“Congratutions, Kuroiwa,” Shishiba said with a smile, extending his hand across the table. “Or should I call you son-in-w?”

  Akira’s mouth gaped open in surprise, sending his lit cigarette right into his p. He tried to steady his shaking hand as he accepted Shishiba’s handshake.

  As soon as their palms touched, Shishiba yanked Akira’s arm, pulling him in. He leaned closer, no longer smiling, face spotlighted by the single light hanging over the card table.

  “No screwing around,” he said, lowering his voice. “Bring my daughter to Nagoya in time for dinner tonight.”

  Akira swallowed hard. He had no idea if Midoriko was even still in Osaka, but if she had work today, there was no way she’d miss it. She was far too serious about her job to put it below her own safety.

  “Y-yes, sir. I will, sir.” A smile was cracking on Akira’s face. The high of winning one bet made him confident in winning another.

  Shishiba smiled and nodded. He let go of Akira’s hand at the same time the cigarette was burning its way through his pants.

  “Ack!” Akira jumped up, brushing the cigarette off himself. He bowed deeply while crushing it underfoot to py off the unseemly dispy. “Well, I’d better get going now!”

  Shishiba watched Akira leave the table with a pep in his step. He scoffed and shook his head as he started to collect the cards back into the deck.

  “He didn’t even realize I let him win,” Shishiba muttered to himself with a smirk. He put his finger on the eight of clubs that made his hand go bust and dragged it forward, revealing a four of spades that was tightly stacked underneath.

  Kuroiwa Akira was evidently so narrow-minded about magic that he’d completely overlooked some cssic sleight of hand. Shishiba wasn’t oblivious as to why the young neutralizer had tapped the deck of cards on his turn, but his discretion was tactful. That was why he let him win.

  Carrot and stick.

  Young men like that could be easily maniputed and easily controlled, two excellent qualities for a neutralizer to have. Kuroiwa’s biggest fw was his vulgarity, but that could be trained out. Plus, his energy wasn’t bad either—it reminded Shishiba of himself at that age.

  Eager, two-faced, and ambitious.

  ***

  Tsuneo was adopted into the Shishiba family when he was nine. He never knew his birth father, and his birth mother abandoned him when he was only three. The orphanage where he grew up received frequent contributions from the Shishiba family, which practically funded their operation, so the patriarch himself would visit frequently.

  Tsuneo got onto his radar after an altercation in which the boy he was fighting with ended up with burns so severe that they required skin grafts. All Tsuneo had done was grab the boy’s arm.

  Suddenly, years and years of small fires around the orphanage were looking suspiciously like acts of arson. Little Tsuneo was on record for being present during all of them.

  “Why are you here by yourself in the rain?” asked Mr. Shishiba, holding an umbrel over Tsuneo. He wasn’t a terribly imposing man—short, stocky, and with a receding hairline—but he had a commanding presence nonetheless.

  The boy, soaking wet and shivering, straightened his posture. “I heard an adult say that wet matches can’t start a fire, so I’m trying to stay wet and not start any more fires.”

  “Oh, really? But what if the fire still burns when wet?”

  Tsuneo looked at the old man incredulously.

  “Don’t believe me?” Mr. Shishiba closed the umbrel.

  Tsuneo’s reprieve from the cold rain was over, and it resumed hitting him like thousands of needles. It felt like punishment from Mr. Shishiba for doubting him, but the old man was also getting wet.

  Mr. Shishiba held out his hands and then cpped them together, csping them tightly. After a moment, he slowly opened them in a lotus gesture, revealing a blue fme dancing within.

  Tsuneo’s eyes lit up. Rain was pouring down, yet the fmes burned on completely unaffected by the water.

  “You’re just like me…” he whispered.

  “That’s right,” Mr. Shishiba confirmed.

  Tsuneo was entranced by the fme. He couldn’t stop staring at it. He reached his hand forward out of curiosity, then pulled it back.

  “Does it look hot, boy?”

  Tsuneo nodded.

  “Go ahead and touch it,” encouraged Mr. Shishiba with a smile. “It won’t hurt.”

  Tsuneo hovered the tips of his fingers closer and closer to the fme until he gingerly touched it. The old man was right—it felt almost like nothing! There was a slight heat to it, but it was like the warmth of a hot cup of tea.

  “How can you do that?” Tsuneo asked, pulling his hand away. With the warmth gone, the biting cold of the rain returned almost immediately.

  “Lots and lots of practice,” expined Mr. Shishiba. He csped his hands together again, dousing the fme. “Would you like to learn? I can teach you.”

  He opened his umbrel again and extended a hand to Tsuneo.

  “The other kids say I’m a demon,” the boy said, taking the old man’s hand.

  Mr. Shishiba shook his head and ughed. “Not a demon. A sorcerer.”

  ***

  Old man Shishiba had two other sons, the youngest of whom was ten years older than Tsuneo. Neither were sorcerers—it seemed it skipped a generation in that family. Tsuneo quickly became the golden child for this reason, garnering immense resentment from his adoptive brothers.

  His adoptive mother was no different. It injured her pride knowing an urchin like Tsuneo was being doted on by the patriarch over their two legitimate sons. But what difference did it make? Her sons were already set to succeed their father anyway.

  Trouble seemed to follow Tsuneo wherever he went—from the kids at the orphanage, to his adoptive family, and even at school. He often wondered if maybe in a past life, he’d done something really horrible to deserve his treatment in this life. His adoptive father was the one person who kept him grounded.

  “Staying calm keeps you in control,” said the old man one day during one of their regur meditation sessions. Old Man Shishiba was a follower of Zen Buddhism, incorporating it into his lessons for Tsuneo.

  “Of my powers?” Tsuneo asked.

  “Of everything. Your powers, situations, people. All of it,” expined the old man. “Succumbing to your emotions is the first stage of losing control.”

  It was one of the hardest things for a boy like Tsuneo to learn. ‘Emotionally disturbed’ was how others were inclined to describe him. His adoptive father preferred the term ‘passionate.’

  “And if you can’t control your emotions, you’re better off killing them.”

  So Tsuneo did. Outside of training with his adoptive father, he did his best to keep out of everyone’s way. If trouble found him, then he would simply allow it to happen. Biding his time and getting revenge ter on was all part of maintaining control.

  He knew better than to sh out directly at others. He’d learned from the orphanage that it would come back to him even if he did it in secret. Instead, Tsuneo learned that it was much more efficient and amusing to pit two targets of revenge against each other.

  School bully A got his belongings torched while School bully B found lighter fluid and matches amongst his belongings. The two of them were then too focused on fighting each other to bother Tsuneo anymore.

  His cool demeanor quickly garnered him a positive reputation within the Shishiba-gumi as he got older. Tsuneo would do whatever was asked and then some. If he was told to fight, he’d fight dirty. If he was told to kill, he’d go for the jugur. If he were told to take a beating, he’d grovel while he took it—biding his time for payback all the while.

  Tsuneo was twenty when he set his sights on being named the successor of the Shishiba-gumi. At that point, he was already his adoptive father’s favorite—it was only a matter of winning over the influential and powerful members of the organization to garner support.

  Then, his adoptive father died.

  ***

  “Um…Sir? Are ya okay?”

  She was like an angel—beautiful beyond words with the sun glowing behind her honey brown hair like a halo. For a moment, Tsuneo thought maybe he’d died from the beating given to him by his older brother.

  “Should I call a doctor for ya?” The angel gestured in the direction of a payphone.

  “No…” He adjusted his gsses. Tsuneo struggled to climb to his feet from the pile of trash he’d been tossed into like the garbage they thought he was. “Don’t…Don’t call anyone…”

  “Ah!” She caught him when he stumbled forward. “But ya look really hurt!”

  “Just…forget you saw me here…and go back to your life…” He weakly pushed her away from him and started shuffling down the empty, early-morning street.

  “Um…I’m not a nurse yet, but I’m training to become one!” she called out. He stopped and looked back at her frightened yet concerned expression. “Maybe I could help ya?”

  He sighed and shook his head. “Miss…Nothing good will come from getting involved with me…”

  “B-but the Hippocritic oath–!”

  “...Don’t you mean the Hippocratic oath? Isn’t that for doctors?” He couldn’t help but ugh at this country bumpkin fussing over him. “Don’t nurses follow something different?”

  She put her hand over her heart. “As far as I’m concerned, all medical professionals should adhere to those tenets!”

  “Fine…” He sighed. The clinic Tsuneo usually went to told him they were tired of seeing him, so what was the harm in letting this woman administer some basic first-aid? “Where to, miss?”

  She brought him to her small, one-room apartment, where she helped him remove his shoes and jacket.

  “What’s your name, miss?”

  “It’s Suwazono Mikoto.” She gestured for him to take a seat on a cushion. “Please take a seat! I’ll bring us some tea.”

  Tea? They were complete strangers, but she was treating him like a guest. He watched as she put a kettle on the stove and cheerfully flitted about, grabbing cups and teaware.

  Na?ve, defenseless, trusting… She was all the things he wasn’t.

  “What about’cha? What’s yer name?” Mikoto asked, kneeling across from him with the first-aid kit.

  “Shishiba.”

  “Well then, Mr. Shishiba, I’m going to have to ask ya to remove that shirt for me so I can examine ya properly!” She requested it with a smile. Asking a grown man to undress in her home—it was like she couldn’t read the situation at all.

  “You know, you should be more careful,” he said, unbuttoning his blood-stained shirt. “If I were a worse person, I could really hurt you right now, Miss Suwazono.”

  “But ya won’t,” Mikoto said bluntly. Tsuneo paused and looked at her. Her expression was gentle, but as his eyes drifted downward, he noticed something concealed in her clenched fist.

  Sharp scissors. Maybe she wasn’t as na?ve as he thought.