Karin immediately grabbed Kanna's sleeve.
"Did you hear that? Dessert! Can we have dessert? Please? I'll be good! I'll be really good!"
Kanna laughed despite herself, the tension she'd been carrying since the road easing just a little. "We'll see," she said, though the answer was already written on her face.
The innkeeper smiled knowingly and slid the room keys across the counter. "If you need anything, please let us know. The baths are already warming."
We thanked her and made our way upstairs.
The hallways were quiet, thick wooden beams muffling sound, the faint scent of steam and clean linen lingering in the air. It was the kind of place built to weather long winters—solid, dependable, made to endure.
Our rooms overlooked the street and the rear courtyard. From the window, I could hear the distant clang of metal on metal—training, even this late in the day.
Karin pressed her face to the glass. "They're practicing already…"
"Yes," I said. "They never really stop."
That seemed to satisfy her. For now.
As Kanna began unpacking, I let my awareness stretch outward again, past the walls of the inn, past the town itself.
They might have been interested in us, yes—wanted, hoped for our money—but they didn't dare crowd us. They didn't do anything to show their desperation, their desire to sell their things to nobles.
While nobles did have special status everywhere, in the Land of Iron it was even more so, because nearly every samurai dreamed of becoming the guard of a noble, to retire and start a noble family of samurai under a greater noble's banner.
So everywhere we went, the samurai did their best: they strengthened themselves, grew extra alert, and became extra willing to step up and help us should the situation present itself.
Karin discovered candied fruit first.
Her eyes widened as the vendor handed her a skewer of glossy red slices. "They shine!"
"They're coated in sugar," Kanna explained, though Karin was already biting into one.
Her expression went still.
Then blissful.
Then loud.
"This is the best thing I've ever eaten."
I paid without comment, then bought a second skewer when Karin finished the first and stared mournfully at the stick.
Kanna opened her mouth to object.
I raised a finger.
"She's growing."
That was not true in any meaningful sense.
But it ended the argument.
We wandered after that. Karin was pulled from one curiosity to the next—polished blades displayed behind glass, racks of training swords, lacquered armor in colors she insisted were definitely cooler than ninja flak jackets.
That was something I couldn't deny. The flak jackets weren't about being cool; very little about shinobi was about being cool. It was all about utility and performance.
Even for shinobi, proper armor was far more effective than flak jackets, but it slowed one down, so few people used it. It had better defense, yes, but when it came to truly using it, it was often pointless, or just a disadvantage.
While armor could stop a kunai or shuriken, it did little to help against ninjutsu. And most taijutsu at Tokubetsu Jōnin level or higher could easily break armor.
What mattered was mostly your ability to dodge attacks, and there, armor would just slow you down.
But without a doubt, armor was cooler.
Karin pressed her face up against the glass of one display, nose nearly touching the lacquered surface. The armor inside was deep crimson, plates layered like scales, cords tied in precise patterns across the chest and shoulders.
"Look at that one," she whispered, reverent. "It looks like a dragon."
"Karin," Kanna called, urging her to step away and behave herself.
Karin turned to look at her. "Can I have one?"
Kanna choked.
"No."
The answer came out instantly, sharp and reflexive.
Karin's shoulders slumped before she quickly turned to me, knowing that I was far more indulgent with her. "Please!" She made puppy eyes at me.
Yet I merely shook my head. While I did allow her to act spoiled from time to time, even I didn't see any reason for her to own something like that. Not to mention she was still just a small child. They didn't make armor her size, and even if we had it made, she would outgrow it in six months. Not to mention the cost.
Karin's face fell, but she didn't cry.
She just stared at the armor a little longer before letting out a small, quiet sigh and following us onward.
Still, she didn't remain sad for long. With a vibrant market filled with curious things all around her, it took mere moments before she was skipping from shop to shop, from stall to stall, pointing and gasping at everything.
"Mom, look! Look at this one!"
"And this—why does it make that noise?"
"Is this a helmet or a bowl?"
Kanna followed after her with the weary patience of someone who had long since accepted that stopping Karin was impossible, but redirecting her was not. She apologized reflexively whenever Karin bumped into someone, bowed a little too often, and kept a careful hand on Karin's shoulder when the crowds thickened.
Yet as soon as there was a risk of them becoming too crowded, the samurai around the area stepped in and quickly guided people to move, clearing the crowds with precision, all while making sure not to disturb us, whom they clearly saw as two noblewomen.
Karin, however, noticed none of this, because she had found a store that sold all kinds of sweets, countless colorful snacks. A wall filled with bags of chips and another with colorful candy. For a moment, I thought her eyes might physically roll out of her head.
I could see her trembling with delight.
"I want to try everything," she whispered, looking back at me and Kanna, the pleading in her eyes so intense it was almost a physical force.
Kanna made a sound like she had just swallowed a fly. "No."
And predictably, Karin turned to me instead. "Please, Kaguya! Please! I'll be good, I promise! Please, can we try something? Just one thing! Or maybe two? Three? What do they even taste like? Do they taste like fruit? Like clouds? Like dreams?"
She was practically vibrating at this point, her little hands clasped together in a gesture of desperate hope.
Kanna looked at me, her face pleading with me, though she hoped I would say no. Still, Karin was but a child, and she deserved the chance to enjoy herself, because the day would come when her training began in full, and by then, a day like this was something she could think back on, a memory to justify why she trained so hard.
"Very well, whatever you want, just this once."
"Yay!" Karin jumped up and down. "I will try the blue one! And the pink one! And the green one! And the sparkling one! And the one shaped like a star! And the one shaped like a moon! And the one shaped like a dragon!"
She was pointing so fast I could barely keep up.
The shopkeeper, a round-faced woman with a warm smile, didn't seem to mind. She simply began assembling a box for Karin, her movements practiced and efficient.
"Kaguya-hime, you shouldn't spoil her like this. If she eats all this, she won't be able to sleep at all," Kanna whispered to me, but I ignored her. There were very few things in the world that could knock me out, but for a child like Karin, a sugar high was nothing to worry about.
"She will grow out of it," I told her, but we both knew that was unlikely.
Finally, after an eternity of Karin agonizing over every single choice, we had a box filled with more sweets than a small child could reasonably consume in a week.
As we left the shop, Karin was already tearing into a brightly colored candy that fizzed when she bit into it. Her eyes went wide, and she made a small, delighted noise.
"It's tickling my tongue!"
Then she looked at me with sudden clarity.
"Did you ever have candy when you were a kid?"
I paused.
Within the Hyūga clan, such treats were impossible to find; at most, you could find dango, the more modern snacks, which could only be found within the village itself. And by the time I was allowed out there on my own, I cared little for such things.
The only time I had something other than traditional Japanese snacks was when Hiashi took me to a festival in the village, and I had a candied apple.
"I didn't, no. My clan was very traditional. We were not allowed to have things like this."
I could feel Kanna's eyes on me, but she said nothing.
"Oh," Karin said, her mouth full of candy. "Well, you should try this one! It's the best!"
She held up a piece of hard candy, colored like a piece of a rainbow.
I took it from her.
The sweetness hit immediately—sharp at first, then mellow, blooming outward in a way that was almost overwhelming. It was nothing like the austere flavors I'd grown up with, nothing measured or restrained.
Karin leaned in close. "Well?"
"…It's sweet," I said after a moment.
Her eyes widened. "Right?!"
Kanna snorted softly despite herself.
I let the candy dissolve slowly, committing the sensation to memory. Not because it mattered—but because she did.
"Did you like it?" Karin asked, suddenly unsure.
"Yes," I answered honestly. "I did."
That was all she needed.
She smiled so brightly it almost hurt to look at, then promptly shoved another piece into her mouth and continued walking as if the world were perfect.
And to her, it really was; she carried none of the hurt that Kanna did. She remembered none of the loss, the betrayal, none of the hardship that dominated the beginning of her life.
All she remembered was the three of us, together and without a worry.
She had all the innocence of a child.
I wasn't looking forward to having to shatter it, but I believed that she was strong enough to handle it, that she had enough joy and happiness in her life to also contain the cruelty of the world without falling into despair.
(End of chapter)
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