The clap that splits the field

Atsunori's father says nothing about his absence and asks no questions. He simply greets him and they eat dinner as they always do. Next morning is no different. They share breakfast, and by the time Atsunori steps outside, they've exchanged fewer than twenty words since his return.

In the daylight, the estate's lingering scars are easier to spot. One of the houses wears a patch that doesn't match the rest, a fresh repair. At his feet, jagged slivers of wood poke through the soil, slowly sinking, refusing to disappear yet. A leaf glints darker than its neighbors, and for a moment he's thrown off before recognizing the crimson streak: dried blood.

He shakes the thought loose, and focuses on the path ahead, letting the morning pull him in. Crisp air and dew-damp greenery settle a quiet stillness over him. A few deliberate pauses allow the light and scent to seep in, washing over lingering shadows in his mind. Maple leaves are turning red, and the ponds' lotuses have already withered, a reminder that autumn is in full swing—and that this beautiful garden, too, will soon fade.

As he approaches her guesthouse, the door flies open and Avery bursts out, toast in her mouth, waving big and greeting him with her trademark "Hi, hi!"

When he asks, "Aren't you hungover?" her response comes with a shrug, "Totally, but I don't care."

Her energy seems more tied to her mood than to her body. While Atsunori takes his time on the walk to their destination, her steps bounce ahead like a rabbit's—though she does slow down and bow politely whenever they pass someone.

More than a dozen sparkling eyes wait for them in the grass field—Atsunori had already told the caretakers the night before that he planned to play with the kids.

"Wait, why ask the caretakers and not their parents?" Avery pops in.

The short answer: most family members are busy with important work, simple as that. Before she can fire off another question, the kids swarm them, calling for games, stories, or simply shouting their own questions.

For now, he doesn't intervene, letting the chaos bloom. It's also another chance to appreciate Avery's uncanny ability to handle them all at once.

Soon enough, the disorder settles into a game of tag, one Atsunori joins in. Both adults start as it.

The children scatter across the field like startled sparrows, laughter carried off by the mild morning wind. Atsunori moves with a steady, almost meditative rhythm—measured steps, long breaths, never pouncing on distracted kids, always giving himself away with the quiet intent of someone who wants to be caught in the act of catching. Whenever he breaks into a quick sprint, a ripple of excited yelps rises from the nearby children, their feet drumming the damp grass as they dodge away in panicked delight.

More than once, he closes in on a small back or swinging ponytail, only for the child to slip away at the last moment. Each time, he slows intentionally, letting them escape by the barest margin.

Avery, meanwhile, hurls herself into the game as if she hadn't spent half of yesterday drinking. She barrels after the nearest kid with theatrical stomps, arms flung out like some cartoon monster. The little ones shriek and bolt away from her "I'm gonna get youuu!" that echoes far louder than necessary.

She's it for all of five seconds. After tagging someone, her gears shift—darting just close enough to tease the new chaser, waving her arms, pulling faces, calling out their name—anything to bait them. Each time they lunge, she slips away at the edge of their reach, never close enough to be caught, always loud enough to attract every eye.

After a while, the kid runs over and tags Atsunori despite him already being it.

"Avery's too fast," the child complains, breathless but grinning. "You tag her!"

He steps forward, running with controlled purpose. A few kids start chanting his name as though they've just chosen their champion in a duel. His opponent, Avery, points at him with exaggerated accusation.

"Oh no you don't! You're not catching me this time!"

Some kids cheer for her too, creating a gleefully dramatic divide.

And off she goes, light on her toes like a grasshopper. Atsunori follows—not fast, but unwavering, closing the gap inch by inch.

They zigzag across the field: Avery feinting and switching directions constantly, Atsunori adjusting, sometimes misled—but gradually learning her patterns. Two giggling children become her sudden cover as she skids behind. He patiently flanks from the side. Every time he gets close, she yelps and scrambles off with theatrical desperation.

Eventually, hard breaths and a taunting smile mark her momentary stop.

"You're… too slow… for me!" The kids around her move forward like a wall, granting her a brief respite.

Atsunori smiles faintly. He gestures at the children on his side. They nod in understanding, then spread out, closing around Avery's team in a coordinated net.

"Wait… that's allowed? Umm…"

She scrabbles off instructions for the kids around her, but her orders are vague and haphazard. The kids frown, unsure how to respond.

Atsunori's team overtakes hers, pinning opponents with trained precission.

"Hey… where did they even learn those moves?" she exclaims in astonishment. Atsunori says nothing—only sprints toward her. Another feint unfolds, but he reads it, catching her just as she slides across the damp grass. Instead of tagging her hard, he taps her shoulder lightly as she slides by.

A collective gasp erupts from the field.

Avery collapses onto the grass, back damp, catching her breath. She laughs softly.

"Looks like I win again." His hand extends with the words.

"Heh! It's not about winning." A smirk curves her lips. "You had fun, right?"

He sighs, then nods. She takes his hand.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Shortly after the game, Atsunori settles onto the grass. The kids and Avery cluster around him, leaning right as he prepares to spin a story on the spot for them. But before he can start, one of them lifts an arm.

"How did you and Avery meet?"

"Oh, let me tell that one," the declaration comes as Avery straightens.

"You see," she begins, "I was waiting at the bus stop under the rain and suddenly this huge, huuuge…" Her arms stretch wide for emphasis. "...very huggable man walked next to me."

A finger jabs toward Atsunori before her story resumes. "He was getting soaked, so I lent him my second umbrella. And just like in that old movie with the big, furry forest creature…" She winks at the kids. "We became friends."

"Avery, don't make stuff up. You're going to confuse them."

"Tehee. I just couldn't resist making the reference."

"A reference to what?" another kid asks.

"You know the one." Her comment gets no response. "Come on, you can't tell me none of you have watched it."

No replies.

"We only watch what the caretakers assign."

"And their choice of movies is… less than ideal," Atsunori adds. "But either way, it's not our place to question it."

"Again with the not my place to do X?" Avery pouts, crossing her arms. "And not being allowed to watch one of the warmest movies ever made should be considered a crime."

"Movies are just distractions that waste time." The words come from Renya, but Atsunori couldn't have said it better.

Avery's smile falters—not in anger, but something like disbelief. It takes her a few seconds to respond.

"Say, lil' Ren, did you come up with that phrase yourself?"

"It's what the caretakers say."

"Alright, enough." Atsunori steps in, raising a hand. "This can only lead to arguing, so I'm nipping it in the bud."

She shoots him a frown that asks too many questions he'd rather not answer.

"Can we have a moment alone?" she asks.

"Eeehh?" the kids complain.

"No, we can't. If you have anything to say, it will have to wait until the kids return to their duties."

She tilts her head. "What duties?"

The look he returns mirrors her earlier one—his saying Avery, stop.

"Studying."
"We train."
"I'm preparing for the temple."

Atsunori breaks in. "No more questions for today. Am I clear?"

The kids stiffen, finally catching his seriousness, then nod in unison.

"Atsun, this is getting a bit too much. And what temple is Renya preparing for?"

"Let it go. It's a family tradition. Getting your answer won't change a thing."

"Well I want my answer, especially because I'm starting to suspect these kids aren't being raised in the correct—"

CLAP…

The sound cracks through the field like a whip. Everyone freezes, discipline snapping into place faster than Atsunori could ever manage on his own.

Without a sound, a figure glides forward. Commanding and slim, every motion bends the world to her will—the will of the Munakata. The breeze flutters her dark robe while a fan hides half her face, the single character for "order" starkly white against black.

Behind her, a man in matching robes trails silently, his face obscured beneath a veil.

The children bow in unison. Atsunori follows, stiff and awkward. Avery does not. She holds her gaze on Atsunori, unblinking, refusing to acknowledge the newcomers.

"You are in the presence of mistress Tomoe, Head Priest of the Munakata," the robed man says, voice thick with scorn. "Show respect."

Avery shifts her glare to them and, slowly—reluctantly—inclines her head in a small, shallow gesture. Barely a nod, her eyes remain defiant, fixed not on the Mistress' face but brushing only her feet.

Mistress Tomoe drifts past Avery without so much as a glance, her attention drawn instead to one of the young boys.

"Renya," she says softly, "have you been training diligently?"

The child straightens, eyes lowered.

"Yes, Mother."

"How many days have you come to this field since your awakening?"

"Six, Mother."

"Acceptable. You still have some time until your eightieth day arrives."

Her palm lands on Renya's shoulder, firm and unyielding.

"Make proper use of it. Spend your hours with your fellow relatives, as is expected… not with others." Her voice dips on the last words, and her eyes drift to the side, in the direction of Avery.

"What happens on the eightieth day?" Avery cuts in with a sharp, unfamiliar tone. She begins to straighten, but Atsunori's hand yanks her head down, forcing her back into submission.

"You stupid brat," he hisses.

His anger shatters at the sudden klak of Tomoe's sandals. No longer silent, now growing louder as she approaches—each step puncturing Atsunori's heartbeat.

When she stops before them, his chest skips a beat.

"My son will depart for the distant Munakata Temple, where he will refine his spiritual gifts." Tomoe's voice is cold as steel, heavy as a falling rock. "To serve as a priest is among the highest honors our clan can bestow—second only to being named an Elder."

"He's eleven years old."

The cutting rustle of a fan slices through the air like the sweep of a crow's wings.

"Children, you are dismissed. Return to your duties."

The kids straighten, bow, and leave in near-perfect formation, their steps unnervingly synchronized. Atsunori feels Avery's head press against his hand, trying to lift, but his grip stays firm.

"Atsunori, you disappoint me."

The mistress' words strike like ice. His knees weaken, and he sinks to the ground.

"H-hey!" Protest comes from Avery as he drags her down with him. The shift in his weight forces her compliance, and they end up kneeling side by side.

"My apologies," he says, voice barely stable. "I failed to discipline her properly."

"So it seems. But it is still not too late to—"

"No! Enough!" Avery wrestles free and stands, eyes blazing with a heat he's never seen. "This is too much! Who do you think you are?"

Atsunori's strength drains away. Every instinct screams at him to act, but nothing in him obeys. Can't speak, can't reach for her—can't do anything but watch.

From this moment on, the decision is no longer his.

Mistress Tomoe will handle Avery's punishment.