A plane with its white puffy trail divided the clear blue sky high above me. A day far too beautiful for a funeral. Then again, what would be a good day for a funeral? A cloudy or a rainy one would deepen the sadness, a stormy day would be inconvenient, and if it snowed…Even though it didn’t often snow in Amsterdam, it did snow at the funeral of my father.

“I won’t be long. You wait here, okay?” K’s voice broke off the trail of my gloomy thoughts.

“Sure.”

With a small nod, K re-confirmed my answer and departed towards the temple. I leaned against the hood of the car and watched her white, split-toe socks shod in Japanese clogs alternating at a brisk pace as she draw away. Her dress -- the black kimono with thick sash wrapped around her waist, and her way of walking with steps smaller than usual due to the narrow hem of the kimono, brought out a feminine side in K I hadn’t noticed before. I couldn’t help but think how well the funeral attire suited her.

She hadn’t asked me to accompany her to Kenichi’s funeral. I had offered it myself, blurting out the question before I’d even realized it and she had accepted it, albeit with some reluctance. Deep sadness trickled through K’s usual armour of indifference, the kind that didn’t manifest through words or facial expressions but rather felt in the silent moments while we were driving and seen in the way she clenched a small black purse in her hand. It was a sadness that pre-existed and had surfaced only because of this particular occasion. This sadness, which I had spotted as soon as I’d seen her coming out of the Yashiki house at the compound, was the reason why I felt an almost instinctive need to stay close to her.

Kenichi’s death was deemed suicide and there was no inquiry. The body was released after a few days and the funeral was organized within the same week. The police never contacted me. Convincing myself it was none of my business, I hadn’t come forward either, and chose to ignore it. Just as I’d done with the albino lady. Trainings and my fighting career is the only thing that matters, I kept telling myself despite an eerie feeling that these odd situations began piling up on me.

After K left not a soul came to or out of the temple, but judging by the cars on the parking lot there must have been a few others attending the funeral. Some of the cars were very fancy, sporty top-notch cars that made me feel ashamed of the car I was standing next to. To be fair, even the most common cars looked better than K’s.

Sheltering my eyes with my hand, I gazed at the cloudless sky. I didn’t mind waiting outside since I came mainly for K and not so much for Kenichi, but the heat started to get to me. Despite the late afternoon hours, the sun was still going strong and it seemed to intensify with the growing, shrill sound of cicadas. I was about to leave the car for a more shady spot when a black Mercedes pulled up at the parking lot. Four hard-faced men in black suits jumped out of it and headed over the small bridge toward the temple gate. With nothing better to do, I decided to follow them.

The funeral was held in a small Buddhist temple located on the outskirts of Tokyo. Its entrance was marked by a black torii gate with a curvy top, which led into an enclosed courtyard. In-between trimmed trees stood a well and near it a rack with hundreds of small paper sheets tied around it. I paused at the rack, looking at the white paper bits fluttering in a breeze. The many fortune charms and wishes were written and hanged in the hope they’d come true. I smiled. If only it would have been that simple.

The main temple building with its wooden structure and curved roof resembled K’s house on the compound, only it was much smaller. I ascended the gently sloping stairs that led to the temple’s entrance, stopped by the wide-open door, and peeked inside. Four long rows of chairs, most of them empty, were arranged in front of a coffin embedded with flowers. A priest was chanting a sutra, his voice carrying a mesmerising monotone rhythm. One of the four men that came with the Mercedes had just lit an incense stick and stuck it into an incense urn with several other sticks. Gazing at the framed photograph of Kenichi in front of the casket he bowed and returned to his seat in the front row, next to the other men that came with him. One by one the other three men repeated the same ritual, beginning it by first walking up to an old woman and a child, who stood beside the casket, bowing to them, then continuing to light up the incense. The child – a little boy of no more than five years old, retreated behind the old lady as the last thug with black sunglasses approached. He bowed to the lady just as all the others did, but before he continued to the incense urn he gave the old woman an envelope, which she took with both hands and made a small nod.

I spotted K sitting at the far right end of the front row, closest to the lady and the kid. Her black hair, caught by the sunlight from the window, gleamed blue. I quickly scanned the hall for Ernest, but there was no sign of him or Ela. An old couple sat behind K and another two older women sat on the other side of the same row. A whole line of empty chairs was between them and the last row, where Kentaro, Takahashi, and two other men sat. Their heads were stuck together in a loud whisper and when the man with sunglasses finished paying his respects, they all stood up and headed towards the exit. I quickly moved to the side of the door. Engaged in a conversation they didn’t notice me as they walked out and continued toward the torii.

When I peeked in again I saw K talking to the old woman. The woman, dressed in a black kimono, which looked too big on her fragile body, listened to K and nodded her head several times. The boy, still hiding behind her legs, observed K with curiosity, Woman’s tired face wrinkled with indiscernible emotions at K’s words. She took the kid by the arm and pulled him to the front. Pointing at K she explained him something and with a light pad on his back pushed him forward.

K squatted down in front of the boy. It took a while before she spoke to him and even then it was very brief. The boy suddenly hugged her. She seemed too surprised to reciprocate the gesture, so she tapped him instead on the shoulder and gently removed him from around her neck. Then she stood up and handed the old lady a black envelope. The lady took it and bowed deeply together with the boy.

“K!” I called her as soon as she stepped outside.

She turned, resting her gaze on me for a moment. “I’m done here, we can leave,” she said and started walking.

I hurried after her. “Was that Kenichi’s kid?”

She nodded absently as if something else was on her mind.

“Was he married?”

“Yes, but his wife died years ago.

“So that lady was--”

“Kenichi’s mother. She’s taking care of the kid.” She sped up.

“Hey, wait, what about…won’t there be a burial?”

“He’s going to be cremated…it’s family only.”

On the bridge, which was barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side, the Mercedes group caught up with us and got stuck behind us. With a glare and a dismissive chortle, they pushed through, forcing me to step aside and wait for them to pass. K, in her kimono in clogs, managed to avoid them without having to stop, moving gracefully from side to side just enough to let them through.

“What’s their problem?” I grunted. “Is he an oyabun?” I was referring to the guy with black sunglasses who gave the envelope to the old lady.

K chuckled dismissively. “No, that’s Kenichi’s former boss.”

I looked at them again as they settled into their black Mercedes, bearing nasty, smug looks on their faces “Really? So these guys are yakuza, then….You think they had to do something with his death?”

“Look at you all wound up…” She frowned mockingly. “They just came to pay their respects.”

“So, you think it was a suicide?”

“For now.”

The Mercedes driving off from the parking lot in a speedy and loud manner attracted the attention of Kentaro and his companions who were chatting near the bridge. We quickly headed towards our car and just as I thought we succeeded to go unnoticed they called us.

“Hey K san!” It was Kentaro’s dark counterpart Takahashi, who stopped K in her evasive intent. Her eyes rolling up she turned and at a much slower pace sauntered towards them.

“So, if I heard correctly, this must be your fighter?” Takahashi asked as I joined her side. The four of them were all dressed in traditional Japanese clothes, similar to the ones Fujiwara wore. I noticed a crest printed on the sleeves and fronts of their overcoats, a different one on each person.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” continued Takahashi, and closing his arms to his sides he readied himself for a bow but then changed his mind and offered me a hand. “Takahashi Daisuke is my name, proxy of the Minamoto clan from Tokyo. Pleased to meet you.”

His hand felt cold and very smooth to the touch and he had one of those weak handshakes with hardly any grip as if he was offering his hand rather than grasping with it.

“Nik,“ I was brief, avoiding the pompous Japanese way of announcing the name, surname, position, and god knows what else, and gave his hand a strong squeeze before releasing it.

He smiled shaking his hand as if hurt by my handshake, and pushed his hair from his forehead to the side. His eyes, shaded with black eyeliner, stuck out prominently on his white face.

“That’s a nice short name… Nik,” he said, overemphasizing the letter K. His dark eyes settled on me, taunting me with their calm strength, then broke off abruptly as he started patting his jacket until he pulled out a box of cigarettes.

“Want one?” he offered with a smile that looked too polite to be sincere. I shook my head and he proceeded to offer them to the other guys.

Apart from Kentaro and Takahashi another man in the group looked familiar. Was it at the Yokohama event that I saw him, one of the proxies maybe?

“Let me introduce to you Kiseki san from the north and Hamada san from the Taira clan in the south,” said Takahashi, as if he’d read my mind. They both bowed to me. Hamada was a funny-looking fellow, very short with a cheeky grin on his wide face, darker skin, and messy hair. After bowing he said something in Japanese, laughing loudly as if he was very excited to see me. Kiseki, the one I found familiar, was more reserved, taller than his southern colleague, although still short by European standards, and had a sturdy figure. He was the only one to accept the cigarette from Takahashi and as he took it to his mouth, I noticed a big scar extending over the back of his left hand.

“And you probably already know Fujiwara Kentaro,” continued Takahashi.

I nodded, exchanging a brief stare with Kentaro.

“We’ve spoken already,” said Kentaro with a smug smirk and in a tone that was more homey than I’d have wanted.

“Ah, soka…” Takahashi sucked at his cigarette so that the bones of his face stood out, then puffed out the smoke for one last time before he extinguished it into a small, portable ashtray. He then took a fan tucked in the crease between his black kimono and hakama and unfolded it.

“Do you speak Japanese, Nik?” he asked, waving the fan at his face.

“No, only a few words…”I said, casting my stare downwards. “I plan to learn—“

K cut me off by addressing Takahashi in Japanese, sounding impatient and resentful.

“Well, K,“ Takashi responded with a meaningful look at me, waving his fan quicker; ”let’s not be rude and use English so Nik san won’t feel left out. “

“I’m fine really, no need to do that…“

“No, no… It’s good for me …to practise.” He winked and continued: “So K, to answer your question, yes, Minamoto sama sent me. Why do you ask? Am I not enough? I put a lot of thought in today’s attire.” Looking at his clothes, he slid his hand over his coat and spread the creases of his hakama. “Mmm? Don’t I look good?” His behaviour and his tone of voice bore a mocking note.

K’s face darkened, she scoffed and looked away.

“What are you here for, K, anyway?” Kentaro interfered. “Why the fuck did then uncle sent me – could have my Saturday off, instead of attending a funeral of some—“

“Kentaro kun!” K hissed, her glare stopping him from talking any further.

“Of course,” said Takahashi in an overly considerate tone. “Can’t you see Kentaro san, K’s here personally…not as representative. I didn’t know, K san, you had such a close relationship with Tenko’s bartender...”

His smeared eyes observed K with anticipation of a reaction, but K sighted and looked upon Takahashi with an air of utmost boredom.

The fan in his hand stopped, his lips pursed. “Hmm…Not that I knew him well, but I must say I’m surprised… to leave the poor kid behind like that…Isn’t it…cowardly?”

Amongst Kentaro’s chortle and inopportune exchange of glances between Kiseki and Hamada K pinned her stare on Takahashi as if he was the only person there. The tension that arose between them shut up everyone else present. Then, without any words, she walked away from the group.

I parted with a dry goodbye and hurried after her, hearing Takahashi’s voice behind me: “Nice to meet you, Nik san! Hope to talk to you again soon!”

As much as I hated Kentaro’s blunt and often offensive banter, Takahashi’s conceived politeness was even worse. His tone was annoyingly condescending and there was something very dark in that man’s soul. I was surprised Miyu put up with him.

“So let me get this straight…the proxies came here as the representatives of their oyabun? To honour Kenichi, who was their employee…” I asked once we were at a safe distance from the group.

“Yes,” responded K, her eyes stubbornly fixed on the concrete ground of the parking lot.

“Why did you get mad at Takahashi?”

“Cause he talks shit and he was below rank.”

“You mean somebody else should have---“

“It shows the lack of respect or interest on their side. I’d understand that for the Taira and the Tachibana…they live far from here, but Minamoto clan is from Tokyo and they sent Takahashi.”

“Instead of?”

“Instead of their main proxy.”

“Oh, I thought that was him.”

She scoffed and glanced at me sideways. “No, he’s not.”

“I see…He’s an annoying, polite prick.”

My words prompt a small smile on her lips. “He is. You never know where you stand with him.”

“He seemed quite curious about me…” I muttered, analysing in my head the brief encounter.

“They all are.”

I paused mid-step. “Really? Why?”

She stopped too. “Cause you’re a new fighter and nobody has ever heard of you before.”

“I see,” I said thoughtfully, as we proceeded toward the car. “I guess being your fighter adds to their curiosity…your first fighter too.”

“Maybe,” she consented reluctantly.

“I did feel a bit like some exotic curiosity,” I added, tapping my fingers over the car’s hood as we reached it.

“Don’t think too much of it...They are just scared,” she said, allowing herself a smug smile.

“Oh…that’s a good one!” I smiled at her, waiting by the passenger’s side of the car while she searched for the keys. Leaning on the roof I said to her: “K, I’m really sorry about Kenichi. I hope his kid will be okay.”

She nodded with appreciation in her eyes and unlocked the door on her side without entering the car. Her pre-historic car didn’t have central locking so I’d always had to wait for her to unlock the door from the inside. I turned my hands palms up questioning her hesitation.

“Can you drive on the right seat?” she uttered.

Surprised by her request, which contained an unprecedented trust in my driving abilities, it took me a moment to answer. “Uhmm…yeah, sure, of course…”

I immediately walked to the other side of the car, where K, who still seemed to be struggling with her decision, gave me, not without hesitation, the car keys.

I couldn’t resist a cheeky smile when I saw her tense up the moment I put the key into the ignition. Mistrust and possibly regret were written all over her face.

“Relax, I’ve driven in England…”

“When?” she asked widening her eyes at me.

“A few years ago, my first year at the Uni, we had a trip to the UK with some of my friends.”

“So… it was only once…” she muttered as she sat back into the chair with the expression of somebody expecting the scariest scene in a horror movie to pop up.

Once we left the parking lot and were on the road my every move came under K’s scrutiny. Her eyes were on my hands as I turned the wheel, on my legs as I pressed the pedals, on the instruments on the dashboard, on the road. Her stare was jumping from one thing to another with restless concentration.

As we were nearing a junction she repeated at least three times to which lane I should turn and only after I slowly but surely turned into the correct one and joined the highway she finally relaxed.

“Did you travel a lot?” she asked after she seemed reassured enough in my driving abilities.

“No… I mean…you know, Europe is kinda easy…with parents, as a kid, I’ve been through most of the countries. We also visited Morocco, Egypt…Then, when I got older and start training seriously, I spent all my time in the gym. Japan is the furthest I’ve ever gone.”

Glancing sideways I saw she was listening with interest. “You?”

She shook her head strongly. “No, I’ve never been outside Japan.”

That surprised me. “Really? You never travelled with your parents or friends?”

“No. My parents died when I was very young.”

“Oh, right, Sunny once mentioned it…I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“I lost my father too. Car accident.”

She didn’t meet my stare, hers was now cast at the road. Her fingers fiddled with the small, silver pendant she always wore around her neck.

“What happened to your parents?”

A heavy sight that came from her made me regret I asked. The plan was to stir the conversation away from such themes, lighten up her thoughts a little after the funeral, and here I was asking about her dead parents.

“Sarin gas on the Tokyo subway,” she responded after a long pause.

That I had not a clue about what she just said probably reflected on my face. She elaborated without me asking: “It was a terrorist act, done by members of some sect. They released the poisonous nerve gas on the subway. Several people died and many were injured.”

“Fuck!” The word escaped my mouth, loudly.

She shook her head. “I hate telling this, ‘cause people get overly shocked.”

“Yeah…it is…” I started blabbing.

“I was with them at the time. I was supposed to die too…but… I didn’t.”

First I thought she was joking. The way she said it was almost as she was bragging. I had to look at her to make sure. She met my stare with childish anticipation of my reaction. I looked back on the road. “If you wanted to shock me you succeeded.”

She chuckled, then assumed a serious tone: “I told you because sooner or later you’d hear it from somewhere. It is what it is…shit happens in life.”

This topic turned way too heavy and I had no desire to dig into it.

“How did you end up in Yamato Damashi?” I asked, trying to dispel the uncomfortable silence that followed her statement.

“Because of Fujiwara sama.”

“I don’t understand…are you two related somehow?”

“Not by blood, but he was my father’s senpai…umm… senior, they knew each other for a long time. I spent a few years in an orphanage at first, then Fujiwara sama came one day and took me to his house.”

“And Kentaro…what’s his deal?”

“Ah, Kentaro kun,” she said laughingly. “He’s the son of Fujiwara’s sister. He received his surname because Fujiwara sama has no children of his own. Kentaro’s father was never in the picture and so we all lived in the same household in a huge house in Kyoto.”

“Why is he being such a jerk to you?”

“Oh, well…” Crossing her arms behind her head she stretched into the seat and then quickly, as if her gesture was too improper in her current dress, lowered her hands and folded them in her lap. “When we were kids, me being older, I always took care of him…But as we grew up, he became more and more jealous of me. He was jealous because I was better in the school, better at martial arts, but most of all because he was convinced, quite wrongly of course, that his uncle cared for me more than for him.”

“So it’s all about Fujiwara,“ I said jokingly and gained a glare.

“Fuji--“

“Fujiwara sama, yeah, yeah,” I cut in. “Can’t imagine him, though, as a father figure.”

“Well, it wasn’t easy…not for us kids and not for him, I guess. His way of parenting was through martial arts. Fujiwara sama is a very proficient swordsman.”

“I see, so that’s why you began to train swordsmanship?”

“No, my father taught me before that…as soon as I started to walk, he pushed the sword in my hands…” She chuckled to herself, shaking her head at the memory. “But it was under the tutelage of Fujiwara sama that I matured as a swordsman. Oh, watch out, you should take the next exit…remember you have to turn….”

I nodded my head patiently at all her detailed instructions on how to make a simple turn. We were driving inside the city for a while, but the area still didn’t look familiar and there was no sign of the park, which encompassed our compound, either. After a few turns through the narrow alleys, I was instructed to park the car a behind shabby warehouse with broken walls.

“What is this place?” I asked looking out of the window.

“You’ll see. It’s a surprise,” she said, took the key from the ignition, and sprung out of the car.

I heard the sound of the trunk opening and closing, and then she was back into the seat with a bag. “Get out. I need to change…and don’t look!” she ordered, her eyes staring at me with impatience.

I got out and leaned with my back against the frame of the door. The car slightly shook and I peeked inside catching a glimpse of her back just as she pulled down her kimono. A jarring scar ran from her right shoulder, diagonally across the white skin of her bare back, and ended somewhere below the folds of her kimono at her waist. I immediately, partly from the shock, partly because she was about to turn, looked away and pretended I didn’t see anything.