Onmyoji and tengu eyes, p.1
Onmyoji and Tengu Eyes, page 1
Table of Contents
Copyright
Character Page
Prologue: Demon
Chapter 1: Misato Miyazawa
Chapter 2: Mount Kagura
Chapter 3: Misato Narukami
Chapter 4: Hide and Seek
Chapter 5: Brothers
Chapter 6: Yasaka Shrine
Chapter 7: Ties
Chapter 8: Chains
Chapter 9: Before Dawn Breaks
Chapter 10: Tag, You’re It
Chapter 11: Reunion
Chapter 12: Causation and Fate
Chapter 13: Goodbye
Chapter 14: Partners
Chapter 15: Shooting Star
Epilogue: Monday Night Toast
Afterword
Other Series Pt. 1
Other Series Pt. 2
Onmyoji and Tengu Eyes: Hide and Seek in the Wintry Mountains
Yoshiko Utamine
Translation by Kai Sadler
Title Design by Arbash Mughal
Editing by Sophia Opitz
Proofreading by Charis Messier
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Onmyoji and Tengu Eyes: The Spirit Hunters of Tomoe
©2021 by Yoshiko Utamine
Original Japanese edition published in Japan in 2021 by
MICRO MAGAZINE, INC., Tokyo.
English translation rights arranged with
MICRO MAGAZINE, INC., Tokyo.
English translation ©2023 Cross Infinite World
All rights reserved. In accordance with U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email below.
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First Digital Edition: February 2023
ISBN-13: 979-8-88560-022-4
Prologue: Demon
“ONE…two…three…four… Nine, ten! Are you ready?”
“Not yet!” a young voice called in the distance.
Whenever just the two of us play hide-and-seek tag, it’s my responsibility as his older brother to be “it”—to be the “demon.”
In Japanese hide-and-seek, the person who is “it” is referred to as the “demon” and counts while the other players find places to hide. Once the others shout that they are ready, the demon can open their eyes, and the hunt begins.
“Eleven…twelve…thirteen… Are you ready?”
“Not yeeet!”
But…I think I’ve been left behind completely. Somehow, it feels as though that reply of “Ready!” will never come at all.
***
“LISTEN to me real well, kiddos. First-graders must never, ever play tag in the mountains. If yeh do, a real demon will come to get yeh. And if yeh’re ever in the mountains and hear a voice asking, ‘Are yeh ready?’, make sure yeh always, always reply with ‘Not yet!’ That voice yeh hear isn’t a person but a demon, y’see. If yeh ever reply with ‘Ready!’…the demon will take yeh away.”
Chapter 1: Misato Miyazawa
THE young onmyoji wrapped his fingers around Ryouji Karino’s wrists, then frowned deeply. “I think you should stay in bed for another three days. There’s no way you can do night shifts with a pulse like that,” he said, frowning.
“Ugh, for real?” huffed Ryouji in disappointment.
The tepid climate of fall was fully upon them, and the once green-covered mountains boasted an expanse of brown leaves whose trees lamented the lack of summer heat. It was the time of year when the warm sensation of snuggling up in bed grew more comforting with each passing day, but quite frankly, Ryouji was sick of lying down.
He sat cross-legged on his futon in the living room of the Karino estate’s main house. The room was the same as ever—aside from the addition of a heated kotatsu table that was spread over the futon. Ryouji thrust his legs under it as he impatiently waited for his lodger to finish examining him. “Y’know, I didn’t realize you’d studied Chinese medicine, too,” he commented, studying the long, elegant fingers bearing down on his wrists.
When Ryouji raised his head, his boarder’s unblemished, gentle face was right in front of him. The man’s smooth, white cheeks were well-defined, and his beautiful eyelashes cast a long shadow over them as he directed his gaze downward. The faint crimson of fading autumnal daylight filtered through the window and onto the androgynous young man where he kneeled beside Ryouji. His neat, black ponytail shone in its glow. His name was Misato Miyazawa, and he was an onmyoji born to a family who claimed to carry the blood of a dragon god. Currently, he was living in an outbuilding on the Karino property and working at the Tomoe Town Hall.
“Both Onmyodo and Chinese medicine are built on the same principle—yin and yang. Even if I’m not an expert, we were at least taught the basics,” Misato explained. His pale fingertips were surprisingly warm where they pressed against Ryouji’s wrists in search of his pulse.
“You’re real warm,” murmured Ryouji absentmindedly.
“No, I’m not,” Misato countered with a sigh. “You’re just ridiculously cold.”
“Whatever. Anyway, it sure is an eye-opener to hear what’s considered the basics in the Narukami family. They musta nailed that crap directly into your skull.”
“Exactly. And guess what else they taught us?” Misato glowered, his words dripping with acidity. “Not to ever act like savages, even if someone we’re protecting is in danger. I’d never do anything like…oh, I don’t know, grapple with a bloodthirsty spirit with my bare hands.” He always got rather tetchy when the topic turned to his origins. His fingers tightened around Ryouji’s wrists, squeezing as a wrinkle formed between his eyebrows. “I’m serious, Ryouji,” he croaked, his eyes flicking upward and capturing Ryouji in a sharp stare. It was as if he knew exactly what his landlord was thinking. “I’m still extremely angry about how reckless you were.”
“Sheesh, dude. What could I have done differently? I’m no good at making talismans and all that.” Ryouji shrugged, looking up at the ceiling as though to escape Misato’s furious, obsidian irises.
Ryouji Karino was twenty-four years old and worked primarily as a psychic (with a little bartending on the side). He had spiky, bleached blond hair and nearly always wore his trademark faintly tinted sunglasses. Despite his thuggish appearance, he was a Shugendo monk, and his supernatural vision had earned him the nickname “Tengu Eyes.” At the moment, however, with his sunglasses placed next to his pillow, he was just a normal guy with nowhere to go other than his own bed.
He’d done something pretty irresponsible on a job a few days prior: he’d hurled himself directly at a local god while protecting a client. He’d been hired expressly as a bodyguard and thus successfully honored the client’s request—at a price. The following day, he was bedbound, and so he’d remained ever since. It was his fourth day of being holed up in the living room. He considered himself pretty well rested, but his attempt to get up and be productive had been wholly thwarted by his watchful lodger. When Misato found him out of bed, he was immediately escorted back whence he came.
“Either way, your pulse is still way too weak. Being so reckless will harm your innate spirit—in other words, you’re chipping away at your lifespan. If you don’t take proper care of yourself now, you’ll be a decrepit old man before you know it,” Misato warned. He finally relinquished Ryouji’s wrists and rose to his feet, tucking the hair that had come loose from his ponytail behind his ears. His ebony hair gleamed, its sheen seeming to glimmer as it swayed with his movement. “But you know I’m a terrible cook, so I can’t promise you a balanced meal, I’m afraid. To make up for it, I’ll make you a medicinal compound and some talisman tea. If you want to get out of bed quicker, you will drink them.”
Ryouji groaned. “Nah, you gotta be kiddin’. That stuff tastes like ass. In fact, are you sure drinkin’ it won’t have the opposite effect? It’s gonna take years off my life!”
Talisman tea was what it sounded like; it was made by burning a talisman and then mixing the ashes with hot water. Ryouji was fully aware of the tea’s extraordinary medical benefits (especially when brewed by a genuine onmyoji), but unfortunately, the taste was awful. Revolting, even.
“If you don’t like it, I have a compelling suggestion for you: never, ever do anything so dangerous ever again,” Misato implored him, kneeling in front of Ryouji again to face him head-on.
Ryouji may have been older than Misato, but he felt very much as though he were being scolded by a parent. I can tell he’s used to telling people off. It’s actually kinda impressive.
After a few beats of Ryouji’s slack-jawed silence, Misato tilted his head, raising one eyebrow. “What’s wrong?
“I dunno, I was just thinkin’…you sure are good at taking care of other people, huh?”
Misato’s expression softened only to be replaced by an even more confused quirk to his brow. “You think so?” He pondered for a moment. “I used to look after my little brother a lot whenever he got sick or hurt. That might be why.”
Oh, yeah—his half-brother, right? If I remember correctly, guy’s a lot younger than Misato.
“Ahh, the little’un. I remember now.” Ryouji nodded, his curiosity appeased. Although Misato had been born to a family of high status, he was an illegitimate son, so the title of heir fell to his younger brother instead. From the few anecdotes that Ryouji had heard, it seemed their relationship was far from that of typical siblings; Misato had practically raised the kid.
But ultimately, it was none of Ryouji’s business. If Misato didn’t want to talk about the past, it wasn’t his place to pry. With that thought in mind, he quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, it’s super kind of ya to do all this for me. My nurse in shining armor.” He grinned, imparting a teasing lilt to his tone in an effort to defuse the awkward tension in the air. True enough, Misato had been an excellent nurse to him as he slept for much of the past four days.
Although they both lived on the same estate, Misato was paying Ryouji board, and they resided in completely different buildings, only sharing the kitchen and bathroom. It wasn’t as though they lived together. Even so, Misato seemed to be seriously worried about Ryouji, and being the target of his undivided attention was a little embarrassing.
“Yeah, well…it’s for my sake, not yours,” Misato mumbled, a little hesitant.
“Huh? Y’mean, like…if I die, you’ll be homeless again? I guess that would put you in a pretty tight spot,” Ryouji muttered with a nod.
Misato was living from paycheck to paycheck. He could hardly even afford the shockingly cheap rent that Ryouji asked of him—a measly thirty thousand yen per month, all utilities included. He often fell behind on his payments, too. If he were forced to move out of their home, it would be difficult for him to find somewhere suitable to stay.
As Ryouji silently wriggled backward into his futon, smirking up at the ceiling, out of the corner of his eye he happened to catch Misato smiling fondly.
“That’s part of it, sure. But…I want you to be happy and healthy. Really, it’s got nothing to do with you. It’s an entirely selfish desire, so I won’t pretend I’m doing all of this for your sake,” Misato said quietly, his words punctuated by another smile.
“Misato…” marveled Ryouji. “You got some sorta archive of smart-soundin’ quotes hiding away in that brain of yours?”
“It’s just what my mother taught me.” Misato shrugged. “She used to say, ‘You’d do well to remember that wanting to help someone is never for their sake. You’re the one who wants it—not them.’ She believed that saying you’re doing something for someone else’s sake is the same as blaming them for your own actions. I guess she was just trying to instill a sense of responsibility in me, but what she said has stuck with me all the way into adulthood.”
“Whoa. Your mom sounds super cool. By the way, did she…?” He trailed off, suddenly realizing what he was asking. Quickly, he averted his gaze and snapped his mouth shut. When Misato had spoken about his childhood before, he’d never mentioned his mother.
Yet Misato simply continued to smile awkwardly, his eyes still trained on Ryouji. “Right. She was with us in Izumo, but…by the time I was in middle school, she was gone.” Misato’s enigmatic smile made what went unsaid very clear: “Don’t pry any further than this.”
“Right,” Ryouji replied casually, snuggling down into his futon and letting their conversation fizzle out on purpose.
“Okay. I’m going to start getting lunch ready,” Misato said with a nod. Ever so quietly he padded over the tatami mats and out through the door. The way he silently glided everywhere with perfect balance was further evidence that he’d been raised by one of the most influential families in Japan; the habit had been hammered into him since he first learned how to crawl, no doubt.
Ryouji listened for the glass door to the kitchen to open and close, then let a few moments of silence pass before throwing his blanket off to stare up at the ceiling again.
Misato Miyazawa. He was a usually somewhat scatterbrained civil servant with graceful, feminine features and a hairstyle that was rather unconventional for the workplace. A few months previous, however, his moods had been far more unpredictable—it didn’t take much for him to spiral into a depression. One such trigger was mention of the name most psychics knew him by: Misato Narukami, illegitimate son of the Narukami family… The Snake Eater.
He was regarded as little more than a deep, dark secret that the family endeavored to keep hidden.
***
WHEN Katsuki Narukami was little, he always played with his older brother. Hide-and-seek tag was his favorite game.
He was crouching in an out-of-the-way corner of the huge estate, holding his breath as he waited for his brother to inevitably find him.
“Found you!” exclaimed a high-pitched, gentle voice yet unbroken by age.
Katsuki looked up to see his brother advancing toward him with outstretched hands. “Eeeeek!” he yelped, barely running a few paces before Misato’s arms clamped down around him. Misato was five years older than him, so the “tag” portion never took long.
“Gotcha!” Misato declared, laughing brightly. That was always Katsuki’s favorite part of the game.
Only once had his brother ever said, “I’ll hide this time. You can be the demon.”
Katsuki had tried his hardest to find Misato, but being so much younger, he hadn’t had the foggiest idea where to look. In the end, he gave up, plopped down on the ground, and wailed his lungs out.
Misato had rushed out from an unknown location to comfort Katsuki, who threw his arms around and clung to his older brother, crying incessantly. Misato gently stroked the top of his head and murmured a sincere promise to him: “I’m sorry… I won’t do that again.”
Less than ten years after he made that promise, Misato disappeared without a trace. With Misato on the run, Katsuki was made the demon once more—and had so remained ever since.
***
TOMOE was a small city in the northern region of Hiroshima Prefecture. For the most part, it was the same as any other countryside town; however, Tomoe Town Hall was home to one of the…stranger governmental departments throughout Japan. It was called the Abnormal Disaster Unit and part of the Crisis Management Division. It dealt with disturbances that were scientifically inexplicable—in other words, the supernatural.
The bell signaling the beginning of lunchtime had sounded about five minutes before. A young male employee popped his head through the time-worn, wooden sliding door to the office of the Abnormal Disaster Unit. The paint on the door was peeling away, much like the paint throughout the rest of the office. The man strode into the room and cheerily approached Misato.
“Hey, Miyazawa. Want some kashiwa mochi?”
Misato raised his head at the sound of his name, tearing himself away from the daunting pile of paperwork in front of him. He looked up to see a familiar face: Takayuki Hirose, his old high school classmate who just so happened to have ended up as his colleague at Town Hall.
The building where the Abnormal Disaster Unit was located was tattered and shabby, and even more so in their dim, sunless corner office. It was as if management were ashamed of them and had purposefully isolated the social outcasts of the local government in a secluded crevice of the department. Nevertheless, Hirose had taken to eating lunch with Misato in the unit’s office on a daily basis; he said he liked that nobody was around to bother them there.
Misato had joined the Abnormal Disaster Unit as an occult specialist earlier that year. He called himself an onmyoji as a matter of convenience, but more specifically he was an expert in folklore and superstitions; religions such as Shintoism, Buddhism, and Onmyodo; and the exercise of spiritual power. He’d polished his skills at a Shintoist university before successfully finding work as a civil servant, a job in which he could wield his supernatural gifts for the public good. It was uncommon for male employees of town halls to have long hair, but in Misato’s case, it wasn’t simply a matter of taste; his hair was instrumental in a secret ritual of his.
