Little Oni, Big Feelings

It’s not fair being an oni sometimes.

Everyone thinks we’re always strong, always loud, always smashing things on purpose. But that’s not true. Smash-accidents exist. I know, because I have many.

My mom says crying is fine, but also, ‘Please don’t flood the house again, sweetheart.’

Sometimes I think being soft is harder than being strong…

This weekend was supposed to be my big moment.

My turn to help Dad at the Red Lantern Smithy, our family’s forge in the yokai quarter. The air always smells like iron, fire, and warm soup. That’s basically the smell of my entire childhood.

Dad handed me the smallest hammer we have. It’s still heavier than my whole backpack, but I wanted to prove I could handle it. I lifted it with all my strength…. Then it slipped.

Straight out of my hands. BOOM. 

Onto the anvil. CRACK.

And right through to one of Dad’s precious iron molds.

Uhhh ohhh…

I froze. Dad froze. Even the forge flames froze. Maybe.

Dad put a hand on my head and said softly, ‘Maybe you should rest, son.’

Which is oni-parent language for “You’re not ready yet”

My chest really hurt… knowing I disappointed him… knowing I wasn’t a good oni… So I ran.

Out the smithy. Through the yokai quarter’s maze-like pathways. Past the cedar grove. Down the forest path. All the way to Youchan’s shrine.

I didn’t expect to see Mutsuki sensei there. Teachers don’t stay on weekends. They go home, grade papers, eat snacks, or sleep in weird teacher nests. I don’t know.

But there he was.

Sitting cross-legged beneath the torii, hair tied loosely with a ribbon, reading a glowing old book like he was also an idol even in rest. And tucked into the corner of the book… was the paper crane I gave him. He was using it.

And he was humming. Something soft and warm. For a second, I wondered if he was waiting for someone.

I sniffled. He didn’t hear it at first. Then sniffled louder. Then extra-loud by accident. Or maybe not. Maybe I wanted him to notice me.

He looked up instantly. ‘Kishin? Did someone drop you off here?’

‘No… I ran away,’ I mumbled, rubbing my eyes. ‘I broke the mold. Dad’s mad.’ 

I slowly walked towards him. He closed his book carefully, sliding the crane inside like it was precious. Then he patted the stone beside him.

‘Then you came to the right place. We specialize in broken things here.’

I sat down. My horns drooped so much they almost touched my knees.

‘Sensei,’ I sniffed, ‘can you fix molds?’

‘Nope,’ he said cheerfully. ‘But I can fix crying faces.’

I almost laughed, but it turned into another sniffle. He handed me a handkerchief that smelled like sakura petals and really nice laundry. Like Youchan’s smell, actually.

We sat quietly for a while, listening to cicadas, the rustling trees, the shrine pond splashing gently. Warm, soft, golden sunlight filtered through the leaves. Then he said something weird. 

‘You know, oni strength doesn’t start in the muscles. It starts in conviction.’

‘Con… con-fish-on?’

‘Conviction,’ he corrected gently. ‘Belief. The same thing that makes your roar shake mountains is the same thing that makes you cry when your dad is disappointed. They’re both emotion, just shaped differently.’

I frowned so hard my horns wiggled.

‘So… if I cry really hard, I’ll get stronger?’

He snorted. Teachers shouldn’t snort but Sensei does. A lot. And I know a certain princess who would have a lot to say about that.

‘Not exactly. But if you believe in what your tears mean, then yeah. Maybe.’

That sounded confusing but also kind of cool.

CRACK!

Right in front of us, the shrine’s old water pipe suddenly burst. A fountain of water exploded across the steps, spraying the torii, the trees, even Sensei’s book.

‘Aaaah!’ I yelled. ‘The shrine’s bleeding!’

Sensei stood, calm as ever. ‘No panic. We just need to redirect it.’

He spread his hands. Blue magic shimmered like moonlight trapped underwater. The water slowed, but kept spraying everywhere. Like an angry and wild spirit.

‘Kishin!’ he called. ‘You’re good at shouting, right?’

‘Uh… yes?’

‘Then roar at the pipe. Not angry, but firm. Like you’re talking to someone who’s misbehaving. Tell the water to calm down.’

I stared at him. ‘Tell water to calm down?’

‘Magic listens when emotion’s honest.’

He said it like it was common sense. So I squared my legs like Dad taught me. Took the biggest breath ever. And I yelled.

‘STOP IT!! YOU’RE MAKING A MESS!!’

The ground shook. The air hummed with magic. A wave of oni-force burst out of me. The water froze midair like jellyfish trapped in time. Then, slowly, it slithered back into the pipe with a shy little burble.

Sensei slapped a strip of black tape over the crack. The water stopped completely.

Wow!

I stared. My jaw dropped. My socks were soaked. But I was grinning from ear to horn.

Sensei clapped proudly. ‘See? Told you your tears and roars are cousins.’

I started laughing. Then crying. Then both. Like an oni waterfall. He handed me another handkerchief. 

Where does he keep them? Does he have a handkerchief pocket dimension? I think yes.

Then I pointed at the tape, eyes wide.

‘Sensei… was that black tape blessed? Or cursed? Or MAGIC?! You stopped the water with just that!’

He threw his head back and laughed. A big, loud, very manly laugh that startled three crows out of a tree. A laugh that didn’t match his girly clothing.

‘No, Kishin. That was just regular handyman tape.’

We stared at each other. Then burst out laughing. We both laughed for a while.

He eventually knelt beside me, ruffled my hair gently, and said, ‘What YOU did, though… that was real oni magic. Not destruction. Control.’

I swallowed. ‘But… onis are known for destroying things.’

‘Do you want to destroy?’

I thought about the broken mold. About Dad’s face. About how heavy my chest felt.

I shook my head. ‘No.’

‘Then good,’ he said, tapping my horn lightly. ‘You’re already a strong oni, Kishin. Strong isn’t breaking things. Strong is shaping them.’

Something in my chest warmed. Like my heart was a tiny forge.

‘Do you think Dad will be proud?’ I whispered.

Sensei didn’t even pause. ‘I think he already is.’

When I got home, Dad didn’t yell. He just blinked at my soaked clothes and clarified my story. 

‘You fixed the leak?’

‘I did roar at it,’ I said proudly.

Dad stared, then laughed so hard the forge lights flickered and the bellows wobbled. Turns out, it’s not just my tears that has an effect on the surroundings, it was also dad’s laughter. Maybe my laugh can also do the same.

That night, when I wrote in my journal for Maria, I drew a picture:

Sensei with a glowing halo of water, holding a roll of black tape like a legendary weapon,
and wearing oni horns taller than mine.

Under it, I wrote:

‘Sensei doesn’t smash things. He makes them stop breaking.’