12 Basic Training (2)

Outside Kurama station in Kyoto , Daija stood there staring at the large statue of a Tengu's head with a protruding red nose of proportions at the base. 

"They capture the imagination of the Tengu, except for the nose… the Tengu think it should be their dicks," a disembodied voice spoke.

Only a god will dare to say things like that. Rolling his eyes, Daija reluctantly turned around to see his distant ancestral relation, Kurao-kami.

A darkish dragon form of a haze greeted him. "Still don't want to return to our ranks? They still worship you in the same place."

Same old nagging about ancient history is about to begin as usual. On the dot, as expected.

"I am fine as I am," Daija replied. 

"Still following after damn Orochi? Your future isn't secure as yōkai, if you are exorcised. Look at Yato-no-Kami, another moron who decided to listen to Orochi. Forcibly sealed in a shrine somewhere in rural Hitachi."

In the beginning, Daija was once a small dragon god.

The long boring lifestyle of a guardian god had driven him to a certain madness of seeking even mortal company.

Every yōkai used to make fun of him when he was an insignificant local god while passing by. He remembered feeling the helplessness in that little lake, which has existed as long as he did. 

Yamata-no-Orochi taught him how to free himself - why be the lackey of other gods when he could be free as a yōkai?

After downgrading to the life of the yōkai, he reverted to a serpent yōkai form. Same powers, different form and status. Not many knew of his past and he preferred it so.

His cousin, Yato-no-Kami, was the legendary local god turned yōkai, who is now punished to guard the old province of Hitachi in the current-day prefecture of Ibaraki.

A few thousand years ago, that fool decided it was fun running around with the Deity of Calamity and scaring nearby humans to death, out of boredom.

Every god, big and small, with half an intelligence would avoid that deity like the plague.

For good reasons. 

No god or yōkai wanted to end up like Yamata-no-Orochi and Yato-no-Kami, sealed for eternity.

Such was the guaranteed outcome from mixing with the Deity of Calamity.

That's why Daija limited his visits to Mount Kurama. Avoiding Kurao-kami or his grumbling is not possible. Kurao-kami's shrine is in Kibune at the side of Mount Kurama.

If not for Kuro's request for him to accompany her and that new pet of a childish yōkai, he would have happily stayed inside Kakuriyo. 

"You could have been doing far better than what you are now."

"Yeah, you mean take orders from the higher ranked gods all the time. So when they want rain to pour or stop, you serve that up like a fast-food joint? I have no interest in being their trained dog," Daija retorted. 

"Do whatever you want. Your Tengu friend knew what is good for him and became a god," Kurao-kami hissed.

"Now, don't drag me into your argument, Kurao-kami," Sojobo interrupted as he manifested in front of Daija. "Daija, dear old boy, how are you? We should drink again."

Kurao-kami vanished, much to Daija's relief.

There he was. The damn Tengu King came early, dressed in his stylish navy nagagi kimono and haori jacket. Probably hand woven out of tsumugi silk, based on the telltale nubs. Tsumugi used to be cheap decades ago. Now it is expensive due to the dying skill. Cheap mass produced goods and ageing artisans are going to doom this once common silk material to oblivion.

Sojobo still favoured the same human form aged in late 20s. Helped him reel in the females, apparently. 

"I am not drinking your shit poison potion again." Daija glared at Sojobo in front of him.

"Well, you did smile then."

Daija smirked. 

The last time he drank too much Tengu liquor when Sojobo visited Edo, now current Tokyo, he went on a rampage in the villages on the outskirts. 

If not for the untimely eruption of Mount Fuji at the same time and Sojobo covering up the scene by dousing the local gods with the same liquor, his fate will be much different.

"What's with the nagagi? No haute couture suit today, you fucking rich bastard?" Daija changed the topic.

"Mistress number… 22 or was it 23… hand-stitched it and insisted that I wore it to meet the three of you." Sojobo laughed.

The old bastard must have more than 30 in his harem by now, Daija thought. 

***

Kakuriyo's portal opened as I pushed Kouki out in front of Sojobo and Daija.

Damn kid had to stumble. Way to make a first impression.

"Heh. Kitsune, not from Yako's stable I hope." Sojobo coughed politely at the sight of Kouki, who bowed nervously. "You know my relationship with him."

Oh yeah, Sojobo didn't like Yako very much. He merely tolerated him because of Inari Ōkami. Without that god, Yako would be in dire straights.

The Kyoto Daiyōkai were traditional, conservative and would only deign to accept yōkai of Yamato origins. Any outside yōkai, no matter how long they were in our lands, is still treated with suspicion as an outsider with an agenda. 

Only exception to the rule is the gods who had a hierarchy above us.

No one is intellectually challenged enough to rub the label of 'outsider' on a god's face.

Maybe, except for daddy.

The Kyoto Daiyōkai were seasoned schemers. They knew how to use the imported gods to their advantage. Sojobo acquired partial god-like status that way. The damn old fogey is very cunning. 

"Not from Yako's stable. Picked him up from a job Yako did," I replied. 

Well, at least the dressing was enough for that old Tengu to think the kid is one of Yako's. 

Kouki's makeover was outrageously good. His looks were hidden behind the sloppiness. Those large innocent brown eyes with his sculpted features could give the Tengu a run for their money. 

If Shinde Inc. closes shop, my next career move will be to apply as a makeover consultant for reality shows. Heard that the stylists earned good money while doing much less.

Awkward silence. Sojobo was rubbing his chin in thought. Possibly thinking of a way to reject politely. Daija shook his head slightly as a signal. 

Time for the all time winning pitch.

I said, "He is from Shizuoka. Our own indigenous yōkai… just orphaned."

Being Yamata-no-Orochi's daughter is the instant ticket to the club. No matter what dumb shit dad did. Being indigenous to Shizuoka could help Kouki. 

Such are the eccentric politics of the Kyoto circle. 

"Ah, Shizuoka. Orphaned? By Nichiren monks?" Sojobo asked in a fatherly manner. 

The timid kid who nodded.

Nichiren ascetic monk exorcists are deadly to the indigenous kitsune yōkai for centuries. Most of the kitsune were exorcised by them. Fortunately for the wiser kitsune, they occupied an industry which the Nichiren ascetics won't patronise.

If the monks violated their ascetic lifestyle, they had no power to exorcise.

"Poor boy." Daija said with the most deadpan face. That wasn't helping. 

Maybe it did. 

"Alright, come along. Kouki, my poor boy, we are going to train you. Tell me what you know about using weapons." Sojobo wrapped his arm casually around the Kitsune's shoulder.

Breakthrough. Finally. 

"Well, my dad trained me with the use of the stick," Kouki innocently answered as Sojobo turned and looked at me in absolute aghast.

"How about guns?" Sojobo asked as the kid continued walking towards the portal.

"Never used them before."

Sojobo threw another question. "What about martial arts?"

"Never learnt."

Daija facepalmed. 

"Not to fear… we will train you here in the mountains." Sojobo patted him on the back jovially. 

I have a stinking feeling. Sojobo isn't rejecting him. Usually, he won't even make such an offer.

Sojobo added casually, "Kuro,… and about that nice property in Tokyo which I saw… in Hachioji near Mount Takao…"

My back stiffened. 

Kouki better be worth the fucking training. That damn Tengu wants a property near the Tengu temple, Yakuo-in, as payment. Tokyo real estate prices are not cheap in those parts, despite the ongoing pandemic.