Treasure Trove

Always open for him, the gate invites Atsunori into the welcoming embrace of the Munakata Estate.

The barren path leads him through the garden, each step soft beneath his feet. A scent of gardenias warmly rises around, pushing back the lingering urban stench clinging to his clothes.

Gently, the mix of leaf green and earthy beige eases his tired eyes.

At the bridge, the steady current carries occasional splashes from koi. He pauses, watching them, and lets the water wash away some of his bitterness. Only the soon to wither lotus reminds him that he used his power on a citizen just today.

As he follows the now-branching path, he passes some of the estate's minor houses. Even the smallest could hold the hut he visited today—and some could fit two of them.

These marvels of construction need no cheap adornments—no toxic paint, no misleading neon lights. Their pure forms, preserved across generations, dwarf the ambitions of any modern architect.

Yet even so, Atsunori notices the small cracks along the lower walls, the moss slowly creeping upward.

They won't last forever.

And should we really insist on keeping them unchanged for all time?

Distant, playful laughs pull him out of it, and he quickens his pace toward them, leaving his thoughts behind.

As he often does.

Along the way he greets several relatives. Every one of them, no matter how distant, meets his gaze with a smile and a wave. Without slowing his stride, he returns the gesture—sometimes even with a thin grin of his own.

Reaching the source of the lively sounds, he finds himself at the entrance of what could only be called a treasure trove of joy. Tiny creatures play and laugh and scamper without a care, in a world that belongs entirely to them—a place more magical than any spirit or deity.

From the sidelines, he could watch them until sunset and still want more. They have that effect on him. Nothing else comes close.

Of course, the mood isn't always pristine. Children, if anything, are more prone to hurting one another in a single day than Atsunori would in a week of work.

Yet despite those imperfections—or perhaps because of them—they give him the strength to rise each morning, so that he can head to the city and fulfill his duty, whatever it may be.

Eventually, one of them spots Atsunori and calls him over to the others. They storm at him like an avalanche. He braces for impact—but topples as they all leap on him together.

"Hi Atsun!"

"Did you beat up bad guys?"

"Come play with us!"

"Tell us a story, please."

For a while, he lets them chatter, barely able to catch a full sentence. Soon they begin jostling, vying for his attention—and that's when he intervenes.

With a simple raise of his hand, they all fall silent, turning to him expectantly.

"First of all, hello everyone, it's been a while."

"Too long." A kid pipes up.

"Yeah! We last saw you three days ago!"

"Hands, please," Atsunori says.

One of the kids raises his, and Atsunori gives him the go.

"Tell us how work went."

"Ehh?" Another complains. "No, play with—"

With a wave, Atsunori halts the budding chaos before it can take off.

"Let's have a vote. Who wants to play?"

Three tiny hands spring into the air.

"And who wants a story?"

Five go up.

A few complaints start to rise, but Atsunori quickly quiets them. He then begins recounting his visit to the debtor's place and the less-than-ideal outcome.

"Did you use your powers?"

"Yeah. And did he piss his pants?"

Atsunori lets out a small chuckle, then, feeling a twinge of embarrassment, masks it with a quick clearing of his throat before answering their questions.

When asked "What happened to the guy who owes us money?" he explains that the family gave him a job to keep him in line until he repays what he owes.

The salary is unfair, some might call it slavery, but he'll be too busy and exhausted to protest. Besides, after the kind of lesson Atsunori gave him, he wouldn't dare let so much as a hair out of place.

"And the bad guy? Is he sleeping with the fishes?" What the—? Stupid movies and the things they teach kids these days…

The punk was taught a harsher lesson, though not by Atsunori—that was a specialist's job. He might be kept for another day or two, but after that, he's to be sent back on a train, with a warning for his gang of teenage wannabe yakuza. Atsunori is certain he'll never hear from them again.

Then comes the inevitable "Didn't you tear your shirt transforming?" Atsunori always carries a spare—two, in fact.

Just as he's about to talk about what he did after handling the debtor, the kids start sharing the kinds of powers they themselves want to awaken.

He lets them.

One of them dreams of a big, scary Onikuma and wandering the mountains from time to time, living as a regular bear. A lofty wish—one Atsunori doesn't dare shatter.

Another, a girl, wants the powers of a Tsubaki ghost, using its fragrance to charm villains into confessing and turning themselves in. Not entirely possible, but he doesn't say a word.

"I want to be a Yuki Onna!" a boy exclaims.

"Alright, that's too much dreaming." Atsunori finally replies.

"Hehe! I'm joking. You already know what I want to be."

That's when he realizes it's his cousin, Renya, speaking.

"You won't get spirit powers, forget it." Another kid says.

"You don't know that! Shut up."

Before it can escalate, Atsunori steps in.

"Renya, I'm sorry, but you need to accept it. Unlike Yokai Blessings, you can't choose whether to awaken spirit powers. If you don't have them by your age, it's very unlikely you ever will."

The change in Renya's expression hits Atsunori like a punch—but he doesn't show it.

"No fair! I want to be a priest like mistress Tomoe. I don't care about Yokai Powers or magic. What I want is to be able to talk with them and hear all the stories they have to share."

"I know, but…" But what? There really is nothing to say except, "There are things we just can't choose."

Renya runs off. Atsunori hesitates, debating whether to follow.

In the end, he takes the safe, easier choice.