195 Heart Of A Dragon

May 21, 2020 – Happy (Belated By 3 Days) 5-Year Anniversary, Turnabout Everlasting!

OK, enough rambling! On with the show! I hope you guys like romance! (who couldn’t use a dose of fluffy goodness right now, with the world sucking harder than a Hoover/Dyson combined?!) But hey guys, remember if the world DIDN’T suck… we’d all fall off! 😉

“If you ever fall in love, fall in love with someone who wants to know your favorite color and just how you like your tea. Fall in love with someone who loves the way you laugh and would do absolutely anything to hear it. Fall in love with someone who puts their head on your chest just to hear your heartbeat. Fall in love with someone who kisses you in public and is proud to show you off to everyone they know. Fall in love with someone who makes you question why you were afraid to fall in love in the first place. Fall in love with someone who would never, ever want to hurt you. Fall in love with someone who falls in love with your flaws and thinks you are perfect just the way you are. Fall in love with someone who thinks you are the one they want to wake up next to every day for the rest of their life.”

She critically eyed herself in the mirror, then glanced back at me, sitting in bed.

“Are you not coming to bed yet?” I asked, shifting over slightly to make room for her and patting the space beside me invitingly. “It has been a long day. You must be so tired.”

“Yes, I will be joining you soon.”

Her voice came out softer than usual as she spoke to me, although she was once again facing her reflection as she did so.

“We’ve been together a long time now, Papa. A dozen years this winter.”

“And happily married for ten of those, Mama.” I smiled contentedly, the way I always did whenever I got to address my beloved wife by this newfound parental title, ever since the birth of our firstborn, Takumi. “They have been the best ones of my life.”

Instead of returning my smile, Susato was absentmindedly rubbing her index finger back and forth over her upper lip, her brow slightly furrowed. I knew that gesture well. What was she worrying about?

The secrets inside her mind are like flowers in a garden at nighttime, filling the darkness with perfume.

“Nonetheless, I am no longer the young teenage girl you met; the one who traveled with you as your legal assistant to the British Empire. I am nearly in my third decade now.” She returned my now puzzled smile uncertainly. “So much has changed since then. Do you truly still love me?”

Without even a second’s hesitation, I answered instantly, yet straight from the heart.

“Like on the first day.”

She trailed her hands over her bosoms gingerly, as though they were still tender to the touch, which was a possibility, as she’d fed Takumi barely an hour ago before putting him down to sleep for the night.

“But do you not notice that my body is no longer the same as when we met?”

“No,” I replied sincerely. “No, not at all.”

She put her hands on her extended abdomen, still slightly swollen since the birth of our infant son a fortnight ago.

“Do you not notice that my belly is heavier now?”

Before I could answer, she lifted the hem of her kimono to her knee then and extended her slender calf, a pensive frown marring her delicate features.

“And do you truly not take any note that my legs are not as hard and smooth as they used to be?”

“No, I do not.”

Pools of liquid began welling in those beautiful eyes.

“How is that even so? Is this because you no longer look at me, Papa? Or simply because I am a mother now, so you cannot see me as your wife anymore but merely as the mother of your child and no longer a woman?”

I was stunned into silence by these unexpected words. Up until then, as Susato had stood there in the glow of the tableside lamp, I couldn’t help but marvel at how exquisite she looked, even at the end of a long day, and wondered how I had ended up so fortunate. Everything about her, from her flawless golden peach complexion, with its delicate features, to the silky ebon waves that swished past her shoulders– conveyed a picturesque depiction of captivating, natural beauty. Susato’s ethereal visage was so different from the faces of the Western females – always overly painted with artifice – that I’d encountered during the days of running the Naruhodō Legal Consultation Office in the British Empire. Admiring my lovely wife was a favorite pastime of mine that I had yet to tire of, even after all these years.

Her voice was threaded with tears now.

“What do you do by my side if you do not see me anymore? If you do not know how much my body has changed, how can you know I am not the same?”

I was chuckling as I got up and joined her at the looking glass, wrapping my arms around her waist from behind. As she instinctively leaned back against me and let out a deep sigh, I kissed her softly on the temple.

Being blessed with a wife means never taking her for granted, for her love is a gift, not a given. And so he must remember to cherish her and protect her; he must be both her lighthouse and her anchor on days she feels helplessly lost upon the stormy currents of the sea that is life. He must be the shining
beacon to always guide her home, and his arms are the safe harbor to keep her from ever feeling adrift. Moreover, he must always remember to treasure her,
because true, everlasting love is like a pearl in an oyster – only far more precious and rare.

“Who said I do not look at you?” I murmured my reassurances into her satiny hair. “There is nothing I enjoy more than gazing upon you. To look at how you are, at how you respond when I touch you. I feel your way of loving.”

As I continued to speak, I tenderly rubbed my hands over her rounded belly and her eyes closed blissfully as she savored my adoring caresses and words of love.

“If there is love, smallpox scars are as pretty as dimples. When I gaze upon you, I see a heart full of kindness. I see your graceful, womanly figure, made even exquisitely feminine by the new curves of motherhood. I know that there will never be another woman who fits me like a perfect puzzle piece as you do because only you bear the shape that was customized for mine. Moreover, you have given me everything I could have ever dreamed of – the best of everything. A loving home. A beautiful son. A joyful marriage, which first stemmed from a beautiful friendship.”

“You always did say that love without friendship is like a shadow without the sun.” She sniffled slightly, but through her tears, I saw a smile playing on her face, bringing back its radiance once more. “Our friendship was the seed from which our love developed, blossomed, and bloomed.”

“And it is the truth. A seed may be hard, but the planted earth had to be soft, my darling wife. Because flowers don’t grow on hard grounds. The greatest gift of life is friendship, and with you, I have not only received it but also so much more than I ever could have dreamed.”

I gently turned her in my arms so she could fully see my doting expression.

“Mama – Susato. Please do not be sad about your appearance when you gaze upon yourself. Be gladdened by what I feel when I look at you.”

I gently traced her face with my fingertips.

“It is three at night, and I have something I must say. You are so valuable. You shine brighter than light. You are a magic star. You are a body of blood made beautiful. How I admire, sit back, and adore you. How thirsty I am for that. How you feed me.”

Susato’s orbs remained misty as she fought back new tears, but this time not from sadness, but heartfelt joy.

“Always remember: I fell in love with the sensuality and kindness of your soul, not the vanity of your body.”

“I love you so much.” The droplets spilled over as she wrapped her arms around me tightly. “If I did anything right in my life, it was when I gave my heart to you.”

I leaned down to rest my forehead against hers as I proceeded to take her for an ambulatory trip down memory lane; a familiar, well-worn path I had yet to tire of strolling upon.

One who treads the path of love walks a thousand meters as if it were only one.

“Whenever I look at you, all I see is the rest of my life in front of my eyes.” I brushed her hair back from her cheek, then cupped it in my hand. “That is all I could ever see, from the very first time I told you that I loved you all those years ago…”

Ryūnosuke Naruhodō and Susato Mikotoba
British Empire
November 5, 1900

“Gina-san! Have a care, I beg of you!” I cried out with dismay, frantically putting a hand on the blonde teenager’s arm, which was vigorously whisking away. “Please, subdue your actions! You are turning the cream into butter!”

“Give me a break!” Gina Lestrade’s face twisted into a petulant moue. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? The recipe for this weird foreign cake of yours says to cream together the sugar and butter until well combined!”

“Gomen’nasai. I meant no offense.” I withered slightly under the heat of her indignant glare. “I do not wish to seem ungrateful for your kind assistance, Gina-san. I only mean to –”

“To what? Drive me off my trolley by your harping expectations of me to transform from prize pickpocket to some sort of pastry chef suddenly?” She puffed out her cheeks and stamped her foot. “I’m doing the best I can, you know!”

“Now, now, there’s no need to get so tetchy!” Iris Watson chided as she set down the bowl of Shiro An vanilla frosting she’d been mixing for the confections. Her red spirals bounced atop her head as she came over and reassuringly patted the frazzled young woman on the shoulder. “Number one, it’s not a weird recipe – it’s his mother Sayuri’s family secret recipe for traditional Japanese Butter Mochi Cake…”

“SAY- YOOR-EE?” Gina interrupted, pursing her lips. “Bugger and blast! Do none of you foreigners have names that are easy to pronounce?!”

“My mother’s name is Sayuri, which translates into a small lily, a much favored floral, as well as tea, back in my native home country, Gina-san.”

Gathering all my patience, I somehow stifled back further sharp rebuttal to the rude commentary, then resumed my painstaking tending to the Sakura Mochi I’d been laboring over for the past few hours and silently agonized over why everything in my life had to be so complicated!

My mother, Sayuri Naruhodō, (née Riko, which meant logical child, even though the stubborn family matriarch was anything but that!) was descended from one of the Emperor’s royal chefs and insisted on maintaining her ancestor’s inherited gastronomic passions, traditions, and recipes. Hence, my Father, Hisahito (which translated into virtuous, calm, and everlasting), and I had long been spoiled as the key consumers of her delectable feasts and desserts, which were all fit for any emperor or king!

The only problem was that her personalized twists of trademarked chef genius were so convoluted, that they were nigh impossible to emulate for a culinary neophyte like me. It didn’t help that she had always shooed me away like a pesky fly from the kitchen whenever I had attempted to offer assistance!

Like most women, she never wanted anyone interfering with her masterpieces in the making, and disliked anyone being in the kitchen while she was in there, as she found the presence of others to be disruptive.

A great example was this particularly complex recipe for cherry blossom rice cakes. They had been my favorite indulgence and I fervently hoped to impress with it, as well. Conventionally, the Sakura Mochi should have been sweet and pink on the outside, with a red bean paste filling and a pickled sakura leaf for the covering.

The issue was that my mother had never really been someone who did anything ‘by the book’ and had always put her own spin on all Japanese treats. In this case, when preparing the adzuki beans for Anko red bean paste, she also cut up plenty of red Kyoto cherries before reducing them in a pot to make delicious syrup.

Afterward, she would mix the Anko and cherries with a small portion of the cherry syrup, thus making the filling, and then use the remaining syrup to dye the white rice a more pinkish color, making the mochis more daifuku than the actual mocha. Finally, instead of topping the tasty treats with the traditional pickled Sakura leaves, mother’s final flourish was to take dried Sakura flowers and coat them in sugar water. I wasn’t sure what kind of kitchen magic she used, but it always ended with the cherry blossom petals looking sparkly and pretty, a delight to both the eyes and taste buds alike.

Unfortunately, in this case, my expertise seemed to be limited to the courtroom, where my hands were best used for desk slamming, and likewise, my not-so-nimble fingers were only effective for pointing at my rival prosecutor.

In the kitchen, I was all thumbs!

Evidently, the gifted cookery genes had come to a screeching halt with my family matriarch, as this final decorative task was taking me forever to complete. Also, to my mounting dismay, the sticky – not shiny! – and conglomerated lump of petals I had produced was nowhere near as aesthetically pleasing as mother’s. Moreover, they hardly resembled any sort of flower that existed in nature!

In short, as they said here in the British Empire, I was quite snookered!

I moaned softly under my breath and cursed my rotten luck, along with my overzealousness to achieve what appeared to be mission impossible. Any other sane man would have given up by now and just purchased a local, store-bought baked item at this point, such as the Victoria Sponge Cake which those of the British Empire seemed to favor so much.

However, Susato Mikotoba loved all things conventionally feminine, such as the color pink, (as evidenced by her choice of regular attire) sweets, and of course, flowers. Moreover, my legal assistant distinctly adored Sakura. She always wistfully sighed every time we would pass by a cherry blossom tree.

So how could I not attempt to gift the girl with both her heart’s desires – today of all days?

“Ginny, be nice to Narudy for once!” Iris had her hands on her hips as she sternly chided the visibly petulant Gina for her misconduct. “It’s obvious he wants to give Sussie a taste of his family’s traditional recipes from back home, and as his friends, we agreed to help out with this, so no more grousing!”

“Fine! Quit your nagging already!” Gina grumbled as she began icing the large Butter Mochi cake. “I gave my word that I’d help play ace baker, and I meant it! Thence, you needn’t worry about me going along with this besotted game of ‘I Want You to Want Me, I Need You to Knead Me and I’d Love You to Loaf Me’!”

My grasp of the English language, which had been essentially nonexistent up until a few months ago, was remarkably good, but as a non-native speaker of the language, certain idioms and witticisms still went right over my head.

Which meant I was left utterly flummoxed as to why the former sneak thief’s last words resulted in the genius inventor’s orbs to begin brimming with tears of mirth.

“Meaning you’re going to batter up, and it’s all or muffin?” Iris twittered. “Because all your griping was baking me crazy!”

“It’s a crumbly job, but I knead the dough!” Gina quipped as her eyes twinkled with merriment. “So this is how I roll!”

I was as confused as a homeless man on house arrest as both girls then dissolved into uncontrollable gales of laughter. My bewilderment was evident, as the ever-perceptive redheaded girl noted my lost expression, and sobered instantly.

“Sorry, Narudy, just a little baker’s humor there to lighten to mood,” she apologized, then turned back to the blonde. “Let’s show some compassion for the poor man here! He’s only acting like such a perfectionist drill sergeant because he wants everything to be perfect for Sussie’s surprise birthday dinner tonight!”

“I don’t understand why you adults have to play these silly, coy games!” Gina shook her head disapprovingly. “A blind man could see that the Orient is going through all this trouble because he’s so mad about her! Why the buttoned-up lip? Try being honest for a change, be a whisk-taker, and just tell her how you feel, for heavens’ cake!”

I felt my cheeks flaming at hearing my innermost, yet transparent emotions for the Asian beauty, who’d first gotten under my skin, then flooded my mind, and finally, my heart, stated so bluntly. Denial obviously would get me nowhere, so I threw my hands up in resignation before plopping my elbows down on the kitchen counter and burying my head in my hands.

“It’s not so simple, Gina-san,” I explained desolately. “Aside from the fact that I have no idea how Susato-san feels about me…”

“We already know she loves to Susato-Throw you to the floor whenever you get out of line!” Gina flashed a wicked grin. “I need her to teach me that Susato-Drop move of hers, too! A girl can never be too prepared, you know!”

I eyed her despairingly, failing to comprehend how reinforcing the belief that the girl of my dreams had more of a yen for manhandling me, rather than a yen for me, was supposed to make me feel any better!

Once again, my weather-vane countenance gave away my innermost thoughts, as the precocious child smiled and reassuringly patted my sugar-encrusted hand.

“Don’t be gutted about being tossed through the air like pizza dough, Narudy. At least Sussie always seems sincerely sorry right after she’s flipped you like a flapjack! And lately, she’s even offered you a hand to help you get back up whenever it looks like she may have tossed you a bit too hard!”

“Methinks her flinging you around like a ragdoll is how she shows her affection?” Gina mused slyly. “Or maybe that’s her decorous way of trying to assess whether or not she can just go ahead, get on top of you and pin you down…”

“Yameru, Gina-san!” I cried, raising a hand to stop the unseemly words. “Please! Y –You mustn’t even make jest about Susato-san’s impeccably genteel character! She is the perfect example of hospitable respectability and never exhibits anything other than good manners and propriety behavior towards everyone she encounters!”

The scamp’s eyes widened in surprise, as she was so unaccustomed to me being anything but docile and mild-mannered. Normally, I only ever raised my tone when in court to pose an objection. Even as a jape, though, I could not bear to hear anything even remotely slanderous about the object of my affection, and felt it my sacred duty to defend her good name.

“Cor blimey, she is your chuckaboo, isn’t she?” Gina breathed; her voice filled with wonder. “I can’t even take the mickey with you about your demure fair maiden ever being anything but bang up to the elephant – you’ve got her on that high of a pedestal! What I can’t fathom is how you can go on feeling this way about her but keep bloody mum about it!”

“The Japanese don’t say, ‘I love you,’ as often as people in the West do, mainly because of cultural differences,” I explained helplessly, feeling my cheeks warming again. “Instead, love is expressed by manners or gestures….”

“Which is why Narudy felt a need to ease Sussie’s homesickness with some homemade recipes on her birthday, rather than just buying her some trifle and sticking a candle in it,” Iris added matter-of-factly. “I’ve been reading up about the ways of the land of the rising sun. When the Japanese do put their feelings into words, they’re more likely to use the phrase “suki desu” which means “to like.”

“About whom do you speak, Iris-sama?” A familiar voice inquired mildly, making my mates and I spin around in surprise as we saw the topic of our chinwag standing in the doorway, having caught the tail end of the conversation. “If I may be so bold to ask?”

“Susato-san!” I felt the blood drain from my face as I frantically pondered how much the birthday girl, who was unexpectedly standing beside me, had overheard. “W-we didn’t expect you to come back so early – nor to return without Holmes-san!”

“Please forgive me if I have overstepped my boundaries. I did not intend to eavesdrop.” Susato bowed her head slightly, but still wore a puzzled smile. “Yet I could not help to have my curiosity piqued, due to the subject matter.”

“Wherever is the good detective?” I demanded crossly. “We presumed you two would not return until this evening!”

Although I was generally a pacifist individual, at that moment, I could have cheerfully throttled the wayward detective! Sherlock Holmes had been given merely one task that day – to keep Susato out of the house until the festive preparations were ready that night and yet had still managed to botch that right up!

“Holmes-sama took Susato to the Old Bailey library to explore some wonderful historical crime archives and photos,” the girl of my dreams explained politely. “However, he then mysteriously vanished while she was engrossed in some riveting periodicals, and by then, it was closing time, so Susato had no choice but to come back home.”

“Stop looking so worried, Narudy! I invented this thing to have multi-purposes!”

Iris finally paused in the act of firing decorative icing rosettes onto the cake with her ever-present shooting gadget and turned to gawk at my associate.

“Wait! Do you mean to tell us that Holmsies just left you all alone there, and therefore, you had to find your way back across town… all by yourself? That wasn’t very nice of him! That man needs a good talking to!”

“I can’t wait to hear his explanation for this one!” Gina frowned and crossed her arms. “And you wonder why I don’t trust adults! Holmes couldn’t even be trusted for this sole simple task – this really takes the biscuit!”

“Blimey! Did I manage to beat her back here?”

At that moment, Holmes himself stumbled into the room, slightly out of breath, and the goggles which rested atop his head knocked askew. The detective’s gaze immediately fell upon my flustered countenance, then guiltily shifted to the indignant Iris, the accusing Gina, and the utterly confused Susato all standing together, and blew out a labored breath.

“Oh, fiddlesticks!”

Then, with a resigned shrug, he clamped his pipe back between his teeth and turned his palms up towards the ceiling in the universal gesture of innocence.

“Gor Blimey! Apologies for the cock-up, mates, but hell, I tried! Stop looking at me like that – I swear, I legged it as fast as I could! I didn’t honestly believe I could be outrun by a girl in a dress!”

“It’s not a dress, it’s a kimono, you tosspot!” Gina snapped. “Even an uneducated street kid like me can tell the difference!”

“Holmsies!” Iris glowered at her foster father, then, without warning, expertly shot a blast of icing in his direction, hitting him square in the chest with a bullseye cake rosette, and pointedly ignored his shocked expression. “How could you just leave Sussie behind like that, you big meanie!”

“I took the young lady for an in-depth, exclusive look into some fascinating true crime cases in our nation’s history – my own, of course, being amongst them – but my unprecedented negligence was partially the fault of those stodgy old duffers who chronicled my cases! I felt it was my forsworn duty as a historically famous figure to advise the grossly inaccurate reporting for The Sign of the Four! The murder weapon was a blow dart, not a playing dart!”

The famed detective sounded somewhat sheepish as he attempted to brush off the sugary bullet from his trench coat.

“Unfortunately, I was given word to the curator who had left for the day and was across town! I assumed my captivated guest would be so absorbed in her reading that I could make the trip, easy peasy, inform the misinformed gent about this gross historical inaccuracy, then make my way back before she even noticed my absence. Clearly, I miscalculated my deductions about how long the jaunt would take. I apologize for this inconvenience.”

The silence that met this explanation was so deafening you could have heard a pin drop.

Holmes awkwardly cleared his throat and fiddled with his pipe to avoid the incredulous three sets of eyes glaring disapprovingly at him. Luckily for him, the unassuming birthday girl broke the reproachful reticence with her trademarked graciousness.

“Please do not concern yourself, Holmes-sama. It was still a most pleasant day spent, nevertheless. I enjoyed learning about the fascinating cases in the history of the British Empire, so thank you kindly for taking me.” Susato smiled sweetly. “As I walked back from the Old Bailey, I took the scenic route and got to see the splendorous Hyde Park, which has the most magnificent trees and florals in bloom. And speaking of things that are blooming…”

She cast a sideways glance at me, then demurely dropped her gaze before speaking again.

“Susato apologizes for ear-worming, as they say here, but it seems the Western adage is true in this case, is it not, Naruhodō-sama? ‘In the spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.’ Whoever is the most fortunate lass to have taken a hold of your heart? Is it someone she knows?”

I gulped and felt my throat closing, as this was my worst nightmare coming true. It would have been mortifying enough if Susato had overheard our entire conversation about my unrequited affections – but this – this was far worse! She seriously believed I fancied another girl! How in the world was I going to get out of this sticky situation – which was somehow a bigger mess than the one I’d made with the Sakura Mochi?!

My panicked eyes swung towards Gina and Iris – and instantly realized I had hit a dead-end in gaining any assistance. Both were awkwardly shuffling their feet and candidly avoiding my pleading expression.

“Ginny, you have got to show me that sleight of hand, pickpocketing technique of yours again,” the Sherlock Holmes prodigy novelist announced swiftly, grabbing a hold of the older girl’s arm and tugging her towards the exit. “Holmsies, you need to see this, too! Come on now, let’s chivvy along!”

“But – aren’t we going to be having some of that splendid-looking birthday cake?” The forever gormless Detective asked blankly, failing to clue into a blatant hint, as was tradition. “I’m feeling a bit peckish right now, after my harried excursion today…”

“We’ll eat it later when the other guests arrive!” Iris hissed in a stage whisper, waving her shooting device menacingly in the air. “Now come along, Holmsies – don’t make me have to use this thing again!”

“Let’s keep calm and carry on then! Toodle-pip!”

Holmes wisely hurried after the two girls without another word, leaving Susato and me alone in the room, with her stumping inquiry hanging over our heads like a dark cloud.

“Birthday cake?” Her rosebud lips parted into an O of delighted surprise as her almond eyes, at last, noticed the cake and the other sweets on the counter. “I –is that… for me?”

“All of this was for you, Susato-san.” I nodded morosely and spread out my arms. “We wished to bake some treats in honor of your birthday. A thousand pardons that the element of surprise was ruined… along with the Sakura floral decoration for the rice cakes, even though I followed my mother’s recipe to the hilt.”

I grinned sheepishly.

“I feel you have been extra homesick as of late, hence my efforts to make you some accustomed dishes of our people. Ah, perhaps if you scrape off the petals, the Sakura Mochi will at least still taste the same as they do back home…”

“The appearance does not matter to me, Naruhodō –sama.” Susato placed a placating hand on my sleeve, her fair cheeks pink with pleasure. “I –I am most touched by your considerate gesture. How lucky I am to have dear friends who cared to go to all this trouble for my benefit! You are not unsuccessful in surprising me, as this is a most unexpected but pleasant discovery nonetheless! I am especially tickled in knowing that above all, you cared enough to try your hand in the unexplored kitchen – for my sake!”

Belatedly realizing she was still touching my arm, she hastily removed her fingers, then clasped her hands together and dropped her eyes again.

“You are truly kind, Naruhodō-sama. T- the young lady who has your affections is most fortunate, indeed.”

I felt a lump forming in my throat. It didn’t even matter anymore that Susato was so courteous, she would overlook, and even be thankful, for my
less-than-picturesque dessert efforts. The fact that she believed I could do all of this for her sake, yet somehow still have room for another in my heart made me feel physically ill.

I couldn’t let this go on for another instant!

Unaware that I was gathering up the courage to make the biggest gamble of his life, Susato’s eyes remained on the ground.

“I can easily understand your infatuation. These girls of the British Empire are so incredibly fetching to behold, what with their big, jewel-toned eyes and peaches and cream complexions…”

“Oyame nasai, Susato-san!” I cried desperately using the polite – and in this case, pleading Japanese command for her to cease any more assumptions. “I – I cannot bear to hear you speak about such matters for another minute!”

“Have I said something which displeases you?” She regarded me quizzically. “Am I inaccurate in my assessment that you find these Western girls to be pretty?”

“Sure, they are! B-but so are you!” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

There was a heart-pounding moment of stillness between us that felt like ages until Susato finally shook her head, the oval loops of her raven mane swaying as she did so.

“Do not feel a need to pretend with me, Naruhodō-sama.” Her cadence sounded unsteady. “You know I am not worthy of such a compliment. While I do not believe myself to be displeasing to the eye and know I am not ugly, I am certainly not pretty.”

Susato Mikotoba truly is a swan in a country full of peacocks, I realized, not without a trace of amusement. Her overt modesty about her own comeliness only makes me love her even more.

She peeked up at me through her lashes and noticed the strange expression on my face now.

I felt as though I had stopped breathing.

“What is it?” She asked timidly while a rosy calescence slowly crept over her cheeks and neck under the scrutiny of my gaze.

I knew I was staring, but I couldn’t seem to halt the need to linger over every fine detail of this swan-like enchantress; take in every line of her ethereal visage, from her finely sculpted jaw to her pastel cheekbones to her silky, ebony tresses which beckoned the touch of my hand…

I look at her and I forget to blink my eyes.

Without thinking, I reached over suddenly and ran my fingers quickly through her hair, brushing a stray lock away from her forehead. Before she could register the unfamiliar intimacy of the gesture, I drew my hand back and surveyed her solemnly.

“I agree with you. You are not pretty.”

To say she looked absolutely crushed would have been the understatement of the century. I had not been aware until she confessed to me about it sometime later, just how insecure the questionably modest beauty had been about her pulchritude until then.

However, I wasn’t done speaking just yet.

“I like how you look,” I continued, my voice shaking slightly. “You are highly intelligent – more than I could ever be. You came here to a foreign country with a man you never knew so you are courageous and brave. You never let me give up even when it seems all hope is lost because you are so loyal and encouraging. That is why I cannot concede that you are merely pretty, Susato-san, for to me, you are unequivocally beautiful.”

“B – but these Western girls,” she stammered, still sounding as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “T – they are all so uniquely distinct in appearance, not to mention they are otherworldly levels of beautiful…”

“So are you,” I insisted passionately. “And in a very different way from these Western girls. You exude such a deep-rooted inner poise and dignified radiance; it makes your delicate beauty far beyond any other in comparison.”

If you realized how beautiful you were, you would fall at your own feet.

Susato said nothing to this because she couldn’t think of anything nothing to say. Beautiful. I would later find out that until I had expressed my approbation, nobody else had ever called her that before, except her late mother, which didn’t count. Mothers were required to think you were beautiful.

The young woman who would become my wife in the near future later told me that although she feared she was making me uncomfortable as she peered up at me, she could not stop herself from staring at each and every feature on my face, as though seeing it for the first time.

Ryūnosuke Naruhodō is so handsome, in that endearingly boyish, charming way of his. She thought to herself. And he called me beautiful. It makes a warm tingle run right through me, right down to the tips of my toes…

Jean Greyerl and Ridelle Mystere
Old Bailey Archives
July 21, 2026

“What a load of cobblers!” Interjected the late Newton Belduke’s former ‘butler’ as she blew upward at her aqua fringe in exasperation. “This is the real-life journal of Ryūnosuke Naruhodō, not some insipid/trite Victorian romance novel! There’s no bleeding way he would be penning Susato’s supposed thoughts like some sort of omniscient raconteur! He’s not Arthur Cantabella, after all!”

“On your bike, you bloody stroppy cow!” Ridelle scowled darkly. “I’m the narrator here, not you! Now stop being so argy-bargy, shut your mush, and just listen to this dreamy love story that is begging to be heard!”

“Grrrr! You insufferable ninny! We are having this Barney because you are doing my bleeding head in!”

“I am not!”

“Yes, you jolly well are! You are going to drive me straight to Bedlam with your bespoke, moony, overly saccharine annotations strewn into this stranger’s chronicled history… like a card-carrying member of the Big Twit Club!”

“So says the beastly minger! Such world-class ingratitude, even though I’m the one who ensured the interpretation team that the good Professor put into play translated this page first!”

“Yes, an entry from the middle of the diary,” Jean retorted grumpily. “Our first translation page is arse about-face since it’s not even in chronological order! All because your blasted, bluestocking arse decided this entry would be of most interest!”

“All my years as a Labyrinthian librarian gave me plenty of swotting time to gen up on basic Kanji,” the scholarly girl retorted. “I know my onions enough of the Japanese alphabet to have recognized the words I love you written several times! Forgive me for not being a cold-hearted witch and having enough sentiment to appreciate a good love story!”

“Witch?! You cheeky bint! This isn’t about not wanting to hear the bleeding story! It’s about me getting brassed off that you’re spouting porkies, all willy nilly, based on what you wish had happened!” Jean exploded wrathfully. “Why can’t you just read the sodding source material as it was written by Mr. Wright’s predecessor, without your dicked in the nob, starry-eyed editorials inserted in there!”

“Porkies?! What rubbish! For your kind information, it clearly states here that the man wrote these memoirs many years later, and not in real-time as they
occurred! He notes that he’s adding his swain’s thoughts from the events to better enrich the tale and make for better storytelling. All I’m doing is simply paraphrasing to make the story more engaging!”

As Jean was forced to lapse into shamed silence, her dialogue partner, in the manner of all mature, scholarly historians throughout history, brazenly stuck out her tongue.

“Are you butter, mate? Because I believe I was on a roll!”

The disgruntled, green-haired lass grunted something wholly unladylike, which may or may not have been something along the lines of “oh, sod off, you naff swot!”

However, sensing she’d won this battle of wits, the scholarly lass just smirked and tactfully opted to let her narky mate’s muttered slur slide – this time.

“Any road, he started writing down his legal adventures soon after their son Takumi was born so their progeny would have historical chronicles of his legendary father’s life from the time that he was a lawyer here in England. Moreover, that included his courtship with his legal assistant Susato, who later became his wife, so you can stop getting your knickers in a twist about my narration!”

The exuberant historian allowed her spectacled gaze to eagerly run over the rest of the deciphered pages.

“It’s so absobloodylootely thrilling, Jean! I nearly bit my arm off when the translation team sent over the family tree that was written on the back page of the notebook, indicating that our suspicions were right all along! That Japanese man in the painting was Mr. Wright’s ancestor! His name was Ryūnosuke Naruhodō and he was his great-grandfather!”

“Well, those spikes were surely a giveaway that there was some shared genetics! It’s just a riot Mr. Wright was blinkered to note his remarkable resemblance to that man in the painting – it was as clear as the nose on his face! Good thing he’s such a looker – it helps atone for him being so daft!”

Jean was tittering slightly as she then consulted her own hastily scribbled notes.

“After taking a shufti at the family tree names penned in Naruhodō’s journal, the modern technology of today made it a doddle for me to trace the roots back to Sir Blue Knight. Ah, there we go! Ryūnosuke Suzaku Naruhodō, born in 1876, married Susato Ayame Mikotoba, born in 1883. Parents of Takumi Ryūnosuke Naruhodō, born 1911, married Victoria Stanhope, born 1918.”

“Takumi was Mr. Wright’s grandfather, correct?”

“Indeed. He was a semi-famous local artist who served in the 442nd Regimental Combat Team, which was an infantry regiment of the United States Army. Mr. Wright’s grandfather had moved to America in 1937 and served in the military in the second world war, even getting a Purple Heart, as he was injured in the line of duty and given an honorable discharge. That was when he met the American nurse who later became his wife and married her in 1944. He legally changed their surname to Wright in 1945. Hmmm… from Naruhodō to Wright? That seems rather … random.”

“Not at all,” the pink-haired girl informed her loftily. “I’ve become a xenophile lately, particularly with Japan, and decided to gen up a bit about the meaning behind that surname. The Japanese surname Naruhodō comes from the Japanese expression naruhodo, which roughly translates as ‘I see, ‘I understand’, or ‘indeed’. It is usually used to agree with other people’s ideas.”

Jean was only half listening to her mate’s Otaku ramblings; she was too busy typing her own queries into the search engine.

“Wright was likely chosen as it was meant to have a similar effect to his Japanese surname, and/or as a reference to his righteous nature and sense of justice, and doing what is right, in his case, as a defense attorney. Blimey! I guess the selected anglicized surname wasn’t so random after all!”

“No doubt the name change was to cast off the lingering stigma that followed Japanese-Americans back then. Poor sods had some hard lines from the rest of the Yanks after the war, thanks to Pearl Harbor.” Ridelle was never one to let the opportunity pass to show off her world history expertise. “Ergo, Takumi and Victoria Wright were the paternal grandparents of Sir Blue Knight, correct? Hugh Roc Wright, born 1946.”

“Yes, he was a renowned Heart Surgeon who married famous Human Rights and Equality Lawyer, Shirley Thoujeste. Also, he didn’t seem to like having the middle name of a mythical creature – I reckon he found it slapdash. He changed it so that he was thence professionally known as Dr. Hugh R. Wright.”

“Crikey! Sir Blue Knight’s parents were named Hugh. R and Shirley Wright?!” Ridelle cracked up then. “That’s a laugh! I would love to share all these findings with the Professor, but I’ve rung him a few times now and there’s no answer!”

“He’s a busy man. I’m sure he’ll give us a bell when he’s free – he’s likely just tied up right now,” Jean dismissed, her eyes now glued to her computer screen. “Oh, hell’s biscuits! Poor Hugh and Shirley perished together in a plane crash in 2002.”

“My giddy God’s pyjamas! What a pity, to lose one’s parents that young,” Ridelle commiserated as she peered at the screen over her co-worker’s shoulder. “How did you manage to find that information?”

“Aviation disasters are always a matter of public records. Plus, I found their obituary in this Los Angeles newspaper online. It says right here that the couple was survived by their son, Phoenix Gryphon Wright, an art student at Ivy University.”

“Art?! How in the name of Elton John’s codpiece does one go from being an art major to law?!”

The former librarian raised her eyebrows in gobsmacked semaphore, and Jean snorted as she waited for her mate’s brows to return to the normal position before she continued.

“Poor Sir Blue Knight! He would only have been about 20 when he lost his mum and dad. To add to the tragedy both his parents were only children, as was Mr. Wright himself, so there weren’t any siblings or even aunts, uncles, or cousins to console him at the time…”

Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head as she gaped at the search results that had come up when she’d Googled the name, Phoenix Wright.

“Cor love a duck!” Now it was the anterior witch’s turn to have eyebrows that threatened to disappear to the top of her forehead. “I reckon it would have been handy to have had his family around in the year following their deaths … as he was then put on trial and accused of first-degree murder!”

“By the hymen of Olivia Newton-John!” Ridelle gasped. “Surely, thou jest! Not Sir Blue Knight! He wouldn’t harm a fly! He – he couldn’t stab chips with a fork!”

“Placate your mammaries and settle your chesticles, you prat! The tale has a happy ending.”

Jean sighed with relief as she scanned the subsequent articles and relayed that Phoenix had not only been found innocent thanks to his legendary defense attorney, Mia Fey, but he’d then later become her protégé, eventually inheriting her law office after her untimely passing.

“Speaking of happy stories…” Ridelle tapped at the diary page. “I fancy resuming my reading of this Ryusato story before I was so rudely interrupted – so let me know when you’re quite ready to belt up, you bleedin’ plonker!”

“If it means this much to you, carry on then, since this is all that you have going for you, Billy-No-Mates! After all, only a sad future spinster could slake her thirst for romance just by reading the diary of a long-time dead foreigner, whom she’s never even met!” Jean remarked waspishly. “We’ve got to pry you away from all these musty old books and introduce you to some real people! Preferably some bloke closer to your own age, so you can stop mooning over poor Professor Layton!”

Ridelle narrowed her eyes dangerously as she then completely lost her rag.

“What in the name of arse are you going on about, you numpty slag? At least my fancying of the Professor is no more than esteemed reverence! You’re the one whose fanny is practically swallowing itself over the very off-the-market Mr. Wright! I wonder what Maya would say if you knew how much you appreciated what a looker her lover is!”

Jean felt her cheeks burning red at this rebuttal and found herself having no snappy comeback. Instead, she muttered something only semi-intelligible about how she’d gladly put a sock in it now if the other girl wished to continue reading the journal entry.

“Humph! Very well then, I shall continue. Although I’d like to state that if you didn’t merely have the emotional range of a teaspoon, you would be swooning over this as much as I am! My stars and garters, I had no idea Japanese men could be so romantic!” Ridelle gushed, her eyes greedily roving over the page. “Reading about how much this man loved his wife is just soooo … Luvvly-jubbly! I’ve got tingles everywhere! That Susato was so lucky! I wonder if Mr. Wright inherited his great-grandfather’s romantic streak, and not just his spikes?”

“If Sir Blue Knight is anything like his Romeo ancestor,” Jean conceded wistfully. “Then Maya is quite the fortunate lass, as well…”

Ryūnosuke Naruhodō and Susato Mikotoba
British Empire
November 5, 1900

“All right then,” Susato said finally, the first to break our lingering staring exchange. Her cheeks were still pink as she turned away from me, and there was a note of relief in her tone as she stepped away from me. “I – I suppose, after all the efforts you, Iris-sama, and Gina-sama went through for me, that I should at least help clean up some of this mess made from earlier.”

She made a move to step around me and head towards the sink full of pans and dishes. In between one step and another, she noticed a silver spark gleaming on the floor; it was the knife I’d been using to cut the butter, lying on its side. She jerked hastily back to avoid stepping on it, and her shoulder bumped mine. Just as she turned to apologize, I put a hand out to steady her.

The unanticipated tactile contact resulted in her emitting a tiny gasp. As her hand flew to her lips, making the sleeve of her kimono fall back, my fingers gently closed over her bare arm. My hand rested gently against her warm flesh, not passing through or sinking in. She made no resistance as I pulled her towards me, and then she was somehow in the circle of my arms. Her startled wide orbs met mine, and this time, I know she could see my emotions painted on my face, as clear as day.

I could not have hidden my feelings any longer if my life had depended on it.

For a breathless second, my gaze remained on hers, and I did not speak. Then I took her face in my hands and leaned in close.

“In a room, or even a nation, full of these British girls, I only have eyes for you, Susato-san,” I whispered huskily. Then, before I lost my nerve, I gently brushed my lips over hers, once, twice … and lingered.

For an infinitesimal moment, Susato remembered being frozen in place, stunned by the feeling of my strong hands on her skin and my warm lips against hers. She had no idea what to do with herself. No idea where to put her hands or whether to move her lips or how to even breathe.

Kiss him back, for heaven’s sake! The small, lucid part of her whirling brain shouted at her.

Then she stifled a surprised, embarrassed, happy laugh and did as she was told. She returned the kiss readily and instinctively wound her hands into my hair. Later, she would shyly confess this was something she’d wanted to do since the first time she’d seen me. She vividly recalled how my jet-black spikes curved around her fingers, silky and fine and so much softer than they looked.

I pulled back and gazed searchingly into her eyes.

“Is this all right?” I asked shyly.

Susato mutely, breathlessly nodded, wordlessly indicating she wanted her lips on mine as badly as I yearned for hers. I smiled and kissed her again. As my lips softened, she exulted in the taste of them as I had with hers. She would later mention how she had reveled in the faintly sweet sensation of cherries in my mouth. This time she stood up on her tiptoes, leaning her body closer to mine.

What neither of us could believe was how perfect this felt. How excited and happy and thrilling and safe all at the same time.

It is an art of the most exquisite kind to touch someone’s soul before touching their skin.

“Why did I waste my time sneak-reading all these Victorian romances, when real-life romance has been awaiting me?” Susato told me she’d wondered as I lightly trailed a finger down her cheek. “How could I have been so busy burying my nose in my books that I failed to see Naruhodō-sama was right here, all along?”

She could feel the rapid beat of my heart against the wild pounding of her own and savored the feeling of those sweet lips on hers, now familiar – ones she’d imagined, dreamed about, memorized a million hours ago.

And that was when it hit her: Ryūnosuke Naruhodō was The One.

You are my world, Naruhodō-sama.

As though in a daze, it finally dawned on her that I’d always been the first person she had sought out when needing to share any new, good, or bad. The one she could talk to. The one she always thought of when something funny or weird or interesting happened. In her eyes, I was everything all at once; smart and hilarious and kind and thoughtful.

If I know what love is, it is because of you. Everywhere I look, I am reminded of your love.

When we drew apart, at last, she seemed loath to leave the heated shelter of my arms and snuggled closer to my warmth, bracing her free hand against the nape of my neck as she stared searchingly into my loving eyes.

You make me feel like the world is not so strange. I look at you, and I am home.

“Happy Birthday, Susato-san.”

“Doumo arigatou gozaimasu. I need you to know that I never feel homesick when I am with you, Naruhodō-sama,” she whispered. “For you are my home.”

“One who travels for love finds a thousand miles not longer than one.” My heart was in my eyes as I leaned down and touched my forehead to hers, finally speaking the words I’d longed to say for so long. “Aishiteru wa, Susato-san.”

“Aishiteru yo, Naruhodō-sama.”

As our lips met once more, I remembered thanking the stars and heavens for blessing me with this precious treasure in my arms – one that I knew I would forever value even more than the air I breathed, and cherish until the day I drew my last breath.

There are some things you do not discover about yourself until you let someone into the most intimate places of your heart.

I would like to hold you in the mountains; like to kiss you by the sea. Take you far, far from here to a place where you feel free. Because we are safe, we are true, we are going to make it through. No matter if there be crashing worlds or falling stars, breaking all of who we are; I still want infinity with you, and only you.

Jean Greyerl and Ridelle Mystere
Old Bailey Archives
July 21, 2026

As Ridelle finished reading the entry and inconspicuously wiped at her misty eyes, not wanting to endure Jean’s ridicule for finding the Japanese love story so touching that she’d nearly been moved to tears, she heard a stifled, high-pitched whimper, like a puppy whinging for dinner scraps within the small office – coming from the direction of her colleague’s desk!

“Blow me down with a feather, Jean!” She exclaimed in amazement as her emotionally constipated mate quickly reached for a handful of Kleenex from the box beside her, all the while trying desperately to keep her back turned. “Are you… crying?!”

“Of course, I’m not, you blooming git!” Jean blubbered, mopping at her drenched cheeks with the tissues and trying to discreetly blow her nose, only to produce a loud honking noise that sounded like a flock of geese flying overhead. “I never cry! It’s those blasted onion-cutting ninjas, I swear it!”

“I see,” Ridelle smirked. “That’s very creative! Shall I go tell Mayor Cantabella you’re in the running for a modern-day storyteller should the need in the medieval town ever arise again?”

“Don’t make me box your ears!” Jean angrily scrubbed at her face, still refusing to look up and face the other girl’s knowing grin. “I – just… have something in my eye, that’s all!”

“Aye. They’re called tears,” Ridelle teased mercilessly. “Oh, give over, mate! There’s nothing wrong with feeling a tug at the heartstrings with a story this romantic – you’d have to be made of stone not be affected by a man as romantic as Mr. Wright’s great-grandfather!”

“Fine! I was swooning and sobbing like a Victorian ninny!” Jean confessed with a self-loathing groan, burying her burning face in her hands. “All I need is to start wringing my hands and ask for a fainting couch, for my preordained looming case of the vapors!”

“There’s naught to be ashamed of,” Ridelle said kindly. “What’s more swoon-worthy than a man with the soul of poetic who was so mad about his wife that he was blind to anyone else – and had no qualms letting her know how much he loved her and how beautiful she was to him all the times? I bet they were merrily hitched for at least half a century or so – until death did them part, the way marriages were always intended!”

“They don’t make unions like that anymore,” Jean lamented with a gusty sigh. “Buggeration and blast! They don’t even make blokes like Ryūnosuke Naruhodō anymore – and after hearing that, how could I ever settle for a lad who’s anything but? This means I’ll undoubtedly die as the lonely spinster I accused you of prematurely being!”

“Come now, no need to lose the plot! You’re merely going through a dating dry spell like I am – you just need to keep your pecker up, Jean!” Ridelle cajoled sympathetically, but to no avail, as the dejected other girl had once again reached into her bag of sorrows.

“I may as well ring up the nutter ex-Prosecutor Darklaw, and join her at that feline sanctuary of hers, since becoming a mad cat lady with nothing but furballs in her future seems to be the path I’m destined to be on!”

Crikey Moses! What in the name of Beelzebub’s stamp collection have I done?! I’ve unwittingly broken my best friend/frenemy! Ridelle rolled her eyes heavenward and let out a soft, pained moan. I’d rather Jean be a stroppy cow than doom herself to be on the same hairball-infused path as that mental Eve Belduke! There’s a reason Zach Barnham ran away screaming!

“Actually, Jean,” she ventured in what she hoped was a casual tone. “You might be onto something, yeah? About spinsters sticking together. But why risk getting fleas from Eve? What say if by the time you and I are 40, and still happen to be unwed and without a suitor in sight…”

“Blimey O’Reilly’s pantaloons, you are one barmy henwit!” Jean abruptly halted her pity party and gaped at her friend. “Don’t tell me you were about to suggest that we switch teams and marry each other?”

“Bloody brains in a blender, no! Not at all!” Ridelle blinked innocently and tried to keep a straight face. “I was going to propose the ultimate Thelma & Louise mutual send-off and we just kill each other!”

“Ridelle Mystere?”

“Yes, Jean?”

“Get shankered.”