I am Hanako

“Minato‑san, where are you?” Hanako called into the comms.

No response.

Masaki shrugged off his jacket and tried to drape it over her exposed shoulders.

She swatted his hand away. The jacket slipped from his fingers and hit the ground.

“Ryuji, respond.” Her voice trembled. “What do you mean they have Sayuri…”

The walkie‑talkie hissed, the white noise rising into a cackling beast.

A lock of hair slid down her bare shoulder.

Hanako’s hand holding the walkie-talkie drooped, then hung limp.

Minami shouted something, but the only thing she heard was the cackling static.

Her jaw slackened.

A thin, strangled breath escaped her.

The world spun. The lines between asphalt and night sky bled into each other.

“Ojo—” Masaki’s voice reached her, muffled and distant, swallowed by static.

The world dimmed.

- - -

The last remaining Wanyudo‑gumi took the opening to sprint into the streets.

Masaki snatched up his fallen jacket and wrapped it around Hanako, trying to keep her torn kimono from slipping off her shoulders. Gold‑embroidered birds were smeared with dirt and grime.

“Stay here. Watch ojo‑sama.” He shrugged off his own jacket and draped it over Hanako’s legs. “Your bag at the park has everything?”

Masaki nodded.

“Guard her with your life.”

Minami rushed off.

“…Hanako…” Masaki murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her pale face.

- - -

Hanako played alone in the sandbox, away from the rest of the kids. She dug roads and piled sand with her hands to build a town for her family. A shadow fell across her town.

“Wanna play doll house with me?” a small voice asked.

Hanako turned. A girl her height stood clutching a stuffed bear. A large mole under her lip caught Hanako’s eye. The girl noticed and lifted the bear higher, hiding behind it.

“Dolls are boring.” Hanako shrugged and went back to her town.

The girl lingered at the edge of the sandbox, fingers tightening and loosening around the bear’s arm.

“You can join me,” Hanako offered, pointing at a yellow plastic shovel beside her.

“I don’t want to get dirty.”

“Are you telling me I’m dirty?” Hanako blurted, standing to face her. Sand clung to her knees.

The girl pointed at Hanako’s legs. Hanako looked down, then casually brushed the sand off.

“That’s a lot of houses,” the girl said.

“This one’s mine, that’s Minami’s, that’s Shigehara’s, and that’s—” Hanako stopped when she saw the girl step back, clutching her bear tighter.

“This can be yours.” She pointed at the empty lot beside her sand mound.

“Whose house is that?” The girl pointed to the one farthest away.

“That’s Kuromori’s. He’s mean. So he’s far away.”

“But you still made a house for him.”

“He’s mean, but he’s still family,” Hanako said, repeating Minami’s words. “Minami said so.”

“What about that one?” The girl pointed at the house across the street from Hanako’s.

“I don’t know yet. It’s for someone.”

The girl lowered her stuffed bear and met Hanako’s eyes. Her voice no longer sounded like a child’s.

“Who? Hanako, you should be honest with yourself. Or else it might be too late.”

The unnamed sand house swelled, growing taller than it should, casting a long shadow.

“What is your problem?” a distorted Minato's voice echoed from inside it.

“Nothing!” Hanako yelled back.

“What’s eating you, ojo?” Masaki asked.

“Stop asking me questions.” She covered her ears. “I don’t know.”

“You do.”

“They have Sayuri‑san.”

“Fifty million yen.”

White noise cackled.

- - -

Masaki held Hanako in his arms like a bride, the walkie‑talkie dangling from his elbow with its constant buzzing.

He eased her down beside a tree, gently resting her head against the trunk.

His hand brushed the wooden monkey netsuke at his belt. He unbuttoned his white shirtsleeves and found his bamboo bracer splintered beneath them. He loosened the bindings and tossed the broken pieces aside.

He sat next to her, their shoulders touching.

“I didn’t get you back then. I didn’t understand why you built that town, why you cared so much about everyone having a place. Then you were the first person who ever hit me and the first person who ever defended me, all in the same day.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“You went to Minami the moment you heard I got disciplined for fighting you back — saying he was being mean to me.”He reached toward her, stopping halfway.“You didn’t even hesitate. You just put me in that town of yours without asking… like I already belonged there.” “Truth is, I only called your town stupid because I wanted in.”His hand dropped to his side.

“You said there was a place for me. I’ve been trying to live up to that ever since. So don’t you dare leave me now, Hanako.”

He stood, stretching his back, scanning the area, and driving off any onlookers with a glare.

Masaki looked down at her again, jaw tight. “You chose me back then. I’ve been choosing you ever since.”

Minami returned with Masaki’s duffel bag, huffing as he reached the tree. He dropped it beside Hanako; the bag hit the grass with a heavy thud.

Masaki tore it open and pulled out the vacuum‑sealed white kimono she wore as Yukikaze, along with two plastic bottles of water.

The two men exchanged a glance. Masaki slowly shook his head.

They stared at Hanako’s serene face in grim silence.

- - - 

Child Hanako’s face was overcast by the swelling sand house, now towering like an altar with a flame burning at its peak. Echoing voices slipped from the gaping entrance like slithering whispers.

“He trusts in your judgment,” Minami murmured.

“Ojo‑sama.” Several clan voices echoed.

“Don Yukikaze and become the clan’s weapon.” Her father’s command reverberated.

A white figure stepped from the sand altar — long black hair flowing, white kimono trailing frost, a crystalline mask of ice hiding her face. Bare feet spread patches of frost with every step.

Yukikaze knelt before Hanako. Cold wrapped around her like a serpent; the world drained of heat and color. The flame atop the altar turned pale blue.

“Who are you?” it asked, lifting child Hanako’s chin with frosted fingers.

The ice mask reflected dozens of Hanako’s expressions across its facets.

“I am…”

“Hanako. Return to us,” Masaki pleaded when he saw her lips move.

He looked to Minami. Minami gave a single, solid nod.

Masaki raised his hand.

Crack.

The frost mask split down the center, shards falling away to reveal current Hanako’s face beneath.

“…Hanako,” child Hanako finished, reaching to embrace her other self.

- - -

Midsummer heat and humidity rushed back. Hanako felt a familiar embrace. Her cheek throbbed, numb and hot.

Masaki’s arms were around her.

Memory snapped into place — Sayuri, the underpass, the ransom.

“How much time do I have left?”

“Plenty,” Masaki answered, still holding her.

“Masaki. My clothes. Minami, tell the rest to stand down. I’ll handle this. Alone.”

She rose slowly. The torn kimono slipped from her shoulders, peeling away like an old skin.

“Masaki… catch me when I fall at the mouth of the Kanda.”