#sugar content

Now that he’s still, tendrils of the conversation he’d been trying to outrun take root in his mind – you’re an adult now, Kanshichirou, it’s time for us to talk about you taking over the family business.

Gritting his teeth, he picks himself up from the road. The fact of the matter is, he’s only sev— eighteen years old. An adult? He feels like a child still – a child being thrown into a lifelong responsibility before he’s ready to handle it. Kanshichirou snorts derisively; thinking of the Hashida corporation as a mere “family business” is laughable on its own, and his grandfather wants him to be in charge of it already? Kanshichirou isn’t ready for that yet. He’s not even ready to think about it. And he doubts he’ll ever be ready to give up his morals, either; he knows what kind of ethically dubious things his grandfather does to keep the Hashidaya going. Taking over from his grandfather, going against his own conscience for the sake of profits… That’s not the kind of life he wants.

Kanshichirou kicks at the rock that brought him down and watches it skitter down the road. He’s not entirely sure where he is – some seedy part of town, by the looks of it. The street is lined with bars and cabaret clubs, their colourful signs flashing beacons of hope in the night for those weary of their problems and looking for an escape. To his left, soft light spills through the doorway of a pub. The warm glow is inviting, beckoning even, and Kanshichirou shrugs. Eh, what the hell. He may still be two years short of legal drinking age, but according to his grandfather he’s enough of an adult to run a goddamn conglomerate, so why not? How else do adults deal with their problems beyond trying to drink themselves into oblivion, anyways?

The bar stool is a hair too tall for him; Kanshichirou feels awkward hopping up onto it, and he slips off gracelessly and has to try again. He tries to get comfortable, but no matter how much he adjusts himself on the poorly padded seat, it’s just not possible. Swallowing nervously, he silently thanks the heavens that no one seems to be paying attention to him, lest they immediately spot the fact that he really doesn’t belong—

“And what’ll it be today, sir?”

Kanshichirou jumps in his seat, one knee smacking painfully into the underside of the bar. Across the counter, the bartender stares at him expectantly.

What do people even order at bars? For a brief second, Kanshichirou forgets everything he’s ever known about alcohol or adulthood or life as a whole, and he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“S-saké, please?” The quaver in his voice is unmistakable; surely the bartender is going to throw him out—

But no, the man only nods, and turns to the shelf of liquor behind him.

Kanshichirou exhales the smallest sigh of relief as the adrenaline begins to drain from his system. He’s passed the test – no one here will question him now. Satisfied, Kanshichirou leans his elbows onto the bar.

“Oi, aren’t you a little young to be drinking saké?”

Kanshichirou jumps a little less this time. He turns to the speaker, ready to defend his position as a proper adult of legal drinking age, and is promptly halted in his tracks by an overwhelming sense of familiarity; Kanshichirou thinks of framed photographs, in his own house and in his grandfather’s estate, of a different man – a man with a gleeful grin and sparkling eyes and the same wild, silver hair as the man sitting two barstools to his right in the present moment.

But Kanshichirou’s father is dead, and has been since before he was even born; he knows this, has always known this. And the man beside him shares no resemblance to the man in the photographs beyond that wavy silver hair, either – the face is wrong, and those eyes are lifeless, like a dead fish…

Kanshichirou shakes his head to clear out his thoughts. “I’m an adult, I’m allowed to be here,” he snaps. He didn’t come here to be plagued by memories, or to be belittled by strangers. He came here to drink, dammit – to drink and be properly irresponsible about his duties. Just like any other responsible adult.

The man snorts. “An adult? Barely. You sound like you still need to grow some hair between your legs, kid.” His face is flushed, and his words are a touch slurred.

Kanshichirou rolls his eyes. “Who are you to tell me where I still need to grow hair? Besides, the bartender is already serving me anyways.”

“Damn Kabukichou bartenders never check for I.D.,” the man mutters. “Irresponsible, really. I swear, I’m the only human being alive in this universe who actually gives half a shit about keeping our image family-friendly…” He trails off into indiscernible mumbles, glaring angrily into his cup.

What strange man, Kanshichirou thinks as he turns back to the bar, just as the bartender places a cup and a small flask of saké in front of him.

“Thank you,” he says with confidence. The bartender only nods before wandering off.

Some of that confidence immediately wanes, however, as he looks down at the saké. He knows it’s supposed to poured into the cup but… How much? And is there some secret pouring technique that only true adults know? What if he does it so incorrectly that everyone realizes he’s not supposed to be here?

“Never poured your own saké before, huh?”

Kanshichirou looks up – the man is smirking, and god Kanshichirou wants nothing more than to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face.

“Screw off, old man. Tend to your own drink.”

“Hey, who’re you calling a shitty old geezer?!” The man frowns. “Kids these days. What are you even doing here, anyways?”

“Having a drink, obviously,” Kanshichirou rolls his eyes.

“Damn you, you know what I meant. Why are you here, you shitty brat? Explain it in thirty words or less!” He gestures dramatically towards Kanshichirou, alcohol sloshing over the rim of the cup in his hand.

“I told you, I’m here to have a drink.” Kanshichirou’s voice falters a bit, and he glances towards the ground. “You know… to deal with stuff. That’s what adults do, right? They drink to fix their problems.”

The man raises an eyebrow. “Oh, do they now? Now there’s a mark of your age if I ever heard one.”

Kanshichirou frowns. “What, you think that just because I’m young I can’t have problems?”

“Nah, I just think that you’re naïve for believing that alcohol will fix them.”

The man’s words drive through Kanshichirou’s body like a nail. He’s right, of course; Kanshichirou knows he’s right (but he doesn’t want him to be right).

“What kind of problems are you running away from that have you looking to get drunk at a seedy bar, anyways?” The stranger shifts over a seat so he’s sitting right beside Kanshichirou. “Aren’t you too young to be doing this kind of thing?”

Kanshichirou winces. “It’s… a big responsibility. I don’t want to deal with it right now.”

“How big?”

“Really big… It’s, well. It’s kind of deciding on my future, you know?” Kanshichirou’s brow wrinkles. “I’m being pressured to make a big career choice, but I’m not really ready to make it yet.”

“Ah, I see.” The man nods sagely. “Who is it, your mom? Your dad?”

“My grandfather,” Kanshichirou corrects. “He wants me to take over the family business, now that I’m finally eighteen, and he wants me to start right away.”

“So what, you’ve got a steady career and some kind of fortune lined up from day one? Doesn’t sound so bad to me. Do you know how many people would kill to be in your position?”

“It’s a good opportunity, I guess, but it’s not what I want.”

“So what do you want?”

“I want…” Kanshichirou furrows his brow. “I want to make choices I can be happy with? I want… an enjoyable life, I guess.”

“Like a cherry blossom?”

Kanshichirou blinks in surprise. He’s heard that phrase before – according to his mother, it was something his father used to be fond of saying, back when he was alive.

I want to live like a cherry blossom.

It wasn’t something that had ever made sense, but… hearing it now… Kanshichirou feels like he finally understands the sentiment behind those words.

“Yeah… like a cherry blossom, I guess.”

The stranger takes a slow sip from his drink in response. Kanshichirou waits, expectantly.

“You know, kid… It’s true that sometimes, the things other people value aren’t always important. Being filthy rich, or living long enough to meet your great-great-grandchildren, or any of that. But even then… life is full of responsibilities, and you can’t just ignore them.” The man turns to face Kanshichirou. There’s something in his eyes, but Kanshichirou can’t tell what it is – it’s not motivation, but it isn’t defeat, either. “Maybe the way your grandfather lives his life doesn’t appeal to you, and that’s okay. But taking over the family business doesn’t mean following in his footsteps, you know?”

Kanshichirou cocks his head. “I… guess? I don’t know what you mean, exactly.”

“I mean, if you’ve got your own code, your own brand of bushido, you can still follow that. You can take over the company, but then run it the way you want to.” He gulps back the rest of his drink and slams the cup on the counter. “You don’t have to run from your responsibilities. You can meet them head on, and make the choices you want to make, and still live a happy life.”

Kanshichirou stares into his cup of saké and considers the stranger’s words. While the thought of following his grandfather’s legacy is certainly terrifying, the thought of changing that legacy…

Maybe I could…

A rustle to his right breaks Kanshichirou out of his thoughts – the man is standing up.

“Ah, wait! Are you going so soon?” There’s a silent plea in his words – please stay, you make me feel better about this, I want to keep talking to you.

“Sorry, kid. I’ve got my own responsibilities to deal with.”

“Oh…” Kanshichirou scratches the back of his head awkwardly and gazes at the ground. “Well… thanks for the advice. It helped.”

The stranger smiles. “Any time, kid.” He takes a few steps away from the bar, then stops and looks over his shoulder. “Listen, Kanshichirou—”

Kanshichirou’s head snaps back up.

We never—

“—in a couple years when you’re actually old enough to drink, come find me, okay? And we’ll share a drink for real.” He turns and walks away.

“W-wait!” Kanshichirou jumps off the bar stool. “Who are you? How do you know my name??”

The man raises his hand in a sort of farewell wave. “It’s a promise, okay? Remember, a samurai doesn’t make a promise he can’t keep.”

For a second, Kanshichirou sees it – sees the same man, walking away from him, only this time he’s walking away from a park bench, into a quiet spring night… Then he’s back in the bar, and the man is disappearing out the door, and Kanshichirou’s knees are buckling at the sudden memory.

Who…

“Hey, take responsibility for your tab before you leave!”

Kanshichirou spins around. The bartender is glaring at him from across the counter.

“S-sorry!” he practically squeaks, and stumbles back to the bar. “Here, let me get my money.”

“And I’m assuming you’ll be paying for your dad’s, too?”

Kanshichirou starts. “My dad?!”

“Yeah, that guy you were with? The one who just left without paying his bill.”

“He’s, uh, he’s not my dad.”

“Oh really? You too look exactly alike, you know.”

Kanshichirou laughs. “Yeah, that’s fair. And heck, I’ll pay his bill anyways. Just tell me who he is.”

“That’s Yorozuya Gin-chan. He runs the odd jobs place a few blocks from here.”

Yorozuya Gin-chan, huh? Kanshichirou can’t help but smile as he digs for his wallet.