Chương 7: The Paper Tiger

As Steven yanked the front door open to stop the incessant barrage of knocking, they found Mr. Henderson standing on the porch. Without waiting for an invitation, the Department of Family Services caseworker pushed inside.

"Mr. Miller," Henderson said.

"We got a flag in the system that you've listed this property for sale."

"Sure, just come on in, why don't you," Steven grumbled, crossing his arms.

"We're looking at moving, yes."

"You have an active foster placement," Henderson said.

"John Doe #8940. You can't just pack him up and move him to Colorado. That's kidnapping." Halfway up the stairs, Kurisu sat wrapping a makeshift practice staff with a roll of athletic tape. Focusing on the cadence of the conversation, he easily picked up on the unpleasant edge in the man's voice.

"We aren't kidnapping him," Steven argued.

"We want to adopt him. We're trying to do the paperwork." After he crossed the room to the sofa, Henderson sat down and opened a file.

"Mr. Miller, look at this file. It's empty. No name. No prints match. No DNA match. No missing persons report matches. As far as the State of California is concerned, this boy doesn't exist."

"He's right there," Steven said, pointing at the stairs.

"And he's got a name." Looking up, Henderson locked eyes with Kurisu, meeting the boy's unblinking stare. The caseworker quickly dropped his gaze back to his papers.

"The point is," Henderson said, "you cannot trigger an ICPC, Interstate Compact on the Placement of Children, for a ghost. Colorado won't accept him because they don't have a file to accept. If you move, the boy stays here. And he goes into a group home in Orange county until we identify him." Irritated by the man's hostile tone, Kurisu stood from the creaking wooden stairs, descending to the ground floor with his glowering eyes locked on the caseworker.

As he stepped between the two of them, Steven raised his hands to mediate the rising tension.

"Mr. Henderson, he is thriving here. He's learning English. My wife isn't taking no for an answer."

"It's not about feelings, it's about federal law," Henderson snapped, pointing his pen toward the stairs.

"He is a ward of the state. He is 'Doe, Male, Approx 14'. Until a judge declares him otherwise, he is a ward of the state." Property? Kurisu rose from the stairs, his jaw locked, arms crossed over his chest as he loomed over the man.

"I am no man's 'thing'," he stated, his voice dropping to a gravelly baseline in his native tongue. His hands clutching the clipboard, Henderson jumped.

"What did he say?" Eyes bouncing from Kurisu to the caseworker, Steven let out a tired breath.

"He said he disagrees. Look, what do we have to do? How do we get him a name? How do we get him permission to travel?"

"You need a birth certificate," Henderson said.

"Which you don't have. Or you need a court order from a Superior Court Judge granting 'Constructive Identity.' Basically, a judge has to legally invent a person for him." Standing up, Henderson brushed lint off his suit.

"I'm flagging this file, Mr. Miller. If you try to cross the state line with that boy before the court date, the Highway Patrol will arrest you for trafficking. Do you understand?" Teeth grinding, Steven glanced at Charlotte in the kitchen doorway, to Kurisu, and then focused back on Henderson.

"Fine," Steven said.

"Get us the court date." After Henderson's departure, the only sound in the house was the hum of the refrigerator. Walking to the front screen door, Kurisu stared out at the street.

"This one... enemy," Kurisu stated in English. Steven shook his head.

"No. He's a bureaucrat. A paper-pusher. He's annoying, but he's just following the rules."

"He called... property," Kurisu said.

"Obviously he's wrong," Steven said, walking over to place a hand on Kurisu's shoulder.

"You're a human being... well, sort of, I guess." As he gave the boy's shoulder a squeeze, he sighed.

"Anyway, the point is, we are going to get a lawyer, go to that judge and we're going to get you a name... a legal name." His eyes fixed on Steven's, Kurisu stared back in flat defiance. He had a name, a noble name, bestowed upon him by his parents, not assigned by some scribe.

"Have name," Kurisu stated.

"We're not going to take your name from you.

'Kurisu' is what you answer to, so we could spell it C-H-R-I-S or K-U-R-I-S-U?"

"And for a last name..." Charlotte added.

"If we're going to be a family, it should be Miller." The name represented the people who had fed, clothed, and defended him, the name carried weight. Yet adopting it just didn't sit right, feeling fundamentally wrong to overwrite his bloodline; slowly, Kurisu shook his head.

"I refuse," he whispered. Charlotte's face fell.

"Oh. I mean, you don't have to, I just thought..." Turning away, Kurisu pushed through the screen door into the front yard. Pacing the concrete driveway for an hour, he eventually wandered around the side of the house to the backyard. Ignoring the occasional calls to dinner as the sun dipped below the horizon, he waited until the neighborhood went dark. As Steven and Charlotte stepped into the backyard, they approached the retaining wall, flanking the boy as he sat on the top tier.

They sat quietly beside him as Kurisu rested his hands lightly on the rough concrete blocks. With a ragged breath, Kurisu searched for a way to explain the chasm in his chest.

"My Clan is..." Kurisu began, his voice trembling as he slipped out of his broken English.

"Nodaichi," he croaked.

"The people of the Nodaichi have all been eradicated," he took a breath, "not a single soul remains." Charlotte rested her hand on his arm. Staring down at his palms, Kurisu recognized the same hands that had dug the trench, the same hands that had annihilated his own village.

"My father, my mother, and my grandfather." Shutting his eyes against the memory of his people screaming and the clash of metal as they were slaughtered, Kurisu exhaled.

"My… Rin," a mumble, below even a whisper. He coughed to clear his throat before wiping his nose.

"All... vanished into the flames." Looking from Charlotte to Steven, he blinked back the wetness in his eyes.

"If I am to become 'Miller'..." he stated.

"The Nodaichi shall be destroyed for eternity."

"Who will preserve their memory?" Lowering his head, he hunched his shoulders forward.

"I am the last." As silence hung in the night, Kurisu listened to the two exhale.

"I'm sorry," Steven whispered.

"We didn't know." Wiping her eyes, Charlotte shook her head.

"We aren't trying to erase them, honey. We would never want to do that." Kurisu could tell that they were only allies offering sanctuary.

"I am willing to unite with your House," he said.

"But..." Placing a hand on his chest, he leaned forward.

"This name... I shall not abandon." With a nod, Steven glanced at Charlotte before looking back to Kurisu.

"Okay. Then that's what we tell the Judge." Reaching out, he offered his hand.

"Kurisu Nodaichi, Son of the Miller family." This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Taking Steven's offered hand, Kurisu took care not to crush the man's bones.

"Scion of Miller," he repeated. An odd sensation washing through him. Did he somehow feel lighter? Maybe just a little bit, he thought he might, "Nodaichi Kurisu."

"$5, 000 just to start," Steven muttered, rubbing his temples at the kitchen table a few days later.

"And another $2, 000 for the filing fees and the background checks. We don't have this, Char. We're tapped out from the move preparations." From his place by the sink, Kurisu studied the stress lines around the man's eyes. A lord must fund his campaigns, and must feed his army. Retreating to the provided room, he dug under the folded socks in the bottom dresser drawer; his leather pouch recovered, he returned to the kitchen to drop it onto the table with a thud.

Eyes on the bag Kurisu had presented the day he arrived, Steven said.

"I thought we locked that in the safe."

"You refused my offer previously, and I refuse to keep my wealth in the care of another," Kurisu untied the string, spilling twelve oversized golden coins onto the table, each stamped with the three interlocking crescent moons of the Nodaichi Clan.

"It is the currency of my nation," Kurisu said.

"These are not mere ryō, which secure but a single year of rice. These are Dai-Ryō. Each equates to two years of sustenance. In total, twenty-four years of provision. Utilize this," Steven shook his head.

"Kurisu, we talked about this. I know you have this. But I can't take it." Pushing the pile toward Steven, Kurisu tapped the table.

"Secure the advocate," he commanded gently.

"And... the remainder is yours. This serves as payment for my lodging." While staring at the table, Steven fell silent. His jaw worked, a clear conflict flashing across his face before he took a deep breath and slid one coin back across the wood.

"We'll sell eleven," Steven said firmly.

"But you keep one. This is your history. Keep one for yourself."

"Very well," Kurisu nodded as he grabbed one coin from the table, "I shall retain this one." Kurisu and Steven arrived at Irvine Gold & Pawn two hours later, they stood before a sweating proprietor named Mr. Finch, the man's jeweler's loupe stuck to his eye as he finished testing the coins with acid, a scale, and an X-ray spectrometer.

"I've never seen these markings," Finch muttered, turning a coin over in his gloved hands.

"It looks ancient, but the condition is mint. No wear and tear." Looking up at Steven, the proprietor shrugged.

"Look, I can't give you numismatic value because I don't know what civilization this is from. It's not Roman, it's not Byzantine. It's weird."

"Just the melt value," Steven said.

"We just need to sell it for weight." Finch nodded.

"Well, that's the good news. It's 24-karat. Extremely high purity. Each coin weighs exactly one troy ounce." After some math on a calculator, Finch pointed to the screen.

"Gold is trading at $2, 300 an ounce today. You are selling eleven coins. That comes to $25, 300." Gripping the counter, Steven visibly slumped.

"We'll take it," Steven said. As his safe swung open, Finch retrieved a ledger, scribbling notations.

"I'll have to write this up as 'Scrap Gold Unknown Origin' for the IRS form. I'll cut you a check." Check in hand, they left the shop, Steven clapping a hand on Kurisu's shoulder.

"You just saved us again, kid. Think you might be starting to grow on me, between your help with the wall and now this. Maybe I should cut the ol' lady some slack after all," his voice fading as he spoke before shaking his head with a snort. Uncertain of the ramblings, Kurisu responded.

"I am merely returning what is owed."

"How about we get you those tabi you wanted," Steven said, pocketing the check.

"This world contains those who speak my tongue. Even if they lack any grasp of proper decorum... like that official from before, Sato," Kurisu stated "Are there more of his ilk?" Steven grinned, as he unlocked the truck.

"Yep. And I know just the place." As he tracked a tangled interchange of gray stone bridges arc through the sky, Kurisu sat in silence while Steven navigated the vehicle through endless rivers of metal carriages that crowded the highway, choking the air with heat and foul smells. He stepped out onto the pavement in Little Tokyo, frowning at the red paper lanterns, pagoda-style mall roofs, and people eating fish-shaped ice cream.

"This is nothing like my home," he stated, "it is a shallow imitation." Strafing slightly as a cyclist rode past, evidently not paying attention to the people walking, he shook his head.

"The stench of hypocrisy permeates everything here."

"Yeah, it's a tourist trap," Steven admitted.

"But the shop we want is real. It's over here." Turning Kurisu away from the plushie stores and ramen shops, Steven led them down a quiet side street to "Bunbu Martial Arts Supply," opening the door to the smells of indigo dye and bamboo. Looking up from behind the counter, an old man eyed them warily, his gaze sticking on Kurisu a bit longer as he squinted his eyes.

"Hello, welcome in," he finally said, giving a polite bow. Kurisu, speaking in his native tongue, stepped up to the counter, "I require a purple kimono." Momentarily frozen and blinking, the old man hurriedly bowed again, " H-hai," the clerk stammered." Tadaima." The man understood him, excellent, perhaps he could order everything he needed without holding back. Excitement rising, Kurisu rattled off his list.

"Black hakama, black inner sash, a purple outer sash, a proper surcoat," he motioned to the duster he wore, it would simply not do for anything formal. Then he pointed down to his shoes, "and, tabi, for outdoor travel."

"Leather sole, or rubber?"

"Leather." A scrap of paper pulled from his pocket as the man gathered the items, Kurisu revealed a design of three crescent moons interlocking in a circular formation.

"On the back and lapels of the surcoat," Kurisu said, placing the paper on the counter.

"Embroider this family crest using silver thread."

"There is a machine in the back," he said.

"Wait twenty minutes." Kurisu bowed his head.

"I offer my gratitude."

"Jesus Emily, slow down," Steven mumbled while walking over to a locked glass case.

"Hey Kurisu," Steven said.

"You want something real?" Stepping to the case, Kurisu studied the weapon. Far from a decorative piece, the matte-black saya featured simple iron fittings, a small tag designating it as high-carbon spring steel with differential hardening.

"A live blade."

"That too, please," Steven requested. When he emerged from the changing room, Kurisu wore the purple kimono, the black hakama draped over the silk-cotton blend, partially concealing the black leather tabi covering his feet. The purple outer sash wrapped around his exterior provided the tension required to maneuver the scabbard of his new katana through a draw.

The three interlocking crescent moon embroidery of the Nodaichi clan shimmering on the back and lapels of the black jinbaori he wore draped over his shoulders.

"He looks just like... a daimyo," the old man murmured. Stopping in front of a mirror, Kurisu met his own purple and black reflection. The fine silk and cotton replaced the image of the chained prisoner in rags, his reflection didn't even resemble the boy whose city had fallen over three years ago. He resembled his father even more, tall, dark hair, a hard jaw-line. Kurisu noted that his chin was still more narrow than his father's, more like his mother's.

He examined the corners of his eyes, where he used to have the softness of his mother's, unyielding in her expectations, but kind and gentle in everything else. What looked back at him now were like those of a dead fish, hollow and devoid of life, save for the Amethyst irises. Violet eyes, his parents had fawned over how unique his eyes were while he failed to find any significance in it, until he'd seen the turquoise in Rin's, the only other person he could think of who shared such a rarity."

Waka-bi, brush my hair!"

"Have you no attendants to do this, Rin?"

"Sure I do, but I want you to do it!" she replied, grasping his hand as she bounced from one foot to the other, her heels never hitting the floor of the rōka.

"Very well," Kurisu acquiesced.

"Turn around."

"Koko chau de, aho!" Rin complained.

"Ain't doin' it here! In front of the mirror, dummy!" Still holding his hand, she skipped down the corridor, trying to drag him behind her. The air compressing over his shoulders, she struggled to pull him along, his feet barely sliding across the floor.

"Yamete ya, Waka-bi, yer too heavy!" As she pulled against him in an exaggerated show of effort, she lowered herself down until she was lying on the polished wood, her legs underneath his. With a grin and a gust of wind, she whipped her legs around and knocked his out from under him. Feet going airborne, Kurisu spun, altering his angle to land on the pads of his fingers and toes just over the giggling Rin.

Hovering over her, their faces inches apart, he swallowed, his heart thundering as he fought to drag his view from her lips and that bright smile. Finally he wrestled his gaze away, only to land on hers. Turquoise, the color of the Crystal Sea, a playful glint catching in her eyes as she looked up at him, beckoning him away into a world of endless warmth. Then the image in his mind burst into flames, a reminder of what he'd done.

"Indeed," Kurisu said, turning away from his reflection.

"With this, I am prepared for war."

"Good," Steven said.

"Because the Court Hearing is next week. And that Judge is probably going to be tougher than anything you've fought."