Two adjacent seats cleared on the train as several people on our wagon stepped down at one of the stations between Kanagawa and Tokyo. K nudged me towards the seat by the window while she sat near the aisle. A sleepy teenage girl and a middle age woman sat on the chairs facing us. From time to time the girl nodded off on the shoulder of the woman, promptly lifting her head at the station announcements from the speaker. The woman flapped her fan disdainfully, complaining over the heat with occasional sighs.

Their conspicuous glances reached me while I was looking out of the window at the fleeting landscape. Bathing my face in the pleasant light of the late afternoon sun, I felt no discomfort at their inadvertent staring and pretended not to notice their interest. Had I been in their place I’d stare too.

The white gauze wrapped across my head and covering my left eye very likely increased their curiosity, already sparkled by my foreign appearance and bruises, which were visible wherever my flesh was exposed. My companion, with her darkly clothes, bluish hair, and noticeable green eyes wasn’t exactly an average-looking Japanese either.

My mind absorbed momentary impressions of fields and houses, and later, as we entered Tokyo, high buildings, all covered in yellow light, appearing and instantly left behind by the speeding train until we submerged below the ground.

Large wet circles of sweat appeared all over my t-shirt, its fabric feeling sticky against my skin as I shifted in my seat. Folding my arms in front of my chest I exhaled, settling into a pensive mood, brought upon by the memory of the last night’s dreams.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d dreamt about any of my family members, definitely such dreams hadn’t happened since I came to Japan. Last night, after I fell on my tatami mat, my body in pain and exhausted from the fight, I dreamed about all of them.

The dream concerned my fight, or rather the fact that I won it, that I succeeded in something my relatives were so dismissive and doubtful about.

My mom, she was still frustrated that I felt the need to prove my worth in such a primitive sport rather than choosing an academic career and excelling in it.

Lara just scoffed at me as if I was the greatest loser ever and no success of mine would ever change that.

My little brother Erik asked me questions, he looked interested, but his attention was constantly distracted by the computer game he was playing.

My paternal grandmother hugged me and stroked my head, saying ‘You’re just like him’ – referring to my grandfather, whom I’d never met because he died before I was born.

I never understood those words of hers, because apart from some minor physical traits such as blue eyes, blond hair, and strong physique, I hadn’t noticed much resemblance with the man in his 30s, sitting on a vintage motorcycle and smiling from one of the framed photographs in my grandma’s living room.

In the dream, I was supposed to meet him. He appeared behind my grandmother, his image blurred, yet I knew it was him. The moment felt very important, but the meeting never happened, because he remained always at a distance, never coming close enough for me to see him clearly.

The dream then shifted and concluded with an image of K walking toward me, the same joyful smile on her lips she had after my win, and me awaiting her, feeling the kind of happiness that was new to me when sudden darkness spread around her and swallowed her. The disturbing image sent a shock through my brain, shaking my body awake after more than twelve hours of sleep.

At the thought of it I withdrew my gaze from the window and fixed it upon K. Her eyes were now closed, her arms folded tightly across her chest, and her body lay loosened against the chair. After examining and patching me up, Sueno san had fed us his delicious ramen. K, with an appetite of a construction worker, had consumed two large portions of it, while explaining to the Doc about my fight. I couldn’t fully understand their conversation, but I felt excitement and even pride in her words. It made me happy that for once I was the source of my proxy’s good spirits.

“K…” I shook her gently by the shoulder. “It’s our station next.”

She squinted at me, unfolded her arms, and straightened up in her seat. “Shit… I’ve eaten too much,” she muttered in a sleepy voice. “I need coffee.”

Coming out of the train station we entered the first coffee place we came across. She ordered a large latte to go, I took an Americano.

We sauntered into a nearby park and sat on a bench. The tall trees surrounding us provided a pleasant shelter from the heat that persisted in the late afternoon. A gentle breeze rustled their leaves as we sipped the coffee in silence, letting ourselves go to the peaceful stillness inspired by the green environment.

Unsettling thoughts slowly crept into my leisurely mind. As much as the win over Wyshnewski made me content, motivated, and confident about my path forward, there was this tiny, absurd fear, which I tried to ignore, but the more I did so, the stronger I felt its presence. It was the fear that it wasn’t really me who won the fight.

In crucial moments I fought Yan Wyshenwski with no awareness and with a bloodthirstiness I had no recollection of. I had no idea if I’d be able to fight like that again or how to get to that state of madness or else, and more importantly, how to control it.

Chewing over such thoughts I gazed without any particular focus at the greenery before me, when a crow landed on one of the lower branches of the tree closest to our bench. I stopped drinking coffee and observed the bird, the straw pressed between my lips.

The black bird turned its head sideways, his black eye settling on me, or such was my impression. It uttered a loud cry and then took off from the branch, straight toward me. Its cawing sound brought to my mind the chilling voice I’d heard during the crucial moment of my fight and startled me into an inadvertent sigh. Air and coffee pushed into my mouth, sending me into a coughing fit.

K watched me struggling for a moment, then struck my back. She hit me with no consideration, adding pain to my already aching body, so I slid away from her and signalled her not to intervene anymore.

She watched me, waiting till I calmed down on my own. A thin frown settled between her brows. “Are you afraid of the bird?”

“N-no…” I answered, clearing my throat.

“It’s just a small crow,” she added as if she didn’t believe me. “I’ve seen much bigger ones in Kyoto”

“I’m not afraid.” I stubbornly shook my head. “I just took a sip too big…”

“Huh…so desuka…You do look kinda pale, though. Something’s on your mind, Nik san?”

A flicker of annoyance surged in me. “I can only see with one eye and I feel pain all over my body, that’s what’s on my mind.”

She paused, gave a slight smile. “The patch on your eye, you can remove tomorrow, Sueno san said so. The swelling should go down by then. Will be easier for you to train without it.”

“Train? Tomorrow?”

“Of course. Don’t worry. There’re plenty of ways to train that don’t involve damaging the head…the rest of your body is just sore, which is no excuse for skipping the training.”

I wanted to protest, ask for a day or two of pause, but her eyes beamed with such determination and excitement, I refrained from voicing my objection. Her new trust in me lifted my spirits and removed the doubts I struggled with.

If she’s not worried about my blackout, I shouldn’t be either.

“K…” I hesitated during a long pause. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Huh?”

“If it wasn’t for you, I’d have never won. I wouldn’t even get the opportunity. I doubted myself when you didn’t.”

Her eyes narrowed, her lips stretched in a thin smile of embarrassment. My words of gratitude were making her uncomfortable.

“Did you tell anyone?” I asked.

“Tell what?”

“About the fight.”

“I told Sueno san.”

“Only him?”

“Yes.”

“Will you tell anyone else?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, it was just a sparring session,” she said her voice firmer, a self-pleasing smile nevertheless showing on her lips. “Anyway, it will get out soon enough …”

“You think…”

We both leaned back into the bench, sucking on the straws.

“I dreamt of my family tonight…” Why on earth did I blurt that out?

“So desuka? Do you miss them?”

“No…no…” I shook my head. It was really the other part of the dream that I wanted to bring forth -- the one that had by now become a reoccurring dream. About K being swallowed by the darkness.

“I thought it interesting because my grandfather was in it.”

The fear of losing her, which I felt in the dream, was too overwhelming considering the short time I knew her, and indicative of an unhealthy attachment. It felt too personal to mention it, too revealing of my feelings.

“Your grandfather?”

“Yeah, the one I never met. He died before I was born.” Better not to speak about it, better to stir away from such feelings about K.

She faced me, her face expressing curiosity. “What did he say to you?”

“No, I…We didn’t speak. He was just there, but he never came close enough to speak to me. I couldn’t really see him well.” I can’t tell her I dreamt about her. And not just once. And not a good dream either.

“Ancestral spirits sometimes visit their descendants to warn them about something, or to protect them.”

I stared at her, then laughed. “I didn’t know you’re so superstitious.”

Her face remained serious. “Are you in danger, Nik san? That Sato, is he---“

“Naah… That’s nothing to worry about,” I dismissed it, even though I could only speculate.

“I guess so…” she agreed, lowering her stare to the ground. “I made it clear to him that you belong to Yamato Damashi. You must have been quite desperate to let that French guy convince you into something like that.”

“Yeah…. Emile, he could be quite convincing.”

“Still in touch with him?”

“No, not since I left my hostel.”

“Good, better that way.” She nodded her head several times. “Tell me about your grandfather.”

I glanced at her with mild surprise, then pushed out a prolonged sigh. “I don’t really know that much. My father rarely spoke about him. I think it was a too heavy topic for him. Maybe ‘cause of the way my grandfather died… he was a reckless motorcycle driver…drove his motorcycle off the cliff.”

K let out a little sigh of sympathy.

“I know his name was Jens and that he was originally from Denmark. Barbara, my grandma, met him in some kind of commune when she was travelling with her friends across Scandinavian countries. She surely held him in high esteem, getting quite emotional when she spoke about him. She’d always say he and I have lots in common. But, I’m not sure why.”

“Ah, so…omoshiroi, ne….Did he like fighting too?” She made a loud slurp drawing the last bit of coffee from the cup.

“Not that I know of. He loved riding motorcycles…”

“And do you also?”

I shook my head. “No… not at all, I don’t even have a licence. What about you?”

The straw still in her mouth she lifted her eyes at me. “Me? Well...I like being driven on a motorcycle.”

“I meant about your relatives. Anyone still alive?”

She shook her head, her eyes acquiring a distant stare.

“I don’t mean to sound nosy…Sunny told me you’re half-Japanese… Was it your mother of another nationality or your father?”

She chuckled. “You are nosy, Nik san.”

“Is it such a secret? I don’t know anything about you, K. Not even your name.”

No answer.

I stood up and walked to the garbage bin not far away to throw my empty coffee cup. Upon my return I sat down too impetuously, my body thus coming very close to K. Expecting her to reclaim her space I waited for her to move or push me away. She didn’t.

“It was my mother….my non-Japanese part. My father, well, he belonged to a very old, esteemed family in Japan. But because he married a gaijin, they rejected him and he broke all contact with them. Fujiwara sama is my only real relative, even though we’re not connected by blood.”

Our arms touched, her skin felt warm against mine. Listening, I didn’t move an inch, trying, without any obvious effort, to preserve the fragile touch between our bodies.

“My name…my real name is Yuki. My family name is Oda.”

She said it in a delicate manner and tone, as if wary of its impact on me. I sensed her waiting, waiting for my reaction, but other than feeling appreciative and a bit confused as to how any of the two names shortened into K, for me it was just another Japanese-sounding name.

“Yuki…that’s—“ Saying her name aroused a sudden feeling of intimacy. My mouth got dry, words stuck. ”It’s a very pretty name.”

I heard her quiet chuckle and felt, through the touch of her arm, her inhaling and exhaling a deep breath.

We continued to sit, in the park, too close to look at each other comfortably, too rapt with the moment to speak.