As soon as he opened his mouth, the arrogant crow-man did not disappoint.

“What do we have here?” He looked at me with his head pivoted to the side. His forced yet confident tone of voice finished with an accent. “A mere girl and a broken Phirhollium jewel.” Turning his attention to my staff, he tilted his head to the right and then to the left like a pendulum, stretching his neck a little too far clockwise for a human.

Creepy contortionist. Creepy overrides dazzling any day.

“Young lady, not only did you steal my work but you had to break it too?” he implored, gesturing at the staff with an open hand. “I’ve developed the seal to withstand a typhoon. I’d love to know how you managed to ruin a perfectly crafted weapon.”

“Naw. It came broken. I didn’t break it.” I was quick to defend, to hide my guilt. It wasn’t stealing. Spiderzilla practically pushed it on me. I inspected the staff for any small cracks I might have missed.

I raised my head in challenge as it looked solid enough to me. “And how would you know that it was stolen? Because it totally was not.” I talked as I backed away. I hope he didn’t notice my flushed cheeks.

“I know that it was stolen because I made it along with a lot of others. I had big plans for them, and I don’t remember you being part of those plans.” He advanced slowly, but the moment I stopped, he stopped too.

“Maybe it just looks like something you made. You know there are a lot of imported copies of everything all over the place.” I jabbered.

He had a fiery glint in his eye, there was no way he was going to let me off the hook easily.

I felt trapped, and the pressure of the crowd, over thirty crows, over sixty beady eyes, crushed me. Under all that attention, I scrutinized every move I made, getting more nervous.

“Most of the staffs’ materials are imported, in a way.” Mr. Crow let out a short bark of a laugh. “But this doesn’t make them any less my handiwork.” He laughed at his inside joke, enjoying himself immensely.

I was not amused.

His laugh stopped short with a cough. He threw back his shoulders and cleared his throat. With a flourish, he waved his hands in the air and mouthed something inaudible.

Strange characters started to glow one after the other on the length of the staff. They were Kanji, Chinese characters adopted by Japan, yet they were completely unknown to me.

Grandma tried to teach me. I knew a little over a hundred and how to write my own name, 巖本 早矢, but that was about it. Japanese was useless in Michigan. Being a poor minority sucked. Without any proper schooling, I had enough trouble teaching myself to read and write in English.

“See these beautifully carved letters and be in awe of my greatness. I trademark all of my work. This is my signature, little one.” He smiled adoringly at his work. “I am the great shishō. Hirohata, Ryogen of the Daitengu Clan. You may call me the Great Master Hirohata.”