The seamstress said she couldn’t repair my hat, so I volunteered to work. I’d gone there anyway. She still had a sign hanging up about wanting help, so I might as well help.

However, sewing was extraordinarily boring and my mind went to other places.

I didn’t want to offend Sekibanki. Nor did I want to waste the opportunity to battle against her. I wasn’t sure if asking her for a delay would be received well, especially since I’d been putting it off already. I worried I would irreparably offend the youkai, especially since my main reason for hesitation was that I thought she might be plotting to kill me.

If someone said to me that they didn’t trust me not to kill them, I’d… Well, I’d probably respect that and avoid them from then on, assuming I couldn’t figure out a way to convince them I was safe.

I strongly suspected that Sekibanki had no patience for convincing people how safe she was.

The truth of the matter was that I wasn’t yet ready to fight her, not in an absolute sense and not that day in particular. I was planning on going to meet her, anyway, because…

Because…

The reason my mind eventually produced was “even getting trounced in danmaku will allow me to get better at it.” Losing wasn’t the worst thing, was it? As long as you survived?

Reika had told me to at least put up a token resistance, or I’d get thrashed, but according to Reimu I was already juiced and couldn’t even manage that. The weirdest part was that I could sort of feel it. I was floating as I worked. I’d spent some of my emotional energy in my sparring against Sasha, or perhaps taking a danmaku hit directly had weakened my resolve so much that I couldn’t get properly anxious.

I wasn’t exactly agonizing over the danger; I was idly contemplating it. Dispassionately thinking about things for a few hours was oddly calm for me… right?

Sekibanki wanted to battle. More than likely, she thought that pummeling me with danmaku would make me stronger. That’s what Reimu had done, and it had worked. Alternatively, Sekibanki was going to lead me outside the village and drink my blood. If it came to that I hoped she didn’t take too much. I might consider giving some of it willingly…

I felt myself frowning. That was foolishness. I needed my blood.

I tried to feel afraid. Sekibanki might kill me. I sewed a little more forcefully, willing my heart rate to go up, then I stabbed my finger with the needle.

“Whoops.” I put my finger in my mouth, reflexively. It tasted surprisingly good, I thought, in that it didn’t taste super fucking awful. Salty. Metallic. Sickening.

I wouldn’t envy anyone who had to live off this stuff. I wondered if fear tasted like blood to Sekibanki, or if blood itself was sweet to youkai. Maybe it was like chocolate syrup. I still didn’t feel afraid. I felt almost resigned about facing death, which is insane no matter how you look at it.

“Careful,” said the seamstress. I nodded. “Most tailors learn fairly quickly how not to stick themselves.”

“I’m easily distracted,” I said.

“I can tell.” The old woman tutted. “How do you hope to ever pull a straight seam, if you can’t focus?” I looked down at the shirt I’d been working on and saw that my needlework really was shoddy. I wondered if lack of skill was why my pants kept falling apart.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Go work the fields, then. This requires attention to detail.”

“I’m so tired, though…” The thought of pulling weeds made me want to lie down.

“Then take the time to recover.” She took the shirt I’d been working on. “All you newcomers are so restless. None of you can sit still.”

“You don’t say.”

“Like children, you don’t stop to think.” She handed me a few coins. “That’s enough for today.”

“It’s probably a habit from the Outside World.” I imagined that the seamstress wouldn’t appreciate the electronically-traded gig economy, until I remembered that she’d only hired me for that afternoon and she had fired me before four o-clock. “Next time I’ll focus better. Will there be a next time?”

“Sure,” she said. “This place isn’t going anywhere. However, lad…. you might look for work that better suits you.”

“Know any software developers?”

“There is Patoru’s hardware down the way,” she said, uncertain.

“Thanks anyway. Oh, I meant to ask, could I purchase a needle and thread?”

“Your hat is destroyed. You’ll just make it worse.”

“I meant for clothes.”

She laughed. “Planning on selling your sewing services? Competing with me?”

“No, no, I just want to be able to repair my clothes in the field.” I might need a repair that very night, when the seamstress would be closed.

“I was joking, boy. Danmaku?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t get into Miss Hakurei’s line of work, either.”

“Why not?” I hadn’t thought of it as work, I had thought of it as common sense. “In fact, why doesn’t everyone here learn danmaku? It seems like a useful skill to have.”

“Why doesn’t everyone repair their own clothes?” she retorted. “You do what you are good at, and others pay you. Working together, we become more than we are alone.”

“What if I’m good at danmaku?”

“You won’t be,” she said. I told her a bit about my progress, but instead of changing her mind she seemed to grow more skeptical. “Don’t expect to get paid for that. Even if you don’t get eaten, people won’t pay for any disasters that you prevent. Just consider our esteemed shrine maiden.”

Hakurei shrine was always underfunded, in canon. A recurring plot point was Reimu asking for donations. I hadn’t really thought about the implications of the protector of Gensokyo being poor. Perhaps… the villagers didn’t feel like they had enough money to donate?

And what the fuck kind of government makes ‘defense’ depend upon charity? I almost called aloud, to see if Yukari was listening and if I could ask her to explain, but that would be dumb in like three ways.

I shook my head. This was one cynical old seamstress. Then I wondered if she repaired Reimu’s clothes, and if not, who did? I wondered how many outfits Reimu had, as well, but by then I realized it wasn’t a productive line of thought. Buying more clothes wasn’t the point, protecting people was the main thing.

“Well, what if I want to protect people?” I asked.

“Protect them from hunger, or nudity, or sadness, or uncleanliness, or homelessness, or ignorance,” she said. “I’ll tell you what, Mister Thorne. I’ll loan you a needle and thread. When you come back you can work to pay for them.” She handed the items to me with as much reverence as the coins.

“Thank you.” I went to the door. “Wait, how much debt am I getting in?”

She laughed, and told me an afternoon’s work would suffice, if I could focus that long.

–

I walked back to our dorm. I decided I’d just tell Sekibanki the fight was off and see how she responded. I might lose an ally… I might be delayed… but if it came to that, I could deal. My personal safety was the whole point of learning danmaku.

Sasha was napping in her bunk when I got there. Apparently our battle had worn her out, too. The little alcoves stayed warm even at night, so it shouldn’t have been surprising that she’d left the door to her bunk open.

Sasha’s expression was a lot softer in slumber. She only had a waking bitch-face, I supposed. The thought made me chuckle, until I thought about sampling bias. I wasn’t really sure if I was friends with her or not.

It was rude to stare, and also creepy, so I tried not to. Instead I settled on the floor to meditate. On the opposite side of the room, facing away, so there’d be no ambiguity when she woke up.

I wished I could sleep as Sasha did, in the middle of the day, but I’d always been a person to lie awake. Instead I meditated and tried to think of ways the conversation with Sekibanki might go. I might really be at a stage where danmaku theory wouldn’t help, but at the moment I was too weak for practice.

Hopefully the youkai would stay patient.

—

The smell of frying potatoes was nice.

“Jake?” asked Wiki. I twitched awake; I’d been sleeping on the floor. My shoulders and back hurt.

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“Yeah?” I looked around. Arnold was there and was frying up some potatoes in the pan. Sasha was gone. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Sunset-o-clock. Why were you sleeping on the floor?”

“I was meditating and I guess I fell asleep. Where’s Sasha?”

“I’ve no idea,” he said. “I thought you might know. Sorry to wake you, but Arnold’s almost done cooking.”

“Smells great.”

“It smells like sweet potatoes.”

“So you just, what, let me sleep on the floor?” I asked. I rotated my arm. It ached.

“Should I have woken you sooner?” asked Wiki. “Or would you complain then, as well?”

“You looked so comfy,” added Arnold from the stove. “I told him to be quiet.”

“And you were quiet?” I moved to the table. The smell had filled our whole hut, and my stomach was rumbling. “How long have you been here?”

“Like an hour.”

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” I said, and he grumbled.

We sat down to eat. The food was excellent, at least to a person who was used to starving. Before long Wiki was arguing with Arnold about which areas of Gensokyo were safest.

“I want to go to Hell, though,” said the lumberjack. “Meet the locals.”

“Former Hell is full of oni,” said Wiki. “They’re a rough bunch.”

“Party fiends, I’ve heard, living in a village just like this one.”

“If so, they party too hard for you. The first fight you got into would be the last!”

“Not if I learn danmaku!”

“Haven’t you been paying attention?” asked Wiki. “Just being able to use danmaku isn’t enough, or Jake here could escort us outside the village.” There was a final exam we’d have to pass before we earned that privilege. “Reika said that danmaku isn’t enough for her to feel comfortable going far from the village, either. She’s far more skilled than us.”

“I’ve no evidence for that,” I said. It made me think I should challenge Reika to a danmaku battle.

“Fine,” said Arnold. “I’ll go to the Scarlet Devil Mansion, instead.”

“That’s even worse! The vampires eat humans!” Not just their blood, but their flesh, he was eager to remind us. “You’ll just be a big stupid side of beef to them.”

“Nuh-uh,” said Arnold. “If they’re gonna kill people, it can’t be workers they want to hire, or people will stop showing up!”

“That’s…” said Wiki. He set his chin on his hand. “Actually, maybe you have a point. They’d probably prey upon the general population, if anyone. Game-theoretically–”

“Ugh.”

“–it depends on whether they really want humans as workers long-term, and how valuable the trust of humans is to them.”

“They do want workers,” said Arnold. “Didn’t you hear what Maroon said?” I had almost forgotten about the washlady fairy.

“Yet they are currently entirely staffed by fairies,” said Wiki. “Go by what they do, not what they say.”

“There weren’t as many people running around before,” said Arnold.

“True, the candidate pool has increased…. And the fairy maids are supposedly lazy… but would you gamble your life on it?”

“Have youkai even killed anyone since we arrived?” I asked. “Besides the tweaker, I mean.”

“As a matter of fact,” said Wiki, his voice dropping into a whisper, “I heard that someone disappeared.”

“Why are you whispering? Who’s going to hear you?” asked Arnold.

“Miss Yakumo,” he said.

“Yes?” said a dark corner.

“I thought you didn’t want to hear from us until our next check-in?” I said aloud, in no particular direction.

“Good point,” she responded. Wiki started spouting questions, received no responses, then settled on calling me a dumbass.

“Who disappeared?” I asked.

“A chinese man,” he said. “From group 5A. His roommates didn’t like him and they fought all the time, so they think he asked to be sent home, but we all know the truth.”

“I hope they sent more than just the head,” said Arnold.

“Either way, it’s abundantly clear something sinister is going on.”

“It’s… a real possibility,” I said. Should the disappearance make me trust Sekibanki less? If I was in a world with deadly youkai, I’d expect there to be disappearances. “When did he disappear?”

“Monday night,” said Wiki. “They didn’t find the body.”

“Maybe there wasn’t a body?”

“Isn't it more likely that he went home after all, then?” asked Arnold.

“Perhaps,” said Wiki. “It’s also possible he went out into Gensokyo at large, without an escort, and got eaten.” One thing was for sure; I wouldn’t be going outside the village with Sekibanki that night.

The doorknob rattled for a moment and we all turned to it. All at once it slammed open, making us jump. It was Sasha, and she had something under her arms that made opening the door difficult.

“Assholes.”

“Sasha!” said Arnold. “I’m glad you’re here. And that’s…”

“A motherfucking chicken!” said Sasha, brandishing the bird in its cage. “In fact, that’ll be her name. Motherfucker.” We got up to look at the bird, which was taking this very placidly, all things considered. It squawked at us.

“Uh, the mechanics of that are suspect,” said Wiki. “It’s a hen, right?”

“Not for eating?” asked Arnold. Male birds were the ones for eating, which was a parallel I didn’t like at all.

“Absolutely not,” responded Sasha. “And fair point, Wiki. Until she has little Fucker chicks, she’s really just Miss Fucker.”

“Stop swearing so much,” said Wiki. So we naturally didn’t.

“We gotta get a cock so we can have a whole Fucking family,” said Arnold.

“Fucker family,” corrected Sasha. “And that’s my plan.”

“To get a cock?”

“...Yes. Believe it or not, Satori will loan you her cock!” Wiki hit his head on the table. I found myself grateful that the youkai wasn’t there to read my mind. Still, I tried to continue the joke.

“If Miss Fucker were to marry, would her name be ‘Mother…’” I struggled to think of the hypothetical cock’s name, “Mother Lode, nee Fucker?”

“A bad day to be bilingual,” said Wiki, his head in his hands. “Seriously, guys, can we go back to talking about potential murders?”

“In a minute,” said Arnold. He turned to Sasha. “I’m excited you got a chicken, though! Congrats!”

“We got a chicken,” she responded. “If you help me take care of her, I’ll share the eggs… and maybe even meat, one day. We won’t keep all of her offspring.” My roommates were ruthless, I suspected.

“Excellent! I made you dinner, by the way!”

Sasha sat at the table and started telling us how to care for ‘Emeff,’ as we decided to name the bird. We’d let her out during the day, which was mostly safe in the village (other humans were our biggest concern there), and keep her in the cage at night until we could build her a little enclosure and return the cage. Once we started talking about logistics, Wiki seemed interested in the conversation after all. He had a spirited discussion with Arnold about what fraction of eggs to eat or use for new chicks. I forgot about my impending meeting with Sekibanki for a little while.

Eventually we called it an evening. I lay awake in my bunk until I thought it was close to the witching hour. Then I tiptoed out. The bird made some distrustful noises when I got up, but it was mercifully quiet. The others continued to snore unabated.

I realized that I'd reflexively grabbed my hat–both halves–and carried it with me. I cursed my foolishness. Opening the door again might wake the others, though, so I decided to just take it.

—

I waited on the bench for several minutes, nervously unwinding my hat’s torn edge. I’d have to replace practically every strand of the weave to repair it. I really should just throw it away.

“A quiet night,” said Sekibanki, making me jump.

“Y–yeah.”

“Follow me.” She hadn’t sat down. Instead, she walked straight away from the statue. I leapt to my feet to keep up with her. Sekibanki was short, but she took quick steps. Her back was ramrod straight. Her head bobbed on a delay.

“Actually, there was something I wanted to talk about first,” I said.

“Talk and walk,” she said, not turning back. “The witching hour is short.”

“I’m not ready for a fight with you.”

She snorted and her detached head bounced up about an inch, not near enough to clear her collar. “Of course not. That is what it means to be inexperienced. For that reason, this fight will give you much more than it gives me, and will be a payment.”

“Well, no, I mean that it might be better to fight later. When I’m more prepared.”

“If you continue to tell me about Artificial Intelligence, we may practice together many times.” I considered it. My knowledge was of value, it was true. Sekibanki did have reasons to not drink my blood. We kept walking, and I realized that things were getting away from me as I thought about it.

“It’s not safe outside the village,” I said.

“I’ll be there. I know where the threats are likely to be.”

“Yeah, well…” I stopped. There was no way I’d leave the village without having this conversation first. Sekibanki fell still and slowly turned to look at me, her blood-red eyes large and falsely-innocent.

“Ah-hah. That explains some things.” She licked her lips. “Cowards cannot truly use danmaku, Jake, even if they can make a few stray bullets.”

“I know, but… neither can dead people.”

“I’ve told you that I no longer drink blood.”

“Yes, you did.” Her head twisted to the side, an inquisitive expression.

“If you could taste your feelings, you’d be ashamed.” I started feeling ashamed, and she smiled widely. “Do you not trust me?”

“Well, I do, actually! I’m ninety percent confident you have good intentions! It’s just that my life is at stake here, so a ten percent doubt is still very significant.” That ninety percent was more like eighty. Or seventy five, if I thought about it. I was at least seventy percent sure that I trusted Sekibanki.

“You consider me so threatening?”

“Yes.”

“I’m flattered,” she said, and I supposed since I wasn’t feeling admiration it did not disgust her. “A power imbalance. I have been on both sides of that experience… but never with such a weak ally. Were you stronger, we could teach each other things. But since you are weak, I can teach you nothing?”

“Well… for now. Eventually I’ll be stronger.”

“If that happens, I’ll have so much less to teach you.”

“I suppose so.”

“You’ve decided to refuse my offer.”

“I’m afraid so,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said, her good cheer not disappearing. “I don’t respect your decision.”

“Thanks–wait, what?”

Four heads–exact copies of Sekibanki’s head, down to the same predatory smile–descended from the air like falling stones. Before I could take a single step they all shot out two thin beams of light. These needles came from every direction and caught me in the neck as I tried to throw myself to the ground.

Using danmaku in the village was illegal, I thought.

My shame and fear turned into something altogether harder and more merciless. A different flavor of shame, really: unyielding contempt, for myself and my cowardice. I hated my pounding heart, which went on pounding as I straightened up. I’d torn my pants again when I banged my knee on the ground.

“Pick up your hat,” said Sekibanki. I did so. “Follow me.”

The dissonance that took root in my head was that if I didn’t follow her, she might kill me.