Inuyasha, "Writer of the Feudal Era" Souta, Genfic (1/1)
Fandom: Inuyasha
Title: Writer of the Feudal Era
Rating: G
Characters: Souta, Souta's editor (it's obvious who she is)
Word Count: 2,922
Genre: Genfic
Universe: Canon, post-manga, modern times
Warnings/Spoilers: Post-manga knowledge. Written for the "Souta" challenge at iyfic_contest.
Summary: Souta's editor keeps rejecting his story, but when he confronts her, he learns her interest in the story is much like his own.
Souta looked down at the letter in his hand for the thousandth time, and he rubbed his temples and let out a long sigh.
He wasn’t surprised. It was - what, the fifth or sixth letter he’d gotten from his editor? What was one more? He shook away his thoughts and lumbered back into his flat ready to get back to work.
Several times, usually after getting one of these letters, he thought he’d give up writing. He always had a place on the minor league soccer team, according to his friend Masi, who was an assistant coach. He thought about giving up college too. He was one year away from a dual history and literature degree. He could give it all up, but he knew he couldn’t do that.
Kagome would be ashamed. Of course, she’d be ashamed if she was here. But she was back in the past and long dead as far as logic was concerned. He hated that thought, so he went back to writing. Thinking of his sister and his hero Inuyasha was a good motivator to get by evil editors.
Come to think of it, why was his editor sending back his manuscript so much? He’d had several fellow writers go over and over his story, combing for grammar mistakes and fixing awkward phrasing. His characters were sound, fleshed out as if they were real people that left a burning imprint in the memory of the reader.
So what was this woman’s problem now?
Like most writers, he thought he could talk it out with his editor to get an idea to why she was constantly sending it back. However, she was never available when he called, and he’d only get a list of concerns with his story from her secretary.
Souta bit on his pencil. He looked down at his manuscript glaring at him from his computer screen, and he narrowed his eyes.
That was it. He had a terrible editor. “Which sucks,” he said aloud. She was the only one that would give his story a chance.
So there was only one thing left to do. He would go to his editor’s office and demand to see her. What did he have left to lose? He could keep getting caught up in this cycle of edits when she wasn’t communicating with him in person. He was running around in circles, and he’d never get this story ready to be published if he didn’t take more initiative.
He grabbed the letter and threw his satchel over his shoulder. He locked up his flat and ran for the nearest bus stop.
If it were Kagome or Inuyasha, they wouldn’t let someone keep walking on them like this. It was time that Souta didn’t either.
--
Twenty-two year old Souta Higurashi was a poor university student and freelance writer. He was between jobs and between women, and the only thing that had any meaning in his life was the story that he couldn’t get out of his head: the story of his sister’s journey back to the past.
Studying history and Japanese literature had some advantages, of course. However, no Japanese history books and records compared to the journals his sister left behind about that ancient time. She disappeared into the well to be with her true love, but her giant yellow bag that she carted back to the past full of supplies did not leave with her in the end. Inside the bag was a treasure trove. His family went through it and found the journals and doodles that harbored Kagome’s thoughts.
And once Souta found them, he couldn’t stop reading them, over and over again, delving into the adventure that belonged to his sister. He laughed and feared with her as he read each page, and when he came to the last word he cried when he realized how much he really missed her.
Sometimes he was angry. Was love so important you could leave your family for another time? He couldn’t understand it. He’d never had love like that, and with the women he’d been dating lately, he’d been drifting even further and further from achieving the same thing as his sister.
But at least her love was real to him, as real as the memories she left behind.
He bit his lip and was feeling invigorated. The bus came to his stop, and he rushed out behind another group of passengers. He looked up at the looming sky scraper downtown Tokyo, and he swallowed a deep breath.
“Here goes,” he whispered to himself, wishing he had some of Inuyasha’s boundless courage. As he walked through the doors and into the elevator, he felt like coming to confront the woman was like a distant dream. He moved on anyway, regardless of how nervous he was.
The worst she could do is giving him an ultimatum, make the edits without giving him anymore information, or he’ll be dropped. Inuyasha and Kagome’s tale would be shelved, and he’d have to strive even harder to find another publisher to pick it up.
Finally, he found her office by the name on the glass window, and he opened the door and slowly walked up to the secretary’s desk.
“Excuse me; I’m here to see Okada Hachiko-san.” The secretary looked up at him with a bored expression. Souta inwardly grimaced. “I’m Higurashi Souta, one of the writers she’s sponsoring.”
The secretary’s mood changed, and Souta couldn’t help but stare. She was unusual looking, with very dark tanned skin like a ganguro* and highlighted with white streaks in her bright orange hair. Her nails were unusually long and painted silver, and he didn’t know how she could get any writing or typing done with them. He gulped when she smirked at him.
“Oh, right. The writer of the feudal era. It’s so nice to put a name to a face.” Souta felt his cheeks go hot when then woman overtly roamed her eyes down his entire body. He felt dirty even though she was the rude one here checking him out. He made a noise in his throat. “You don’t have an appointment, do you?”
“Well, no,” he said, and then he furrowed his brow and remained strong. “But I got my sixth letter from Okada-san, and I really feel that I can only move forward with the revisions if I speak to her personally.”
“Okada-san is a very busy woman, Higurashi-san. It’s quite bold of you to demand her attention for this. You are not the only writer she works with. You can, however, talk to me. She forwards all the edits that must be done for the novels she’s interested in.”
“Yes, I know, but I find talking to you and getting no results counterproductive. I really want to hear Okada-san’s expressions on it,” Souta said hotly. The secretary raised a single eyebrow to his audacity. He really didn’t care. He only did what he thought Inuyasha would do, minus the ran-sacking and threatening.
Suddenly, the secretary caught him in a stare-down, but Souta did not budge from his position. She moved her hand and clicked a button on her phone. She sighed very heavily and said, “Okada-san, there is a Higurashi Souta to see you.”
For a very long minute, his editor responded. “Ah, but Higurashi-san does not have an appointment.” Souta felt very odd in response to the tone of her voice. She seemed almost as he imagined her, regal and haughty, but maybe even more so.
“I told him that, ma’am, but he thinks that he can only improve by seeing you in person,” the secretary said. At this point, she had whipped out her nail file and pretended to be disinterested. Souta knew that it was all front. The mood in the office couldn’t have been more awkward.
“Well, he might have a point about that,” his editor answered on the speaker. Souta tried very hard not to show a visible sigh of relief. The secretary flashed her hazel eyes at him and he saw her cat-like smile widen. “Send him in, Seiko-san”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said, clicking the button and then watching Souta carefully. “You can go in.” She indicated with her hand, and Souta felt stupefied, as if someone else was dragging his heels through Okada’s office door.
“Come in, Higurashi-san. Don’t dawdle,” she said. Souta looked ahead and saw her large leather chair with its back to him, and he couldn’t see her. She didn’t immediately swivel around to meet him either. When he couldn’t see her face, he was frozen to what he should say next.
“Well, you came all this way to talk to me in person. Speak,” she demanded, and her voice was like cold ice grazing against his ears.
He cleared his throat in a very cliché moment, and then he spoke, “Ma’am, I understand your need for edits to make this story presentable to the market, but what I don’t understand is what these edits are.” He paused and she said nothing. “To be honest, ma’am, I don’t think your secretary really gets your ideas across clearly.”
Then, the chair swiveled around, and he was taken aback by her appearance. He felt his mouth gape, and he quickly recovered. She smirked at him. “Oh really? I’ll have to relay that to her.” He really wished she wouldn’t. He tried not to look at her for too long, but his editor had the whitest hair he’d ever seen and the lightest hazel eyes, which were almost golden. Her skin was pale and flawless from wrinkles, and for as long as her company had claimed to be in the publishing business, he had a hard time assessing her true age. Souta supposed she liked it that way.
“Ma’am, if I may be so bold, I’d like to know what you honestly thought of my story and what needs to be fixed,” he said, and he felt his knees knocking as she stared at him intently, fortifying her intimidating presence.
She motioned him over the chair opposite her desk and commanded him to sit. She swiveled around from his view again, and as he sat in the chair, he heard her shuffling some papers in her file cabinets. Suddenly, she snapped around and threw a large envelope on her desk. By the title on the front, his manuscript was inside.
“Let’s talk about anti-heroes. Do you know what they are?” she asked, and she folded her hands together awaiting his response.
“Of course, in my story, Sesshoumaru, the taiyoukai of the West, is perceived as an anti-hero. In the beginning, he seems like an enemy, and even throughout the story he makes the main characters, Inuyasha and Kagome, question his real intentions. Toward the end he does help them and accept his care for a small human girl,” Souta replied. “Is he who you’re referring to?”
Okada didn’t respond, but her illuminated expression seemed to answer his question.
“I am concerned with your portrayal of this character. I still think he falls flat. I also believe that in the way you write him, you don’t really understand him; therefore, he isn’t understandable in a fleshed out way for the reader,” she said, and her intense hazel eyes fixated on him to gauge his response.
Souta frowned. He didn’t know how to reply to her concerns without being blunt. “Forgive me for saying so, ma’am, but Sesshoumaru is a side character. He isn’t supposed to be as fleshed out as, say, Inuyasha or Miroku.”
“Ah,” she said, her smile growing wider. “You may be right about that. However, I feel his importance is necessary for this story. He is a part of the legend, after all. His aid in this quest in invaluable.”
Souta’s eyes widened. “You do know about the legend!” She nodded and seemed pleased. “Wow, it’s such a minor legend. Most of it originates from records of my family shrine.”
“Yes, I have been there, a long time ago, in fact.” Okada turned around again in her chair and dug for something else. When she met his eyes again, she handed Souta another book. “I want you to read this.”
Souta looked down at the title and then his mouth gaped again when he saw the name of the author. “Tale of the Sky Dogs by Okada Hachiko.” He stared at the beautiful ink paintings on the cover, and he met her eyes again. “You wrote this.” She nodded. “And this relates to the Legend of Naraku. The Inutaisho from the Naraku story was a dog youkai that once resided in the sky before he was defeated in battle.”
“Yes, and he was my ancestor’s first husband,” she said, and Souta froze.
“Is your ancestor than related to Sesshoumaru, Inuyasha’s half-brother?” Souta dared to ask.
“She was his mother,” she answered in her deep silky voice. Souta caught a glimmer of pride in her eyes. Apparently, Sesshoumaru’s family history was important to her.
Souta jumped up from the chair. “This is amazing! I’ve never met anyone else that was invested in this legend. I’ve met a scant few historians here and there, but never someone that loved the legend as much as I did. I can see why you were troubled with my characterization of your ancestor.” He bowed to her. “I apologize, Okada-san.”
She leaned back into her large chair and waved a hand at him. “Oh, do stop, Souta-kun,” she addressed him informally, and he blushed again.
“Okada-san, please, we need to get together some time,” and he paused, and he couldn’t have imagined how red his face was then from the insinuation. “What I mean is; I want to know more about your family’s side of the legend. If there’s more, I’d love to hear it in case I could add even more to my story.” She was watching him with intrigue, which only fueled his embarrassment. “I’m sorry if I offended, but you see, this story means so much to me - to my family. I …”
“No need to explain. I admit when I read your manuscript I was thrilled to find someone else that invested so much heart into the tale. You characterized what little you knew of my ancestors well.” She paused and her face turned serious. “However, I think it still needs work.” Souta nodded in agreement. “Read this book, and see what you think about Sesshoumaru then.”
“Of course, ma’am,” he said, bowing again. She chuckled at him.
“Oh!” he exclaimed, and suddenly he had an idea. He dug into his pockets and pulled out his wallet. He grabbed a card inside and handed it to her. For once, he was grateful his grandfather had insisted he take so many coupons. “This is a free admission for two people into the Saturday festival at my mother’s shrine. My grandfather tells children stories and after he's done, I tell the story of Inuyasha and Kagome to the crowd. I would be glad if you came.” She looked at him skeptically. “You could even critique the story and add anything of your own.”
“I’d be delighted,” she said, her voice sounding formal again. “Now, I expect the edits within a week, Higurashi-san, and that is only and when you read this book.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. He looked down at the book with anticipation. Even more wondrous tales of that time could be found inside Okada’s word and her family’s legend. How would her family portray his sister and Inuyasha? “I can’t wait.”
“Excellent. Do not disappoint me,” she said, and he could feel the mocking threat in her voice. “I have high hopes for your story. Finally, someone has come forward to tell the tale of Naraku.”
Souta nodded, and jubilantly, he moved toward the door. Before leaving, he stopped for a moment. “You know, ma’am, now that I think of it, you’re very much like your ancestor, Sesshoumaru’s mother.” He looked toward her window to the puffy white clouds that drifted in the blue skies. “She seemed so fascinating to me. Like the Goddess of the skies.”
He threw a glance back to his editor and noticed the nostalgic look on her face. She responded, “I know. I never had any problem with your characterization of her, for what you knew.” She gave him a very mysterious smile. “Get going, Higurashi-san. Those edits won’t just magically happen by themselves.”
“Right,” he said, and he buzzed quickly out of the office. He thanked the secretary, who seemed shocked by his happy mood.
When he got to the bus, he couldn’t wait to open up Okada-san’s book. He read the first paragraph to himself, and the best memories of his sister and Inuyasha flooded back to him.
“Between the storms and gentle winds, the most magnificent and tragic dog demon ruled the skies. His power was known and feared throughout the ancient lands of Japan, but only a select few knew about the compassion and tragedy of his heart; for the measure of his secrets inspired years of tales, through his sons and through their sons and beyond…”
Souta blew out a breath and felt the pull of the story. Obviously with this, he was learning that there was more to a character in history and myth, even a side character.
Perhaps this was what Okada meant, and with the legend in his hands, he felt much closer to finishing Kagome’s story - a story in which he knew she’d be proud.
End
Notes:
* ganguro - is an alternative fashion trend of blonde or orange hair and tanned skin among young Japanese women which peaked in popularity around the year 2000, but remains evident today.
Title: Writer of the Feudal Era
Rating: G
Characters: Souta, Souta's editor (it's obvious who she is)
Word Count: 2,922
Genre: Genfic
Universe: Canon, post-manga, modern times
Warnings/Spoilers: Post-manga knowledge. Written for the "Souta" challenge at iyfic_contest.
Summary: Souta's editor keeps rejecting his story, but when he confronts her, he learns her interest in the story is much like his own.
Souta looked down at the letter in his hand for the thousandth time, and he rubbed his temples and let out a long sigh.
He wasn’t surprised. It was - what, the fifth or sixth letter he’d gotten from his editor? What was one more? He shook away his thoughts and lumbered back into his flat ready to get back to work.
Several times, usually after getting one of these letters, he thought he’d give up writing. He always had a place on the minor league soccer team, according to his friend Masi, who was an assistant coach. He thought about giving up college too. He was one year away from a dual history and literature degree. He could give it all up, but he knew he couldn’t do that.
Kagome would be ashamed. Of course, she’d be ashamed if she was here. But she was back in the past and long dead as far as logic was concerned. He hated that thought, so he went back to writing. Thinking of his sister and his hero Inuyasha was a good motivator to get by evil editors.
Come to think of it, why was his editor sending back his manuscript so much? He’d had several fellow writers go over and over his story, combing for grammar mistakes and fixing awkward phrasing. His characters were sound, fleshed out as if they were real people that left a burning imprint in the memory of the reader.
So what was this woman’s problem now?
Like most writers, he thought he could talk it out with his editor to get an idea to why she was constantly sending it back. However, she was never available when he called, and he’d only get a list of concerns with his story from her secretary.
Souta bit on his pencil. He looked down at his manuscript glaring at him from his computer screen, and he narrowed his eyes.
That was it. He had a terrible editor. “Which sucks,” he said aloud. She was the only one that would give his story a chance.
So there was only one thing left to do. He would go to his editor’s office and demand to see her. What did he have left to lose? He could keep getting caught up in this cycle of edits when she wasn’t communicating with him in person. He was running around in circles, and he’d never get this story ready to be published if he didn’t take more initiative.
He grabbed the letter and threw his satchel over his shoulder. He locked up his flat and ran for the nearest bus stop.
If it were Kagome or Inuyasha, they wouldn’t let someone keep walking on them like this. It was time that Souta didn’t either.
--
Twenty-two year old Souta Higurashi was a poor university student and freelance writer. He was between jobs and between women, and the only thing that had any meaning in his life was the story that he couldn’t get out of his head: the story of his sister’s journey back to the past.
Studying history and Japanese literature had some advantages, of course. However, no Japanese history books and records compared to the journals his sister left behind about that ancient time. She disappeared into the well to be with her true love, but her giant yellow bag that she carted back to the past full of supplies did not leave with her in the end. Inside the bag was a treasure trove. His family went through it and found the journals and doodles that harbored Kagome’s thoughts.
And once Souta found them, he couldn’t stop reading them, over and over again, delving into the adventure that belonged to his sister. He laughed and feared with her as he read each page, and when he came to the last word he cried when he realized how much he really missed her.
Sometimes he was angry. Was love so important you could leave your family for another time? He couldn’t understand it. He’d never had love like that, and with the women he’d been dating lately, he’d been drifting even further and further from achieving the same thing as his sister.
But at least her love was real to him, as real as the memories she left behind.
He bit his lip and was feeling invigorated. The bus came to his stop, and he rushed out behind another group of passengers. He looked up at the looming sky scraper downtown Tokyo, and he swallowed a deep breath.
“Here goes,” he whispered to himself, wishing he had some of Inuyasha’s boundless courage. As he walked through the doors and into the elevator, he felt like coming to confront the woman was like a distant dream. He moved on anyway, regardless of how nervous he was.
The worst she could do is giving him an ultimatum, make the edits without giving him anymore information, or he’ll be dropped. Inuyasha and Kagome’s tale would be shelved, and he’d have to strive even harder to find another publisher to pick it up.
Finally, he found her office by the name on the glass window, and he opened the door and slowly walked up to the secretary’s desk.
“Excuse me; I’m here to see Okada Hachiko-san.” The secretary looked up at him with a bored expression. Souta inwardly grimaced. “I’m Higurashi Souta, one of the writers she’s sponsoring.”
The secretary’s mood changed, and Souta couldn’t help but stare. She was unusual looking, with very dark tanned skin like a ganguro* and highlighted with white streaks in her bright orange hair. Her nails were unusually long and painted silver, and he didn’t know how she could get any writing or typing done with them. He gulped when she smirked at him.
“Oh, right. The writer of the feudal era. It’s so nice to put a name to a face.” Souta felt his cheeks go hot when then woman overtly roamed her eyes down his entire body. He felt dirty even though she was the rude one here checking him out. He made a noise in his throat. “You don’t have an appointment, do you?”
“Well, no,” he said, and then he furrowed his brow and remained strong. “But I got my sixth letter from Okada-san, and I really feel that I can only move forward with the revisions if I speak to her personally.”
“Okada-san is a very busy woman, Higurashi-san. It’s quite bold of you to demand her attention for this. You are not the only writer she works with. You can, however, talk to me. She forwards all the edits that must be done for the novels she’s interested in.”
“Yes, I know, but I find talking to you and getting no results counterproductive. I really want to hear Okada-san’s expressions on it,” Souta said hotly. The secretary raised a single eyebrow to his audacity. He really didn’t care. He only did what he thought Inuyasha would do, minus the ran-sacking and threatening.
Suddenly, the secretary caught him in a stare-down, but Souta did not budge from his position. She moved her hand and clicked a button on her phone. She sighed very heavily and said, “Okada-san, there is a Higurashi Souta to see you.”
For a very long minute, his editor responded. “Ah, but Higurashi-san does not have an appointment.” Souta felt very odd in response to the tone of her voice. She seemed almost as he imagined her, regal and haughty, but maybe even more so.
“I told him that, ma’am, but he thinks that he can only improve by seeing you in person,” the secretary said. At this point, she had whipped out her nail file and pretended to be disinterested. Souta knew that it was all front. The mood in the office couldn’t have been more awkward.
“Well, he might have a point about that,” his editor answered on the speaker. Souta tried very hard not to show a visible sigh of relief. The secretary flashed her hazel eyes at him and he saw her cat-like smile widen. “Send him in, Seiko-san”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said, clicking the button and then watching Souta carefully. “You can go in.” She indicated with her hand, and Souta felt stupefied, as if someone else was dragging his heels through Okada’s office door.
“Come in, Higurashi-san. Don’t dawdle,” she said. Souta looked ahead and saw her large leather chair with its back to him, and he couldn’t see her. She didn’t immediately swivel around to meet him either. When he couldn’t see her face, he was frozen to what he should say next.
“Well, you came all this way to talk to me in person. Speak,” she demanded, and her voice was like cold ice grazing against his ears.
He cleared his throat in a very cliché moment, and then he spoke, “Ma’am, I understand your need for edits to make this story presentable to the market, but what I don’t understand is what these edits are.” He paused and she said nothing. “To be honest, ma’am, I don’t think your secretary really gets your ideas across clearly.”
Then, the chair swiveled around, and he was taken aback by her appearance. He felt his mouth gape, and he quickly recovered. She smirked at him. “Oh really? I’ll have to relay that to her.” He really wished she wouldn’t. He tried not to look at her for too long, but his editor had the whitest hair he’d ever seen and the lightest hazel eyes, which were almost golden. Her skin was pale and flawless from wrinkles, and for as long as her company had claimed to be in the publishing business, he had a hard time assessing her true age. Souta supposed she liked it that way.
“Ma’am, if I may be so bold, I’d like to know what you honestly thought of my story and what needs to be fixed,” he said, and he felt his knees knocking as she stared at him intently, fortifying her intimidating presence.
She motioned him over the chair opposite her desk and commanded him to sit. She swiveled around from his view again, and as he sat in the chair, he heard her shuffling some papers in her file cabinets. Suddenly, she snapped around and threw a large envelope on her desk. By the title on the front, his manuscript was inside.
“Let’s talk about anti-heroes. Do you know what they are?” she asked, and she folded her hands together awaiting his response.
“Of course, in my story, Sesshoumaru, the taiyoukai of the West, is perceived as an anti-hero. In the beginning, he seems like an enemy, and even throughout the story he makes the main characters, Inuyasha and Kagome, question his real intentions. Toward the end he does help them and accept his care for a small human girl,” Souta replied. “Is he who you’re referring to?”
Okada didn’t respond, but her illuminated expression seemed to answer his question.
“I am concerned with your portrayal of this character. I still think he falls flat. I also believe that in the way you write him, you don’t really understand him; therefore, he isn’t understandable in a fleshed out way for the reader,” she said, and her intense hazel eyes fixated on him to gauge his response.
Souta frowned. He didn’t know how to reply to her concerns without being blunt. “Forgive me for saying so, ma’am, but Sesshoumaru is a side character. He isn’t supposed to be as fleshed out as, say, Inuyasha or Miroku.”
“Ah,” she said, her smile growing wider. “You may be right about that. However, I feel his importance is necessary for this story. He is a part of the legend, after all. His aid in this quest in invaluable.”
Souta’s eyes widened. “You do know about the legend!” She nodded and seemed pleased. “Wow, it’s such a minor legend. Most of it originates from records of my family shrine.”
“Yes, I have been there, a long time ago, in fact.” Okada turned around again in her chair and dug for something else. When she met his eyes again, she handed Souta another book. “I want you to read this.”
Souta looked down at the title and then his mouth gaped again when he saw the name of the author. “Tale of the Sky Dogs by Okada Hachiko.” He stared at the beautiful ink paintings on the cover, and he met her eyes again. “You wrote this.” She nodded. “And this relates to the Legend of Naraku. The Inutaisho from the Naraku story was a dog youkai that once resided in the sky before he was defeated in battle.”
“Yes, and he was my ancestor’s first husband,” she said, and Souta froze.
“Is your ancestor than related to Sesshoumaru, Inuyasha’s half-brother?” Souta dared to ask.
“She was his mother,” she answered in her deep silky voice. Souta caught a glimmer of pride in her eyes. Apparently, Sesshoumaru’s family history was important to her.
Souta jumped up from the chair. “This is amazing! I’ve never met anyone else that was invested in this legend. I’ve met a scant few historians here and there, but never someone that loved the legend as much as I did. I can see why you were troubled with my characterization of your ancestor.” He bowed to her. “I apologize, Okada-san.”
She leaned back into her large chair and waved a hand at him. “Oh, do stop, Souta-kun,” she addressed him informally, and he blushed again.
“Okada-san, please, we need to get together some time,” and he paused, and he couldn’t have imagined how red his face was then from the insinuation. “What I mean is; I want to know more about your family’s side of the legend. If there’s more, I’d love to hear it in case I could add even more to my story.” She was watching him with intrigue, which only fueled his embarrassment. “I’m sorry if I offended, but you see, this story means so much to me - to my family. I …”
“No need to explain. I admit when I read your manuscript I was thrilled to find someone else that invested so much heart into the tale. You characterized what little you knew of my ancestors well.” She paused and her face turned serious. “However, I think it still needs work.” Souta nodded in agreement. “Read this book, and see what you think about Sesshoumaru then.”
“Of course, ma’am,” he said, bowing again. She chuckled at him.
“Oh!” he exclaimed, and suddenly he had an idea. He dug into his pockets and pulled out his wallet. He grabbed a card inside and handed it to her. For once, he was grateful his grandfather had insisted he take so many coupons. “This is a free admission for two people into the Saturday festival at my mother’s shrine. My grandfather tells children stories and after he's done, I tell the story of Inuyasha and Kagome to the crowd. I would be glad if you came.” She looked at him skeptically. “You could even critique the story and add anything of your own.”
“I’d be delighted,” she said, her voice sounding formal again. “Now, I expect the edits within a week, Higurashi-san, and that is only and when you read this book.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. He looked down at the book with anticipation. Even more wondrous tales of that time could be found inside Okada’s word and her family’s legend. How would her family portray his sister and Inuyasha? “I can’t wait.”
“Excellent. Do not disappoint me,” she said, and he could feel the mocking threat in her voice. “I have high hopes for your story. Finally, someone has come forward to tell the tale of Naraku.”
Souta nodded, and jubilantly, he moved toward the door. Before leaving, he stopped for a moment. “You know, ma’am, now that I think of it, you’re very much like your ancestor, Sesshoumaru’s mother.” He looked toward her window to the puffy white clouds that drifted in the blue skies. “She seemed so fascinating to me. Like the Goddess of the skies.”
He threw a glance back to his editor and noticed the nostalgic look on her face. She responded, “I know. I never had any problem with your characterization of her, for what you knew.” She gave him a very mysterious smile. “Get going, Higurashi-san. Those edits won’t just magically happen by themselves.”
“Right,” he said, and he buzzed quickly out of the office. He thanked the secretary, who seemed shocked by his happy mood.
When he got to the bus, he couldn’t wait to open up Okada-san’s book. He read the first paragraph to himself, and the best memories of his sister and Inuyasha flooded back to him.
“Between the storms and gentle winds, the most magnificent and tragic dog demon ruled the skies. His power was known and feared throughout the ancient lands of Japan, but only a select few knew about the compassion and tragedy of his heart; for the measure of his secrets inspired years of tales, through his sons and through their sons and beyond…”
Souta blew out a breath and felt the pull of the story. Obviously with this, he was learning that there was more to a character in history and myth, even a side character.
Perhaps this was what Okada meant, and with the legend in his hands, he felt much closer to finishing Kagome’s story - a story in which he knew she’d be proud.
End
Notes:
* ganguro - is an alternative fashion trend of blonde or orange hair and tanned skin among young Japanese women which peaked in popularity around the year 2000, but remains evident today.