Last Train Home

The Hokutosei pulls into the station with a loud screech. After a few moments, the luggage begins to be unloaded, and passengers exit their cars to take their places on the platform. A ticket to take a mobile hotel across the country isn't cheap, and the disembarking passengers show it in how they carry themselves. Businessmen wearing slick Western-style suits and carrying thick leather briefcases hurry to cabs in an effort to maintain their sensitive schedules, or otherwise take a leisurely pace as they assess where the nearest bar to the station is. Couples on vacation carry many bags with them for an extended stay, and speak of reservations and places they intend to visit. Kageoka-born returning to visit family, come bearing an assortment of gifts to share with siblings, cousins, nephews, and nieces. Relatives waiting for their arrival greet some and offer gifts of their own.

As all this unfolds, a girl steps out of one of the cars where the Royal rooms are located. Despite this, she only carries with her two items: a modestly sized suitcase, which she holds in two hands, and a cylindrical bag slung across her shoulder. It's not her being a light traveler that stands out, however, but her choice of attire: a black scarf around her neck, a white haori on her upper half, matching hakama covering her lower half, and feet clad in sandals. In a modern city such as Kageoka, seeing someone who still looked to be of school age dressing so was hardly a common sight. Yet, it would also be of no particular note to its natives. While the girl's scarf and the wild hair that's barely being contained in the form of a long ponytail obscure much of her face, the iris crest across the back of her haori makes the reason for her clothing readily apparent.

"Shobu Gozen, please this way." Comes a soft but steady feminine voice, calling out from somewhere. Shobu's ears perk at the clacking of heels approaching from her left. Rather than waiting for them to reach her, she turns and meets them with deceptive speed. The woman who'd been approaching is forced to a sudden stop. She's unable to get a word out before the girl leans forward and takes several sniffs.

Shobu hums, pleased. The faint scent of plums, hinoki, and almonds confirms more than anything that she is home. "It is you, Tadashi-san." She shifts her grip on the suitcase to bring a hand to Tadashi's face, gently caressing her cheek. The sharply cut edges of the woman's neat bob tickle her fingers as they slowly and deliberately explore her features until her face is fully mapped out. "You haven't changed at all." She feels the woman's mouth stretch into a smile.

"It pleases me to hear you say so." There's a silence between them. Not the awkward, uncomfortable kind, but the silence of a lower basking in the sun's warm rays. Tadashi lets out a sigh filled with both content and a tinge of remorse as she places a hand atop Shobu's head. "I'm relieved to have you back after so long."

There's an uncertainty and a longing for more. This much already crosses a boundary few are permitted to, and were her charge younger, Tadashi would pull Shobu into her bosom without a second thought. Yet, time has created a ravine; the bridge built by their past love may give out should she rush over to meet her.

Instead, Tadashi moves the hand resting on Shobu's head to the handle of her suitcase, easing it into her palm. Meanwhile, her free hand takes hold of the one on her cheek. "Come, your father and mother are eager to receive you."

Shobu silently nods, and Tadashi leads her through the crowd until, soon enough, the creak of a door and a rush of cool wind signify their exit from the station. From there, they make their way to their mode of transport—a G50 Century. Tadashi holds open a passenger door and helps Shobu inside, sinking into the warm, woolen upholstery, and sliding the bag from her back to rest it atop her lap. While her retainer places her suitcase in the car's trunk and proceeds to settle into the driver's seat, one of Shobu's hands reaches out to grope for the center console. She'd been driven about in this car dozens, if not hundreds, of times. The way her body is put at ease, and a soft yawn is forced past her lips by memories curling up for a nap in the very seat she occupies after being run ragged by her friends, serves as proof that has been irreversibly carved into her being. The click of a CD being fed into the tray and the instrumental for Watarasebashi that follows without need for her to voice a request serves as further evidence that this space knows her. Still, the fact that it takes her more than a second to find the hand to pull open the console is a reminder that it's been years since she last knew it. Once opened, a small television and a remote are revealed.

The edges of her mouth subtly angle upward. "You always have been a thoughtful one. You wouldn't happen to have prepared me some snacks as well, would you?" No sooner does the crack of a lid being opened and the crisp, caramel aroma of ripe persimmons hit her.

"I hope they're still to your liking." Tadashi reaches around to slide out a tray table and lays the opened container on it. While Shobu fiddles with the remote and gingerly pops a slice of persimmon into her mouth, the vehicle begins to move. "Please, let me know if there is anything I can do. You may find your reception... exhausting."

Shobu exhales a soft chuckle. "It's better than to be left restless." As she snacks, she listens to the local news even through the patchy reception. A picture of the current state of Kageoka would be filled in over the days to come, but whatever was worth broadcasting would be sufficient to get a general grasp of things.

Yet, even that causes her to slip into the past as the phrases "another disappearance" and "shadow over Kageoka" echo in her skull. Without thinking, her grip tightens around her bag while her mind sinks into the sea of memories, almost as if hoping it might keep her afloat.

The winter chill nips at her fingers and nose, and even through her tights, her legs shiver. She should have worn a longer skirt today, but she hated how heavy they felt. How much they shut out the world. They were far too restrictive for someone as tactile as her, so it was better to freeze than not to feel at all.

Besides, the steel edge against her neck is far colder than any winter she has known.

His breath reeks of alcohol, cheap alcohol. Nothing like what her father drinks, nor what their servants are given, for that matter. Worse are rough patches of beard hair scratching the back of her neck and the taste of dirt and grease on his hands. Scum is the only way to describe this caliber of person.

"D-Don't struggle, or else," comes his gruff voice as he presses the edge deeper into her neck.

It would be easy to comply. This wretch's goal was likely to hold her for ransom, given that neither of his hands wandered, and there was nothing someone like him could demand that Shinken did not have the resources to provide. Whether they would do so in a timely manner, if at all, was another question. Their wealth matched their pride, and they did not take well to being extorted. With that in mind, the tremor in his voice makes it difficult to envision from whence he summoned the courage to entertain such ideas. Perhaps hadn't. Perhaps there was a greater scheme in motion. Regardless, he would gain nothing if grievous harm came to their precious daughter.

But his hand is shaky. A hint of salt mixes in with the dirt and grease as his palms progressively moisten with sweat. The hand gripping the knife was likely in a similar state, and as the girl is urged in a direction by her captor, all that occupies her mind is thoughts of taking it for herself. She can't perceive the difference in their height or how much longer his limbs are than hers. She knows it in little ways, and some small part of her acknowledges it as a simple fact, but these things are not real to her. What is real is his nervousness, his lack of discipline, and his openings. What is real is the indignation she feels and the adrenaline coursing through her body.

What's real is the overwhelming urge to fight.

Pressure removed.
A door opening.
Mouth full of iron. Heel dug into toes.
Pain.
Metal clattering.
Wet. Warm.

Shobu's mind is set ablaze, images of some... beast flash before her. It doesn't make sense, but she can feel that they're heading right towards, and her body moves instinctively. She unbuckles her seatbelt and lunges toward the front of the car with the bagged object still in one hand, using her feet to kick off the back of her seat. "Shobu Go-" comes Tadashi's alarmed voice as her charge grips the steering wheel. "No other vehicles are near, correct?"

"It seems so, but the fog-" Shobu doesn't wait for her to finish—the time to act has arrived. She quickly shifts gears and wrests control of the steering wheel, then slams the brake pedal with the bag, sending the car careening. The tires scream as they fight against the vehicle's momentum until it finally comes to a stop. Tadashi gasps for breath as she tries to process what's occurred over the span of mere seconds and decide how to respond. She'd had little reason to reproach the girl before, and now didn't know if she could.

A hand tightens around her shoulder. "Please, trust me and stay here." She wants to protest, to question, but she finds her words swallowed when their eyes meet. There's an urgency in them. She at once sees both a desperate child asking to be understood and a stubborn adolescent who will act regardless. The bridge sways precariously, and she holds on for dear life; her hand squeezes Shobu's. "I've never doubted you, Shochan. Next time, say you need me to pull over, okay?"

The girl smiles and nods. "Of course, I've already given you scares." Then, she wordlessly takes up the bag again and unties it to reveal a hilt. The sight causes an uneasy feeling to settle in Tadashi's core, even having understood that nothing else could have been inside. She could hardly fathom what Shobu intended to do as she disappeared into the fog, blade in hand, but she wanted to trust the child she'd brought up.

The second she exits the car, the world feels wrong. Why, she can't pinpoint, but Kageoka's air does not smell as it should. Neither does the ground beneath feel quite right, nor do the sounds echoing in the distance seem to match the rest of the atmosphere. It's sweet, like arsenic. Shobu herself feels odd. Not because anything feels wrong with her, but because she feels more right than she ever has. Stronger than ever.

Strangest of all, however, are the heavy thumps and sharp clicks steadily approaching. It can't be human, yet its gait is too weird for her to recognize as an animal. The ravenous growls it makes as it closes in on her position are wolf-like, but they are disharmonious, with multiple tones overlapping. By far the most disturbing component is that her mysterious foe's vocalizations sound almost intelligible.

What it could want to communicate, she can't fathom, and neither does she care, because above all, she understands that this thing means to do her harm. Her hand is tightly wrapped around the hilt of her blade, her body falling into a low stance like it's second nature. Then, she 'sees' it. Again, an image is conjured in her mind, this time more clearly—a hulking, lupine creature with too many mouths, too many eyes, heads of twisted antlers, and claws like daggers. It circles her in the fog, also acknowledging the danger its prey poses, but its maddening hunger erodes all reason. It won't be able to—

The beast pounces, and a sharp ring emanates as blade and claw meet. Shobu's blade cleanly carves through the creature and makes a path through its foreleg, slicing a section completely off. Warmth sprays out, but it's wrong— cooler than it should be. The howl that follows carries more rage than pain.

Its injury doesn't give the beast pause as its teeth gnash at where Shobu's head was only a moment ago. She glides between cement cracking strikes as she maneuvers beneath the beast's legs, her feet carrying her with such speed that it feels as if they might leave the rest of her body behind. All the while, she attempts to slash open its belly or free the main head from its neck, but only manages to claim more claws as well as... tongues. They dart out of the many hungry maws, tearing away bits of cloth and leaving lines of red of various depths as they attempt to skewer her. One catches her side. Another misses her eyes by a hair's breadth. On their own, none of them amounts to much, but her newfound power rips shallow cuts into unsightly gashes.

Another clash, and Shobu springs backwards. She flicks the residue off her blade and sheathes it. The beast follows, claws and maws reaching out. With a twist, her body is sent spinning like a corkscrew as she plummets, the glint of her blade reminiscent of a falling star. As they once again meet, the beast's body becomes a valley through which she relentlessly flows. A final cacophony of cries accompanies the beast's thrashing as it attempts to divert her course, but she presses forward, and the world falls into silence.

But her mind is still ablaze. Not just adrenaline, but something else. Something intoxicating. It's the understanding that she has conquered her foe, another jolt of energy like the one she'd felt when the battle began, and a desire for more. More opponents. More victories. More power.

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"Shochan!" Tadashi calls out to Shobu as she rushes over. She wasn't sure what happened, but the fog suddenly cleared, and she saw the girl standing there, motionless and covered in cuts. She nearly embraces Shobu once close enough, but as she stretches her arms out to do something, something stops her.

The edge of her charge's blade rests on her neck.

Immediately, Shobu realizes her mistake and swiftly draws the weapon back into the saya, taking a step back as she slowly breathes in and out to calm herself. "Forgive me. I'm sure you've noticed there was an altercation; I was on edge."

She lowers her head in shame, but to her surprise, she finds her upper body delicately wrapped in a soft warmth. "Of course, I should have been more mindful." Tadashi holds Shobu and gently rubs her back, for her own sake if the girl's, before pulling back slightly to look her over. "But what was it that left you in such a state?"

Shobu frowns and stays silent. Not because she wishes to conceal the truth, but because she cannot be certain of what really transpired. She knows what she felt, and somehow, what she saw, but there's no way for her to articulate it properly. A sly smile takes shape on her face, and she holds out a hand, pinky extended.

"Promise not to tell Mother and Father?"

After a final stroke, Shobu sets down the chalk and turns around. The motion reminds the lacerations hidden beneath her uniform flare up with an ache that's more annoying than it is painful. A reminder that she could have done better. "My name is Shinken Shobu. You will call me Shobu Gozen. I have been away from Kageoka for too long, so I am eager to make myself familiar with it and all of you."

Whispers abound, questioning whether she's really that Shinken. The homeroom teacher quickly hushes the gossip and moves things along, however. "Thank you for the introduction. I'm sure everyone can't wait to get to know you either." They shift their attention from Shobu to the rest of the class. "Now, would anyone like to help her to a seat?"

"That won't be ne—" Before she can finish her protestation, a chair slides back and someone seems to run to the front of the classroom, grabbing Shobu's hand. Slender. Feminine, but with a grip made strong from practice. "I've got this!" The girl says. Her voice is familiar.

Shobu grips the strap of her sword bag with her free hand as she's pulled along by the other. "After class, I'll show you around the school too. It's too bad Momo skipped today. she's gonna freak." Momo. Fukunee? Shobu wrenches her hand free, with some effort, as they reach their seats. She leans in to take in her guide's scent.

"I know you." She's certain of it, and she hates that she can't place a name. She hates that the scent isn't a perfect match for the one that lingers in her memories. The giggle that her assertion elicits in response sounds mocking in that moment, even though she understands that it could never be so.

"Well, duh. We grew up together, Bucchan!"