Chapter 3: New Beginnings

The sun rests high in the sky, clouds drifting across the vast blue, gusts of wind kicking up dirt and blowing leaves faintly.

The smell of burning wood fills the air, an earthy scent, a small stream of smoke rising from a campfire. Rocks hold the structures together as a piece of meat hovers inches over the flame.

A young boy sits atop a log, poking the fire, tending to it with a longer piece of wood. His hair, black with red streaks, ruffles slightly in the wind as he peacefully cooks.

He's cooking a fish, one he just caught. The forest lacks human sounds, yet it's full of nature's sounds.

The river is raging where he got his meal, and the sounds of animals calling in the distance reverberate in the air.

Laying on the ground next to the log is a bag, one that remains open. The boy moves a single hand, reaches into it, and retrieves a metal flask.

He takes a single sip of water before dousing the flame, extinguishing it. Steam rises instantly as the water evaporates, the boy discards the stick he was using to tend to the fire.

Sitting in silence, watching the last bits of the flame die out with a blank expression.

As the food begins to cool down, he reaches for the fish. Grabbing the stick it had been skewered on, raising it to inspect it.

The fish is slightly charred, juice dripping off it. The boy spends only a few moments inspecting the meat before taking a bite from it. It is tough, gamey, and difficult to chew.

He keeps tearing off pieces with a sharp tug, juice dripping down his chin onto the dirt below. He eats in silence, staring at the forest floor, until a sound breaks him out of the trance.

His dark violet eyes snap up at the sound of a twig snapping between the trees, instantly alert. Expecting an enemy or threat, his hand snaps down to his left leg.

He yanks a piece of metal from a pouch called a kunai, a thick, heavy tool not typically meant for fighting. Yet the young boy has sharpened it for use to defend himself, acting as a thick dagger.

The moment he moves, ready to attack the thing that is hidden in the bushes, the thing begins to move.

A fox jumps out of the bushes, scurrying to a halt just a few feet away. It is covered in twigs and leaves, its fur is a dark red coat with a bright white underbelly.

Its eyes are sharp and black-rimmed, its irises a bright yellow amber. It does not approach at first, so the boy slowly lowers his weapon, understanding this fox is no threat.

It is small in comparison to its adult counterparts, a younger one, bold or inexperienced. Those yellow amber eyes lock onto the fish, it is clear the fox is hungry.

The boy looks down slowly at the fish in his hand, most of it has already been eaten, leaving only scraps.

With a jerk of his hand, he tosses the stick of fish towards the fox unceremoniously.

In response, the fox jumps back slightly, skittish at the fact that it has just gotten something thrown at it.

However, it doesn’t run away, instead, it slowly pads closer to the stick, watching the boy just as much as the boy watches it.

After a few moments pass in silence, the fox lowers its head, beginning to sniff and nibble on the scraps.

As soon as the fox deems it worthy, its mouth wraps around the stick the remaining meat is on before scurrying away as quickly as it had come.

Leaving the boy behind, who can do nothing but watch as the fox runs away with the remnants of his meal.

Now all alone, the boy stands dusting himself off, retrieving his bag from the ground. Placing the flask back into the bag, he closes it, slinging it over his shoulder and securing it on his back.

With all of his things gathered, the boy starts to walk again, continuing his journey through the forest.

His destination is not far, he hears faint sounds in the distance and begins walking toward them.

He walks calmly through the forest, his footsteps steady, leaves crunching under his feet with each step.

Within minutes, he has reached the edge of the forest where the main road trails toward his destination. He doesn't walk on the main road, opting to stay in the forest beside it to keep himself hidden.

As he follows the trail toward his destination, the sounds grow louder, and the smell in the air shifts from earthy to human.

He reaches the end of the forest tree line, and he is finally greeted by the place he is traveling to. Massive wooden walls have been erected, with a gate towering taller than the trees.

The great city of Ojika looms right in front of him. The capital city of Kazuma, and the place he has spent weeks traveling to.

The walls enclose the city in dark green, and each door of the swinging gate bears the country's insignia. Sharp black lines curve up and outward before branching into two lines that point up at the end.

At the center between the two curves, a centerpiece rises. Next to it, two more sprout out, reaching higher and following the larger ones' path.

With sharp lines and contrasting curves, the symbol is a simple mimicry of a stag’s antlers.

The sight is truly one to take in, the sheer scale of the walls themselves would make the average person gawk.

The boy does not stop for a second, he moves with purpose, and the walls do not impress him. He moves to the very edge of the forest, as close as he can get to the walls without being seen.

He reaches back down into his pouch, pulling out the same kunai from earlier, and begins to dig into the dirt.

After a few minutes of digging, the hole is about two feet deep and wide, just big enough to fit his bag. He places the bag in the hole, sealed and containing all his items, including the kunai.

Once the hole is covered with dirt, he stands, turning to the closest tree and peeling a large chunk of the bark off.

Dropping it at the trunk of the tree, he starts to walk away while dusting his hands off. Rejoining the main path, he takes a single deep breath before preparing himself for what comes next.

***

At the gate, two guards stand, stationed there to monitor all that come through. The guards are speaking to each other, relaxing in their positions.

One is a tall man with spiky brown hair and a distinguishing scar on his right cheek, three jagged lines like a claw mark. The other is a woman with a young face and long dark hair, a wakizashi strapped to her back.

Both wear the standardized jackets that everyone above the rank of Goshinin in Ojika must wear, with the country insignia on the right side of their chests.

Their relaxation breaks the moment they see the boy approaching the gate, scuffed and dirty. The boy's clothes have tiny cuts, his hair is messy, his face is grubby, and he is alone with no identification.

“Halt,” the male guard commands the young boy, holding up a hand to stop him from approaching. “State your name and business in Ojika,” he demands of the child, treating him as he would anyone else.

A moment of silence follows as the boy stares at them, despite his appearance, he is almost unnervingly calm.

“My name is Yakubo Kageyama.” Yakubo finally speaks, his voice slightly raspy as he does. Yakubo pauses, not answering the question fully, he doesn't state his business.

The woman sighs, her posture relaxing when the boy finally speaks. “Kid, how old are you?” She asks, giving another long look at Yakubo up and down, really taking him in.

“And when’s the last time you ate…or showered?” Her expression mixes pity and confusion at how and why this child is here alone.

“I am twelve,” Yakubo says, he doesn't seem offended by the woman’s question. Yakubo doesn't smell, but he's dirty and looks a little thin. “I have come from Kusabue seeking asylum.” Yakubo finally answers the question, he is seeking asylum from Kusabue.

“You're from Kusabue? Kid like you coming from that far…alone? The male guard says, raising a single eyebrow and looking down at the child.

It is not a question of how bad Kusabue really is, asking for asylum isn’t unheard of. The real surprising thing is that this preteen has traveled thousands of miles to get there.

Yakubo does not speak. He just stares, waiting for the process to be pushed along.

“Look, kid, you need the proper paperwork even to be considered. Do you even have documents?” The woman asks with a sigh, not expecting an answer from Yakubo.

She thinks he won't answer about having papers, clearly, he isn't carrying anything.

“I have come seeking asylum,” Yakubo repeats to the guards again, as if to get the point across. “I don’t have anything. I am looking for a new home. I believe I can bring value to this place. If I could just speak to the Oshinsu.” Yakubo tells them, his voice calm and certain in a way most children's isn't.

Both guards pause for a second, actually considering his request. With a sharp turn, the male guard wants his partner to follow so they can discuss it privately.

“We can’t let him in, he doesn’t even have paperwork.” The male guard whispers to his comrade, he is going by the book. Under every single rule and regulation, they can’t let him in.

“I don’t know.” The female guard responds, her voice low as she turns this bizarre situation over in her head. “I mean, look at him.” She says, glancing from the male guards to the young boy, who stares blankly as they speak.

“He has nothing, no weapons, no food, nothing.” She murmurs to her partner that the boy isn't carrying anything, and he certainly doesn't look like a threat.

“What do you mean, 'just look at him'? Yeah, I am. Kids got a staring problem. And a vibe that says I'm going to end up in sales or as a serial killer.” The partner whispers to her, taking a glance at the child that hasn't looked away.

“Stop.” The woman scolds, but she doesn’t disagree with her partner's assessment of the child. “He’s traveled thousands of miles with nothing. We can’t turn him away in good faith. I say we hear him out and bring him to the Oshinsu, and let him decide.” She says, being the voice of logic for the other side of the argument.

“Also, I really don't want to be on the backend of an investigation if this kid gets found dead on the side of the road.” She mumbles back, another reason not to be the ones to turn this child away.

Without another word to her partner, she turns on her heels, making the executive decision for both of them.

“I will take you to see the Oshinsu. He will handle…whatever this is.” The woman tells Yakubo, waving her hand at him, because this is very strange. “Follow me, and don’t fall far behind.” With that, she gestures for Yakubo to move.

Sharing a final glance with her partner, who doesn’t intervene, only sighs at the sight.

***

Yakubo doesn’t need to be told twice, he seizes his opportunity. Striding towards the gate and walks in front of the female guard.

She falls behind him at first, with a mumbled curse, she takes a few long steps to catch up. Their walk down the original street is quiet at first, it leads to the main avenue of the city.

As they walk, Yakubo takes in all the sights, filing them away as potentially useful information later. The thing that stands out is that, far in the distance, a statue of a stag remains tall.

Yakubo has little time to think about what it means or what it symbolizes, for the pair finally hit the city's main avenue.

Instantly, Yakubo’s senses are assaulted by the vast melting pot of cultures occurring. Where he is from, Kusabue, the streets were not busy.

It didn't have many people, and they were all the same people known in the community. Here, dozens of shops line the street, selling all kinds of goods and services.

Hundreds of people fill the street from all corners of the world. Fathers with daughters, mothers with sons, family connected in a way Yakubo has never quite seen before.

More than just the people, the air fills with smells, heavy with clashing foods. Desserts waft through the air, different meats fight each other, all mixing at once.

Then the colors hit him, everywhere he turns his head, a different sign is selling something.

Shops are painted in whatever color will stand out, with aesthetics that match the items being sold.

What stands out most to him is a loud bar close to the gate. It's the perfect spot for merchants on long travels to grab a pint.

The female guard says nothing as she walks beside Yakubo, letting him take in the new sights. She watches him closely, looking for anything that might give her suspicion a clue.

The circumstances surrounding him are unknown. With all this in mind, he and his story are strange. But she could not turn him away, and there was nothing to lose by letting the child speak with the Oshinsu.

The walk is not far, the gate to the center tower is only a few miles away. Designed for efficiency, it allows quick, easy access for those coming with business.

When they reach it, Yakubo stops for a single second, his eyes trailing upwards at the tower in front of him. Objectively, the tower is not large, yet its presence fills the whole street.

The tower is made of wood and stands four stories tall. At the very top of the building, the same symbol from the gate is plastered.

Right underneath it is a big glass window that is Yakubo’s objective, the Oshinsu office. Onmitsus move around the building, politicians, nobles, people with business, civilians.

This building is the epicenter of all of Ojika, anyone who is anyone goes through here at least once in their life.

The female guard doesn't waste time nodding to the two other guards standing at the many exits and entrances. She opens the door and holds it for Yakubo to enter first.

Yakubo walks through the front doors into the Oshinsu tower. The first thing he notices is the movement in the lobby.

The space is packed with people carrying paperwork, boxes, and scrolls. It is a chaotic professional environment that could not be recreated anywhere else.

The guard guides Yakubo right to the cushioned chairs in the lobby that hug the right wall. She wordlessly walks away from him, striding towards the receptionist desk to speak with her.

Yakubo slowly begins to sit in the chair, at first, his posture is rigid. His feet brush the ground, soles not even pressing the floor.

Yakubo watches as the female guard finishes her conversation with the receptionist.

She leaves instantly without lingering, the only thing Yakubo gets is a glance from the receptionist before she starts to dial something.

Yakubo minds his own business for the most part. He watches others, but he doesn't speak. He doesn’t move from his position, zoning out until he snaps back to attention when he hears his name.

“Yakubo Kageyama. Lord Oshinsu will see you now.” The receptionist calls. Yakubo doesn't waste time rising from his seat, he approaches.

“Follow this man. He will take you to Lord Oshinsu.” She calmly states, gesturing to a tall man wearing a white porcelain mask. A simple drawing of an Oni is painted on it. The man doesn't wait a second, turning and moving silently toward his objective.

***

Yakubo follows through the dual doors, entering behind the man. They walk in silence up the spiral staircase to the Oshinsu office.

Arriving on the top floor, Yakubo is greeted by a long hallway with a door at the end. Padding down the hall, he stares at the wall.

On one side are pictures of the four previous Oshinsu, with text written below each one.

Yakubo has little time to read, or even try to read, what it says as the man leading him knocks. A muffled response comes from inside the office, and the masked man opens the door.

Yakubo glances at the masked man before stepping slowly into the office, the man closing the door behind him.

The office is surprisingly cozy, bright light filtering through the large window. The smell of ink and parchment lingers in the air as Yakubo steps further inside.

Finally, Yakubo is face-to-face with the Oshinsu, the legendary Sakuya Shinozaki. Sakuya looks up from the paper he was writing on, his desk already littered with papers yet to be completed.

“Yakubo, I presume?” He asks, raising a single eyebrow.

Yakubo does not answer, only stares, taking in the man behind the legend. He has an older face, aged with wisdom and experience.

His hair is dark brown, beginning to recede slightly at the corners. A goatee rests on his face, greying at the ends.

He wears the ceremonial robes of the Oshinsu, pristine white with gold lining on the shoulders and collar. His bright green eyes, sharp yet kind, track Yakubo’s every move.

“Please take a seat.” Sakuya gestures to the two chairs in front of his desk. Yakubo glances at the chair, then back to Sakuya before slowly sitting down.

The silence is not tense it is pregnant, full of questions yet to be spoken.

“Tell me, Yakubo. Why have you come here?” Sakuya probes, his elbows resting on the desk. Fingers are steepled as they sit just below his mouth.

“I have come here seeking asylum. Kusabue was not safe. I had the desire for better opportunities. To have a better, safer life.” Yakubo answers, his hands resting in his lap.

His voice has a cadence that resonates with Sakuya.

“Hmm,” Sakuya hums, shifting in his chair to an upright position. “Yes, but that’s not the real question, is it?’ He says, leaning back in his chair, one hand stroking his chin hair.

Yakubo does not answer him, but he understands what Sakuya is hinting at.

“Why here, Yakubo? Why not Tsukimi or Azuma? Both are much closer to Kusabue.” Sakuya inquires, his eyes looking for any slip in Yakubo’s mask.

“Because Ojika is known for hospitality to outsiders. As well as its vast opportunities.” Yakubo states as fact, his mask remaining impossible to dissect.

“Whereas Tsukimi has closed-border policies. And Azuma is not much better than Kusabue Financial.” Yakubo’s answer is very politically sound, rehearsed even.

The silence hangs in the air for a few passing moments. Both parties are attempting to read one another. “And you survived that far of a journey…by yourself…with nothing?” Sakuya murmurs more to himself than to Yakubo.

It is hard to imagine a child making it that far alone, with nothing, through all the dangers to reach Ojika.

“I was not alone the whole time.” Yakubo quickly adds before that line of questioning can be dug too deep. “I traveled with others heading the same direction. Some had helped me with food and water.” Yakubo tells Sakuya.

The Oshinsu does not answer at first, only leaning forward against his desk. His face taking on a more serious look.

“Even if you are telling the truth. Why should Ojika just take you?” Sakuya questions, his voice turning stern.

“You have no documents to prove you are who you say you are. You have no credibility in or outside the city. You are a walking flight risk waiting to happen.” He states seriously. Sakuya tests whether Yakubo will bend or change his story.

“I understand that your city has no obligation to me. That it will not just accept me because I asked.” Yakubo counters calmly, keeping the picture-perfect facade.

“That is why I am prepared to make an offer. You allow me to join your country. And I will provide my talents as an Onmitsu.” Yakubo offers.

He had prepared for everything up to this point. No question will throw him off balance or off course.

“An Onmitsu?” Sakuya mumbles skeptically. The offer is not unusual, but the person offering it is.

“Yes, I have received basic training before. It is part of the reason I was capable of traveling so far.” Yakubo answers, the room taking on a different tone.

Instead of skepticism, it's curiosity now.

“Do you have any family, Yakubo? Any clan connections?” Sakuya presses. Yakubo hesitates for the first time at the unexpected question.

“No. No, I do not, sir.” Yakubo mutters, his eye contact standing firm with Sakuya not shying away.

“I have come here with nothing,” Yakubo repeats to get the point across. Sakuya leans back again in his chair, his hand resuming its stroking of his chin.

“Hmm.” Sakuya hums again, thinking to himself. He is gauging the truth of Yakubo’s story.

“Well, I will tell you. You have caught me on a very busy day.” Sakuya murmurs, his eyes trailing down to the paperwork on his desk.

“I do not have the time to examine your capabilities.” He bluntly states to Yakubo before he lets out a deep sigh. “However, you have arrived at the perfect time,” Sakuya mutters, dragging a hand down his face to recompose himself.

“The Ashinin exams were just completed yesterday. Considering your age, were you an Onmitsu, you would slot right in with the rest.” Sakuya tells Yakubo. The timing couldn't be better, which only adds another layer of suspicion.

After a few seconds of absorbing the information, Yakubo finally responds. “Convenient.” Yakubo mumbles.

However, he doesn't complain, since this works in his favor.

“Very…” Sakuya whispers in response. A small huff of amusement escapes him in response to Yakubo’s reaction.

“This does not mean you are free, and does not mean you have citizenship,” Sakuya informs Yakubo, his voice becoming professional again.

“You will be given temporary housing set up in our refuge complex.” Sakuya begins to write on a blank piece of paper, pen moving quickly.

“You will go to the academy building at 7:45 sharp. This is the classroom you will find. Look for a man named Hiroshi, he will help you with any questions.” Sakuya scribbles a few more things before sliding the piece of paper across the desk.

“There you will be given instructions on what to do, and what is expected of you,” Sakuya says as he opens a drawer in his desk and reaches in for something.

“This is the key to your apartment and a thousand Mon. That will allow you to gather any items you may need before tomorrow, along with food.” Sakuya says, putting an envelope over the piece of paper he had slid across the desk.

“I will have an Onmitsu escort you to the apartments, as well as point out the academy.” Sakuya moves again, back to his original position, leaning against the desk.

Yakubo is still tracking each one of his movements with the slightest tilt of his head. “Once you have completed the test, we can go from there. Pass, and we can fast-track paperwork. Fail, and you will have to file and wait like everyone else.” Sakuya has given Yakubo a single chance.

“If you do anything suspicious or illegal. You will be instantly denied entrance and deported back to Kusabue. Do you understand these terms fully?” Sakuya finishes his monologue of orders and instructions.

A moment of silence follows as Yakubo processes it all before he answers.

“I understand,” Yakubo responds, he has processed all the information and agrees to those terms. Sakuya takes a moment to really look at Yakubo, his gaze searching for anything.

“Good.” Sakuya finally replies when he finds nothing in Yakubo to suggest he is lying. He does not move, doesn’t even ask for someone to come.

A person, the same man who had walked Yakubo to the office. Appears behind him, cloaked in black and wearing the Oni mask.

“If you would be so kind as to follow Oni. He will guide you to your temporary home.” Sakuya requests Yakubo, though really just a polite way of asking him to leave.

Yakubo takes a second to stand, tilting his head as if poised to ask something.

“Do you really just keep envelopes prepared in there?” Yakubo asks, now standing in front of the desk. He is intrigued that the Oshinsu had those prepared.

Sakuya merely chuckles in response to the question, his eyes taking on a new amusement. “You would be surprised how many come seeking refuge here,” Sakuya murmurs as he leans back in his chair for a final time.

“Be safe, Yakubo. And don’t be late.” He instructs. With that, he turns his head back down to whatever paperwork he was working on before the conversation.

Yakubo gives him one last look before turning to follow Oni out of the room towards his new home.

***

Yakubo follows Oni out of the room, not lingering in the room. The walk out of the Oshinsu tower is short, Yakubo keeps entirely to himself this time.

Reaching the street, it has begun to quiet down for the night. The sun is setting slowly, Yakubo arrived in Ojika in the early afternoon.

Now, when he walks down the street, it is quieter, the night settling into an almost peaceful state. This place is nothing like Kusabue, Yakubo is slightly surprised by how different it is.

Trash doesn't litter the street, the buildings and roads are built properly. No one fights in public, and no one threatens anyone. This is a different side of Ojika, one Yakubo hadn’t seen just a few hours prior.

He zones out, taking in his surroundings, examining every small detail. The envelope remains clutched in his left hand, the paper the Oshinsu has written on folded in his pocket.

Yakubo didn't realize they were approaching the refuge complex until they reached the gates. When the two entered the complex, it is even cleaner than the streets. The complex consists of four buildings lined up, each built efficiently.

The envelope has writing on it, over the seal. It says ‘apartment B 210.’ Yakubo figures it out fast, already understanding the complex's layout.

Oni doesn't tell Yakubo anything, he doesn't speak, merely brings him to the right building. At the end of the apartment, it says B.

At the far end is A, and the other two are C and D. Yakubo doesn’t react, but he hears the tiny gust of wind behind him.

Oni has left him alone to figure out this last bit, and he is no idiot. The bottom floor numbers are in the hundreds, the second floor is in the two hundreds.

Yakubo climbs the stairs calmly at the end before beginning to move down the path.

His apartment is the last one. There are ten apartments, and his is at the very end of the path.

Yakubo opens the envelope, inside is the Mon the Oshinsu told him of. But on top of the many coins is a simple silver key, one that undoubtedly goes to this room.

Taking the key out, Yakubo uses it to open the door and finds the space he will be living in for what could be a very long time.

It is nice, the inside is clean, with polished wooden floors and shining countertops. Walking into the space, Yakubo shuts the front door behind him, closing him off from the world.

He stands in the doorway, examining the room with a clinical gaze. Directly to his left when walking in is an L-shaped couch and a coffee table. In front is the dining set, which is a table and four simple brown chairs.

Connected to that is the kitchen, which already includes the essential utilities, a fridge and a dishwasher. A half-wall divides the kitchen and living room, with a small TV mounted to that wall.

The flooring is simple, the couch and coffee table sit on carpet, while the kitchen, dining room, and hallway share the same polished dark wood.

Yakubo moves slowly towards the hallway, first looking at the small TV, about 45 inches. He turns his attention down the hall, a few steps to his left is the bathroom.

It has all the basics, a sink by the door, a toilet, and finally a walk-in shower in the back. Going straight down the hallway, there is a room at the end.

The floor is carpeted, with a single bed, nightstand, and wardrobe. A closet is on the right wall, it has a sliding mirror door.

Returning to the hallway and turning right, he finds another small hallway.

On the right is a very small room with only a washing and drying machine. At the end of this is a very small guest room, about half the size of the main room, with only a single bed.

It is clear this apartment is made for families, refugees who come here seeking asylum normally have families. Yakubo sits on the couch for a second, just staring at this new living space.

It is all his, no one else's, but he can not enjoy it yet. He still needs to retrieve the bag he had buried just outside the walls.

He has to do this without being caught, if he is, he blows his only opportunity.

***

Yakubo waits until the middle of the night, the complex has gone completely silent. He slips out of his apartment, getting past the refuge complex wall easily without being noticed.

Only an hour until midnight, and the streets are empty. Yakubo doesn't walk through the streets, he moves through the darkness.

Traversing like a ghost, using dark alleys, rooftops, and empty shops. It does not take him long to get to the gate he had entered from earlier.

He stares at the gate, searching for anything that could get in the way of him getting to his buried bag. Yakubo sees the two guards from earlier still there, they’ve been on guard duty all day.

He had buried it not far, if only he could get them to go away in some way. Looking around at the surroundings of the gate, there is nothing obvious.

The guards are not sleepy in the slightest, the woman is standing, leaning against the wall.

The male guard is sitting on a chair reading from a scroll, soon they will be transferring shifts. Yakubo takes his stake, waiting, perched on a rooftop next to the wall.

After almost half an hour of waiting, the opportunity comes. The bar Yakubo saw earlier holds the solution to his problem.

Two men are stumbling out of the bar close by, close enough to serve as the distraction. One of them slurs something, while the other struggles to walk straight.

Yakubo drops down from the roof into the alleyway near the men, landing on a crate first.

Moving fully into the shadows behind the crate, he stays there watching and waiting.

“Did you see that chick? She was all up on me,” the man slurs his words while trying to stand up straight.

“Which one? There were too many bitches tonight,” the man, who is struggling even to walk straight, responds.

“Stupid fucking bartender!! I'm not even that drunk.” The man angrily protests, but his claim is completely disproven.

Seconds later, his hand is pressed against the wall as he begins to throw up violently. He is throwing up right next to where Yakubo is waiting, and he makes his move.

Unseen, he goes right behind the man throwing up. Slipping his hand into his back pocket undetected, he pulls the man’s wallet out effortlessly.

Yakubo slips away, climbs back onto the roof, and moves toward his original spot. When the man finally wipes the bile from his mouth, he straightens as his friend grumbles about something.

It takes a few moments for the man to feel for his things, and that's when he realizes his wallet is gone.

“Where did my wallet go?” the man slurs, patting the back of his pants. “Did you take my wallet?!” the man accuses his friend, pointing a finger, his legs wobbling slightly.

“What?” the other replies, confused. “I didn’t take your damn wallet!” the man snaps back, slapping his finger away from his face.

“Then where the fuck did it go?!” he snaps at him, pushing the guy back by the shoulders, aggression rising.

“Quit fucking lying to me man!! Where did you put it?!” the man barks, escalating the situation with slurred words and stumbling movement.

“I DIDN’T TAKE YOUR FUCKING WALLET!!” The accused man finally snaps, yelling and pushing him back.

This is the reaction Yakubo was hoping for, because it was loud enough to draw the guards' attention. Instantly, the two guards have to react, with the female one moving first.

“Whoa, okay, okay calm down,” the female guard says, attempting to de-escalate the situation by putting herself between their pathetic shoving match.

The male guard is not far behind, having abandoned the scroll on his chair to join his partner. With the gate left unattended, Yakubo slips right by and out into the open world.

He doesn’t waste time, instantly moving towards the edge of the forest where he had buried the bag earlier today.

Finding the tree that still has bark on its trunk, he grabs the bark and uses it to dig his bag out of the ground.

As soon as his bag is retrieved, he shovels the dirt back into the hole to cover his tracks. By the time he gets back to the gate, it is quite the scene.

One of the men is crying aggressively while throwing up, and the female guard is patting his back.

The male guard is speaking with the transfer guards, while the other drunk man sits leaning against the wall.

Yakubo doesn’t even want to know what happened or what is going on. Yakubo uses the same path he used to get out to get back into the refuge complex.

Arriving back at his apartment, he enters, taking a deep breath. He looks at the clock, it is just past midnight, and he has successfully retrieved his bag.

Yakubo walks slowly through his apartment again, basking in the fact that it is all his now. Reaching his bedroom, he slowly sits on the edge of his bed, first going through the man’s wallet.

There is nothing of value besides the money, he is carrying yen, the paper currency. It is the same worth as mon, only easier to carry.

The rest of the wallet is useless, ids, cards, pictures. Yakubo has no use for it, though he holds onto it, then places the wallet in the nightstand drawer.

With the wallet search, he's done everything except go through the bag. So opens it and begins to rustle through things.

He reaches in and pulls out items he's kept tightly packed. Scrolls come out, containing items sealed within them, the kunai from earlier, and his flask. He sets it down on his nightstand.

Once the bag is all empty, he stares down into it, looking at the very bottom of it.

He does not move to take the item out of the bag, it is as if a force has taken over him. He reaches a tentative hand into the bag, slowly pulling at something.

What he pulls out is old, dirty, torn at the seams, and haphazardly stitched back together.

His finger traces the worn fabric, the reddish color faded with time, the white greyed by years of hardship.

Yakubo stares down at the old fox plushie in his hands, he doesn’t move, stuck staring at it. Very slowly, he begins to place it down on the nightstand.

His hands are gentle in a way they have not been in years. Staring a few moments longer at the plushie, Yakubo slowly lowers himself onto the bed.

He turns to face the other side of the room, one hand at his head, the other lying limp. For the first time in years, he is in complete silence, the blanket pulled to his neck.

As he begins to drift off, there is nothing in the room. Besides an old fox plushie watching from the nightstand, the only person to stay through Yakubo's whole life

…Mr. Fluffy.