Growing Up

Yukiko inspects herself in the mirror for the twentieth time and sighs. It’s still not right. Her usual buns were flimsy, a high ponytail made her look too young, letting it loose is too low effort, and switching her hair part is indecisive. Seiichiro told her a long time ago she’d look good with bangs, but she can’t imagine herself with them and is too scared to try them last minute, and now she’s wondering if she should shave her whole head. To make things worse, she’s not feeling any of her kimono. They’re too tight in some places and too loose in others, the sleeves slide up, and the cut over her collar is all wrong. It’s improper.

She throws her clothes to the side and dives back into her closet.

Seiichiro slides open the door as she’s deciding number twenty one is a dud. “Did you invite the Emperor, or something? What’s the hold-up?”

She sighs and falls flatly on her bed. “It’s been five years, Sei. I can’t come out looking like a peasant.”

He flops beside her, making the bed bounce. “All this expensive stuff and you can’t find a single good piece? Hm.” Pretending to be thoughtful, he rubs his chin like a wise old sage. “Seems to me like the problem isn’t the clothing. Come, tell me what’s really bothering you, little deer.”

She attempts an unimpressed glare and almost succeeds, then he opens an eye to peek at her and she loses her composure. “Sei! Be serious!”

“I’m being nothing but!”

“This is important…” Her gaze falls to her lap.

“I’ve only known the guy for an hour, but I promise you he doesn’t care about what you look like. He’s your dad. He just wants to see you.”

Then he doesn’t know Yukimura well enough. Scars are a swordsman’s shame, even more so for a woman, and especially for the Higashihara family, whose Breath Style was specifically designed to weave between attacks. She still hears his damn lectures in her head whenever she unsheathes her blade. “One who masters the Breath of Silence will never know a scar.” The day she left, he told her she wasn’t ready. Coming out looking like she does will only prove him right. There’s not a hairstyle in the world that can cover up the jagged cut across her face. 

Yukiko’s hands trace the scars along her palms and wrists absentmindedly. “The last time I spoke to him, I yelled at him. I said Kenta deserved to die. Why would he accept my invitation after that?”

Seiichiro pats her on the head. “Kids always say a bunch of stuff they don’t mean.”

“But how would my dad know?”

“...I did.”

Yukiko thinks of Kiyoji and tears up. “You really think he’d forgive me?”

“He wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t already. So hurry up and get dressed. I’ve run out of jokes to tell, and he’s already heard the story about my arm. Twice!”

“I-I’ll try my best!”

“You better, or else I’ll start talking about Kyōjurō.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“No promises!” He’s laughing as he runs out.

Seiichiro’s in the middle of his third retelling when Yukiko walks in. At first he doesn’t notice her and keeps talking. When Yukimura fails to respond, Seiichiro’s story dies off, and he turns around to give her an encouraging smile.

Yukimura straightens up at the same time Yukiko does. He opens his mouth to say something, so does she. They interrupt, try to give each other the courtesy to continue, then go silent. Again he tries to speak, but she has the same thought and interrupts him again. Seiichiro sweats. This is brutal.

“Ko, hey! You’re just in time for the part where Muzan’s tentacle grabs me.”

The whiplash has her stammering. “O-Oh, really? The first time or the second?”

“Yukiko.” 

And just like that, Yukimura kills Seiichiro’s attempt to break the tension. He stands and steps over Seiichiro, crossing a million miles to reach Yukiko. Even standing in front of her, there’s a chasm between them, and when he reaches out to touch her face, she flinches at the sudden intrusion. No words, standing utterly still as his thumb follows the recently healed wound from the edge of her jaw to where it splits her face apart on the opposite cheek. She keeps her eyes on the floor just like he taught her to do, though she knows he’s staring at her. She just doesn’t expect to see tears in his eyes when she finally looks up at him.

He inhales like he’s been struck in the chest. “Yukiko.”

“Yes, father?”

Yukimura throws his arms around his daughter, sobbing. “My little girl, you’ve grown so much.”

Yukiko hesitates to reciprocate. This is entirely new territory for her. “It’s been a long time.”

He pulls back, cupping her face in his hands to really see her. “I couldn’t stop thinking about what might’ve happened to you. The thought that you’d died before I got to apologize—”

“I should be the one to apologize. I said all those awful things—”

“No, Yukiko. I was the one to blame. You were a child, and I put all those expectations on your shoulders—”

“But Kenta’s dead because of me—”

“Yukiko.” His tone changes to one of a teacher, and Yukiko shuts up. “As a man grows older, he learns to accept his faults. Neither me nor your mother should’ve blamed you. Please, let me make it up to you.”

Seiichiro claps his hands together. “You can make it up to her by coming to her wedding!”

Yukimura tenses.

Yukiko pales.

“Her what?”