Blushes and Bickering — Nakamura’s Heart

The Tsukimori house had seen its share of chaos. Ghosts scratching at windows. Dolls blinking when no one was looking. A stuffed rabbit housing an ancient oiran demon? Check. But nothing—absolutely nothing—prepared it for the drama that would unfold when Kaede received the letter. It arrived mid-morning, delivered not by Tsubasa, but by something far more terrifying. A giggling neighbor girl. Kaede, sitting in the garden tying her hair up with crimson ribbon, turned as the girl skipped over and handed her the note like she was passing state secrets. “It’s from him,” she said with a smirk. Then she bolted like her mission had been completed. Kaede blinked. Then she read the note. Then her soul exploded into pink sparkles visible only to those attuned to cringe and romance. Her face went from pale to peach to full-blown tomato in exactly three seconds. She bolted inside with a squeak so high-pitched it startled the dog next door into silence. “What was that?” Haru asked, mouth full of rice ball. “Sounded like a teapot being strangled,” Ren replied, chewing aggressively. Yuna sipped tea with Mochimaru in her lap, who was ominously whispering, "That girl has a heartbeat worth binding." “Shut up,” she muttered into her sleeve. Later That Afternoon... Kaede was a storm of preparation. She polished her geta sandals three times. She re-ironed her kimono. She redid her hair until it looked like it had been styled by ten different gods and a hairstylist from Kyoto. She even asked Yuna—Yuna!—for help picking the right fragrance. “You hate flowers,” Yuna said, raising an eyebrow as Kaede shoved a rose-scented oil into her palm. “I hate everything but him,” Kaede said dreamily. “Oh spirits help us,” Yuna muttered, dropping the oil and backing away as if her sister had caught a romance demon. Then he came. His name was Takeshi, and he had that dangerous look: a perfectly average face enhanced by a quiet smile and the charm of someone who’d once punched a wild boar for stealing Kaede’s lunch when they were eight. Haru narrowed his eyes as soon as the young man stepped in. “That’s the guy, huh?” Ren crossed his arms. “Yeah. The one who made Kaede cry when he moved away.” “She said it was allergies.” “She doesn’t cry over pollen with sparkly anime tears.” Yuna looked up from her book. “He seems... tolerable. I give him a week.” Takeshi, of course, was the epitome of polite. He bowed. He offered snacks. He complimented Airi’s dollwork. He even asked Daijirō’s picture on the wall for permission to speak to his daughter. Kaede was all but floating. And then came... The Isolation Era. Kaede and Takeshi became inseparable. They sat in the garden laughing about “remember that time with the koi fish?” They vanished during lunch. They walked alone to the village market. They even read books together. In silence. Side by side. Sharing pages. Sharing pages! It was unnatural. The siblings had had enough. Yuna stared as Kaede skipped past with Takeshi again, both glowing like smug candles. “She hasn’t spoken to me in two days,” she muttered. “She didn’t even threaten me for touching her kimono,” Ren added. “She’s forgotten my name,” Haru whispered in horror. “You’re her brother,” Yuna replied flatly. “She called me Rice Goblin.” “Well... if the rice ball fits.” They confronted her at dinner. Kaede sat at the far end of the table with Takeshi, feeding him pickled plums like some lovestruck noblewoman. Meanwhile, her siblings watched with narrowed eyes. “Enjoying your honeymoon?” Haru asked, smiling too sweetly. “We’re literally in our house,” Kaede replied, not looking up. “Is that what they call marriage now?” Yuna teased. “I think they’ve been secretly wed by the garden priestess spirit,” Ren whispered dramatically. Kaede’s chopsticks twitched. “Keep talking and I’ll wed you to the bottom of the lake.” Takeshi smiled nervously. “Ahaha… You all seem very close.” “Oh, you have no idea,” Yuna muttered, sliding a rice ball toward him like it was a warning. Later that night, Yuna found Kaede sitting alone in the garden. She looked... quiet. Happy, but quiet. “You really like him, huh?” Yuna said, sitting beside her. Kaede nodded. “He understands me. And he always made me feel seen, even when I was just… a noisy kid with too much hair and a mouth full of opinions.” “That’s still true.” Kaede rolled her eyes. “I missed him. I just didn’t think I’d still feel this way when he came back.” “And yet here you are. Feeding him plums like an imperial consort.” Kaede chuckled. “Shut up.” There was silence for a bit. Then Yuna asked, “You think he could handle the truth about us? About the shrine? About... Maerachi?” Kaede exhaled. “Maybe not yet. But someday.” Mochimaru blinked from the shadows. “He’d better.” The market in town was alive with its usual orchestra of sights and sounds. Crates of peaches glowed like tiny suns under woven parasols. Street vendors hollered about seaweed strips being “thinner than scandal and twice as salty!” Children dashed through fabric stalls like spirited fireflies. And amid this delightful commotion, Kaede and Takeshi walked hand-in-hand. Their shadows stretched long under the late afternoon sun, the soft crunch of their geta blending with laughter and shared secrets. Takeshi was holding a bag of sweet dango, and Kaede—looking far more like a serene noblewoman than the fierce sister who once kicked Haru off a roof for mocking her shoes—was smiling like the sky belonged to her. But in a shaded corner of the market, someone else was watching. And that someone was Nakamura Kaito. He stood frozen in front of the persimmon vendor, holding a coin purse in one hand and a shattered heart in the other. His younger sister, Hinami, stood beside him, halfway through chewing a fried sweet potato. “…Oh,” Nakamura muttered, the color draining from his face. Hinami squinted toward Kaede and Takeshi. “Oh,” she echoed, swallowing. “That’s the boy you were talking about? The one from the letters?” “Mm-hm,” Nakamura said, forcing a smile like it wouldn’t crack. “Well,” Hinami added thoughtfully, “he is kind of handsome in that 'I polish my own sword but I’m also respectful to mothers' sort of way.” “Please,” Nakamura muttered, “I am mid-heartbreak. Not commentary.” Hinami gently patted his arm. “There, there. At least now we know why she stopped sending you those spring festival poems.” It wasn’t just the heartbreak. It was the way she looked at him. Nakamura had known Kaede since they were both small and furious. She’d once buried a beetle in his shoe because he’d teased her braids. He’d never stopped thinking about how fearless she was, how quick her laughter came—even when it turned into shouting matches with her brothers. He thought maybe—maybe—after all these years, there might be something. A quiet thread of connection. A hope not yet spoken aloud. But now that thread had snapped. Or perhaps it was never tied at all. That evening, back at the shrine, Hinami helped her brother sulk by making him tea in the most aggressively cheerful mug they owned. It had a cartoon frog saying “Hop through the heartbreak!” in sparkly letters. Nakamura stared into his reflection in the tea’s surface. “I could punch him,” he said at last. “Not hard. Just like... enough to make him re-evaluate his choices.” Hinami snorted. “You’d punch a plank of wood and apologize?” “I’m serious,” he groaned. “Kaede deserves someone who sees her. Not just someone she used to chase frogs with.” “Okay, but hear me out…” Hinami leaned closer. “You’re not the only one who saw them.” He blinked. “…What?” Hinami smirked. “Let’s just say... someone else noticed you being a tragic cinnamon roll.” Chaos began that night. Yuna was reading near the shrine hall, Mochimaru curled beside her like a possessed plushie with excellent listening skills, when she heard shouting. Then running. Then—Haru bursting into view, gasping. “Someone broke the water jug!” he yelled. Ren ran up behind him. “And also our pickled daikon exploded in the storehouse! It smells like demon feet!” Kaede emerged, wide-eyed. “Wait, what?!” Yuna rose slowly, her eyes narrowing. Chaos wasn’t unusual in their home. But this felt... targeted. Then, as if summoned by drama, Nakamura stormed through the gates. His hair was windswept, his sleeves flared like a warrior from a drama series, and his eyes locked directly onto Takeshi—who was sipping tea under the wisteria vines. Yuna put her book down and whispered to Mochimaru, “Place your bets.” Mochimaru’s stitched mouth curled. “I bet on heartbreak… and minor arson.” “What is your problem?” Kaede snapped as she stepped between the two boys. Nakamura pointed accusingly, breathless and dramatic. “My problem is that this stranger thinks he can waltz back into your life and claim everything I never dared to!” “Waltz?!” Takeshi blinked. “I—what?!” “I gave you my umbrella when we were thirteen!” “And I gave you a black eye when you told me rain made me frizzy!” “You remembered!” “Of course I remembered—you shattered my comb with your face!” Yuna sipped tea in the background. “Ten copper says this ends in an accidental love confession.” Hinami sauntered up beside her, arms folded. “Twenty if it turns into a duel using food items.” In the end, no one died, but a lot was said. Takeshi apologized—awkwardly, earnestly. Kaede yelled at everyone. Nakamura sulked. Haru tried to sell pickled eggs to the onlookers for “spiritual nourishment.” And Yuna just sat there, watching the whole world spin with its silly romantic tragedies, her demon doll snickering beside her. She muttered, “You’d think I’m the cursed one.” Mochimaru replied, “Humans are the real horror.”