikusawa branch of the Miyabe family were reavers in good standing, but their numbers and ranking had diminished over the generations.

  The only way to bring up the quality of their pedigree was through marriage. But reavers from the best families didn’t apply for lackluster girls. And the daughters of Kikusawa Shrine had few chances to make the kinds of connections that might improve their circumstances.

  That was mostly their mother’s doing.

  Although Sakiko had a point about their father’s priorities.

  Mama was a local girl—not a reaver—but Daddy had brought her into the family. His bride remained blissfully ignorant of the In-between until Noriko was of the usual age to enroll at Ingress. Then came an almighty falling out and an intensely awkward coming out. But Kikuko Miyabe flat-out refused to uphold reaver tradition and send her children away.

  People would have talked.

  So Noriko, Kimiko, and Sakiko had attended the neighborhood kindergarten, primary, and middle schools. On the condition that they forgo any extracurricular clubs in favor of reaver training at home.

  Until her entrance exam for Ingress Academy two years ago, Kimiko’s way of life was barely distinguishable from that of any other girl in Kikusawa. At least outwardly. Because those extra lessons at home had brought a covert stream of intriguing tutors. At the beginning, Kimiko hadn’t understood that many of these people weren’t human.

  One of her earliest memories was of a smooth face and strange eyes, soft hands and a gentle smile. She could remember reaching up ... and the stranger reaching back. And being called puppy. Now, she understood that their special guest had been brought in to assess the girls’ potential.

  Grandma’s crisp words cut across the good memory. “This is what comes of marrying for love.”

  But then her grandfather had said, “A star is a star, no matter how brightly it shines.”

  And that had made Kimiko so happy, because the Star Festival had already been her favorite, even back then.

  She quickly learned to tell the difference between her human and inhuman instructors. The reavers were usually Daddy’s old classmates, former teachers, or acquaintances from other temples and shrines. Amaranthine visitors were usually acquaintances of her grandfather, or more accurately, of her grandfather’s grandfather. Their memories were as long as their lifespans, and they were willing to show kindness to the descendants of a friend.

  Piecemeal. Secretive. Detached. Eclectic. It was like being stuck in the very middle of the middle. Her childhood had rung with constant warnings from Grandma about keeping the family secret from kids at school. She’d then enrolled at Ingress Academy a full decade behind other reavers her age—unknown and unremarkable.

  New Saga really might help matters. And the only reason Kimiko would have this opportunity was because Sakiko had applied on her behalf.

  “What are you even doing down here?” Kimiko asked.

  Her sister patted a squat clay pot at her side. One grandpa used to use during certain ceremonies and rituals. “Checking for icy patches.”

  “No, really.” Because the south-facing stairway needed salting about as often as it needed purifying. “What are you waiting for?”

  “There might be a packet.”

  “Our mailbox is at the back gate.”

  Sakiko lifted her eyes to the sky as if asking for patience. “I’m waiting for a herald.”

  Kimiko followed her gaze, scanning the scattering of puffy clouds in the winter-blue sky. “Are we actually expecting one?”

  “Why not? This week is the most popular for wedding feasts, betrothal announcements, apprenticeship postings, and class advancements. Any applications filed on Dichotomy Day could still arrive today. Or responses to applications.”

  “I suppose so.” Kimiko’s heart seized at a disturbing thought. “You didn’t file any applications on my behalf, did you?”

  “Would I do that?”

  Kimiko groaned. “Please say you didn’t.”

  Sakiko shook her head. “We need to get Noriko contracted first. And if nothing better turns up at New Saga, you can sift through her spares.”

  She nodded. That was pretty much what she’d expected. After all, they were searching for young men who were interested in transferring permanently to Kikusawa and serving as shrinekeepers. Far from a typical career path. Any reavers who applied for Noriko would fit the same profile Kimiko needed.

  Grandma was adamant that the girls stay, and Mama showed a shockingly ambitious streak. Reavers were quite fashionable now, and she was all for securing the best for Noriko. Only Daddy seemed unhappy with the family’s current obsession with genetic inheritances, and Kimiko wasn’t entirely sure why. This is how matches were made in the In-between, with an eye to continuing—and ideally, strengthening—one’s line.

  Sakiko’s lips pressed thin. “I filed thirty blind applications and added Noriko’s name to a couple of circulating lists. We extended the search parameters.”

  Kimiko shuffled her feet. They’d searched locally at first, mostly focusing on graduates of Ingress Academy. “What’s the extent now?”

  “Worldwide.”

  A drastic change that smacked of desperation. “Hasn’t anyone applied for her?”

  “Yes, but none of those men can improve our situation.” Sakiko pouted. “We can do better.”

  Kimiko started to say that they really couldn’t do worse. Except … they could. “I think Abe Fujiwara is interested in Noriko.”

  “The butcher’s son. Yes, I’d noticed.” Sakiko propped her chin on her fists. “Worse, Noriko’s finally noticed.”

  “You don’t think she would …?”

  “Based on the flush in her cheeks and the shine in her eyes, I’d say our big sister is perilously close to repeating a pattern that could doom us to ever-deepening mediocrit
y and eventual expulsion from the In-between.” Sakiko’s lips trembled for a moment, but her conviction was rock-steady. “You need to make the best possible impression at New Saga.”

  FIVE

  Class 3-C

  In keeping with reaver tradition, New Saga High School began its inaugural term on the first day of the New Year. After opening assembly, Kimiko walked slowly through the halls, marveling at the sheer number of Amaranthine in attendance.

  Yes, she’d had afternoon tutors from this or that clan. And sure, there were Amaranthine advisers, lecturers, and mentors among the staff at Ingress Academy. But there, most of the teachers and all of the students had been reavers. Here, at least a quarter of the student body wasn’t human.

  She’d been fascinated by the clans all her life, but from a distance. Everything she knew from stories and fables now felt secondhand and stale. Because this was vividly, dazzlingly real. Did reavers of the upper ranks get to mingle this freely with the Amaranthine? Envy pinched at her soul, but only for a moment. Because she was intensely glad to be here.

  She owed Sakiko big time.

  Savor this. Never forget this. Kimiko slowed her steps even further, trying to prolong the minutes. She needed to collect every moment and keep it safe. They were limited editions in the truest, cruelest possible sense. This year might be the only time she’d ever have any lasting contact with the Amaranthine.

  They were by far the most eye-catching students in the halls, since they were dressed for celebration. She recognized the colors and crests of a wide range of clans—bear, dove, horse, moth, deer. She’d even spotted a phoenix during the assembly.

  Hisoka Twineshaft himself had delivered the opening address, reason enough for the news crews and paparazzi cordoned off in a sizeable section to one side of the auditorium. Spokesperson Twineshaft extolled New Saga students as the world’s future, a generation committed to living in harmony. And he’d pressed home one surprising point: they weren’t the same. And they didn’t need to be. New Saga’s students would be an example to the world—exploring their differences, finding their balance, forging the bonds of trust.