the owl's wish

chapter 17: house of weasel

Sakusa steps aside so that Bokuto can rush into the genkan foyer, clumsily toeing his sandals off. The weasel spirit doesn't wait for him to finish, striding into the living room. Bokuto nearly slips on the polished wood floorboards in his haste to follow.

The living room is ruthlessly clean. Not a single speck of dust, stray cobweb or wilted leaf can be seen. The tatami mats are fresh and green, as if they were placed there just yesterday. The air is crisp and smells of soap and pine. A shoji screen halves the living room with a neat line, the delicate paper screen patterned with a flowering plum tree painted in broad strokes.

Sakusa is kneeling at the short chabudai table, idly wiping the dark wood surface although it already glints under the waning sunlight. His seiza posture is impossibly straight, legs folded in half underneath him and thin hands resting just above his knees. Even his long tail curves in a perfect arc around his calf.

Bokuto shuffles into the seat across from him, trying his best to mimic the flawless standard poised tall and dark against the soft paper screens. But Bokuto's hands feel large and awkward now, never quite lying comfortably atop his thighs. He's barely been kneeling a minute but already his calves and feet prickle in protest.

But Bokuto grits his teeth and perseveres. Silently, he places Osamu's basket on the table and pushes it towards Sakusa.

Sakusa procures a cloth from the inside of his kimono sleeve and swipes it over the lid, hands moving in neat, practiced motions. After folding the cloth and pushing it to the corner of the table, he opens the basket, releasing a buttery waft of warm rice. Bokuto's face scrunches up as the acidic smell of the pickled plums hits the air. Sakusa's expression does not change, but one of his rounded ears twitches.

"Umeboshi onigiri," Sakusa drawls, then raises a dark eyebrow. "I take it the Miyas sent you?"

Bokuto nods, unsure how to react to the pinched expression on the weasel spirit's face. Sakusa, however, just takes this in stride and continues speaking.

"Naturally. They never pass up an opportunity to meddle in business that isn't theirs," The weasel spirit's exasperation weighs down his flat tone. He takes a breath and continues. "So, Bokuto, what is it you want from me?"

Sakusa asks it cooly, resting his chin on pale, tangled fingers. Bokuto takes a deep breath, willing courage to come whistling up his lungs. The monumental task of holding the icy gaze leveled at him becomes impossible. The grains in the table become much more tolerable landmarks.

"My- my friend. Akaashi. He's..." Bokuto gestures weakly. "and Akiko-san said that if I-"

"Stop," Bokuto's eyes snap up to see Sakusa's outstretched palm and crinkled nose. "I don't want to hear your whole story. I don't want to know it, I don't need to hear it, and it wastes both of our time. I am not here to pity or fawn over you. I am here to help you finish a task. Now what will that task be?"

Bokuto blinks back, heart lodged in his throat. It takes him a few seconds before he can swallow it back down.

"I need to make a katana," Bokuto says, setting the tamahagane on the tabletop, losing all the intended reverence in the motion when it makes a small clack against the wood. Then, uncertainly: "...Please."

Sakusa frowns, once more retrieving the cloth and using it to cover his hand as he pulls the tamahagane towards him.

"A katana?" Sakusa muses over the idea. "No wonder you spoke to the Miyas, then. And, judging from this tamahagane, you spoke with Asahi as well?"

Bokuto nods, unsure if he should elaborate. Again, though, Sakusa seems content with just the confirmation.

"Making a katana is not easy, though I'm sure you already know that." Sakusa's eyes glint coldly, his arms crossing across his chest. "And I will not allow my name to be attached to any substandard product. If you want my help, you are not getting off easy. Forging the steel is not a job for one spirit. It never has been. You will do what I tell you to the best of your ability. Got that?"

Bokuto nods, his eyebrows furrowed and fists clenched determinedly.

Let the fourth trial begin.