She turned her head slowly, immune to the hidden aura of his, her expression isn't surprise, but of glacial calm. Her eyes viewed the hand on her arm as a stain.
"You have mistaken me for someone else," she stated, her voice quiet yet cutting through the market's noise. "Unhand me."
A visible wave of unease passed through the crowd. People backed away slowly, their chatter dying into a fearful hush. They knew. The man who had dared to lay a hand on Sakuya Izayoi, the head chief of the Scarlet Devil Mansion was as good as dead.
Reimu and Marisa caught up, their faces etched with alarm.
"This is bad," Marisa whispered, her voice tight. "It's Sakuya. And he grabbed her."
Time seemed to stretch. Nowa, still lost in the ghost of his memory, stared into Sakuya's face, searching for a trace of the woman he knew. He found none. Only a polished coldness.
Reimu let go of the haul she was carrying and stepped forward, placing herself slightly between them, her hands raised in a stop gesture. "Sakuya. This is a misunderstanding. He's new here. He thought you were someone else."
Sakuya's gaze did not waver from Nowa's. "A misunderstanding does not grant him the liberty to grab a lady in the street," she replied, her tone so polite it was more threatening than any shout. "I will ask only once more. Get your hand off of me."
The air grew heavy. The faint, metallic glint of silver knives not yet drawn, but waiting. Nowa finally blinked, the real world crashing back in. He saw the fear in the crowd, the tension in Reimu's stance, the absolute coldness in the silver-haired woman's eyes. He saw his own hand, clutching her arm like a lifeline to a drowned past.
He let go. His hand fell back to his side, the desperate hope in his eyes put out, replaced by the weary, familiar emptiness of a man returning to a solitary cell. His gaze swept over Sakuya, a cold, analytical scan from her silver hair to her impassive face, searching for a flaw in the painful resemblance.
'The face... It's the same as Amy's. But the hair is wrong; Amy's was black. And that coldness... that's not Amy. That's… that's the look Aunt Mia… Is this some kind of cruel joke?'
His eyes lifted to the sky, a silent, seething accusation directed at the cosmos, at a specific, meddling god. "You've accused me, now you are joking with me now?" The question was a low growl, layered with his fists clenching, cackling with the killing intent of someone who had conquered and slain divinities across his lifetime. The crowds backed off even more after feeling the intent of his in a knowing fear.
Reimu, sensing Yukari had warned her about him, stepped towards Nowa. "What are you talking about?" she interjected, her voice sharp with confusion and concern. "That god has nothing to do with her! You just mistook her for someone else!"
Nowa's gaze finally dropped, meeting theirs. The raw emotion was gone. He let out a weary sigh.
"Sorry. I'm an idiot." He turned his attention fully to Sakuya. He offered a deep, formal bow of apology.
"A simple 'sorry' is not enough for someone of your... caliber," he said, his voice flat but respectful. "I know it's trivial, given the offense. But I am sorry. Truly."
The market was utterly silent, save for the distant calls of other vendors. Sakuya observed the bowing man, her expression unchanging. The glint of waiting silver in the air subtly faded.
"An apology is a start," Sakuya stated, her voice still cool, but the lethal edge had receded. "Seems the Hakurei Shrine Maiden vouches for you, by the looks of it. See that it does not happen again. The Scarlet Devil Mansion does not take kindly with those kind of action." Her eyes flickered to Reimu, a silent communication passing between them, before she turned with grace and melted back into the crowd, which quickly began to disperse, the tension broken.
Nowa remained bowed for a moment longer before straightening up. The quiet around them was now awkward, heavy with unasked questions.
Reimu let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "Let's... let's just get the potatoes and go." She picked up her haul.
Marisa, for once, was speechless, her usual bravado muted by the raw display she'd just witnessed. She simply nodded, giving Nowa a wide, uncertain yet concerned look. And for once, Aya did not take a picture of that moment, as it is better to stay alive than to die by foolishness.
As they moved toward the grocer's stall, Nowa walked a few steps behind them, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the ground. The warm, comforting memory of the bread was now inextricably tainted with the cold shock of his mistake. The "reclusive artisan" facade was now in pieces.
Marisa slowed her pace, letting Reimu draw slightly ahead before leaning in close, her voice a hushed whisper. "Hey, Reimu." She glanced back at the solitary figure trailing them. "Our mission to kill him with kindness just blew up in our faces. What do we do now?"
Reimu didn't look back at Nowa. Her eyes were forward, on the practical, simple goal of the potato stall. "Honestly, that plan doesn't work well with someone like him. That's why we won't do anything about it," Reimu replied, her voice low and surprisingly calm.
Marisa blinked. "Ha? What do you mean the plan won't work? Why won't we do anything?! We just saw him short-circuit over a maid! Now he was talking to our god!"
"And he apologized. He didn't harm her. He didn't set the street on fire. He bowed." Reimu finally glanced at Marisa, her expression isn't panic, but of grim understanding. "The 'kindness' didn't fail, Marisa. It worked enough that when he broke, he broke inward, not outward. That's the difference."
She stopped walking and turned to face Marisa fully, ensuring Nowa was still out of earshot. "You can't 'kill' a wound like that with kindness. You can't fix it in three days. You just... clean around it. You stop poking it. And you make sure the person having the wound knows it's okay to have it, even if it bleeds all over your nice clean market sometimes."
Reimu's gaze softened a fraction. "So what we do now is we buy our potatoes. We get the dango. We act normal. We don't treat him like a bomb that just went off. We treat him like a guy who had a really bad moment, which is what he is. The worst thing we could do is act like this changed anything."
She turned and resumed walking, her posture straight. "The mission hasn't changed. It just got hindered."
Marisa watched her go, a new kind of respect dawning on her face. "Since when did you became a hermit Reimu? Did Kasen really nag you too much huh?" She scratch the back of her head as she muttered. Then she looked back at Nowa, who had stopped and was pretending to look at a stall of farming tools, giving them space for their whispered conversation.
Marisa took a deep breath, plastered on her best, most Marisa-like grin, and walked back to him.
"Alright, enough moping around Old-timer! Those potatoes aren't gonna buy themselves, and I still haven't gotten my dango bonus! You gotta be my witness so the old lady gives me the good stuff!"
Nowa met her gaze, and the familiar smirk returned to his face, though it now seemed a fragile thing, hastily applied over the cracks. "Sure. Just make sure it doesn't end in a booze competition."
They reached the potato stall. And, of course, Sakuya was there, meticulously inspecting a sack of goods. Marisa scratched the back of her head with an awkward grin. Aya, from a distance, ensured her camera captured every painful second, her presence having downgraded from a circus to a silent, documenting ghost. Reimu remained neutral. Nowa's eyes flickered to Sakuya for a single, painful moment before he instantly shifted his gaze to a basket of particularly lumpy potatoes, his interest suddenly absolute.
"Haha, what a surprise to see you again, Sakuya," Marisa began, "You're shopping too?"
Sakuya finished her inspection and gave Nowa a slow, measured look. Then her eyes shifted to Reimu and Marisa, and she gave a single, polite nod. "Yes. I am here to restock our supplies."
An oppressive silence fell over the stall, broken only by the rustle of sacks. The vendor, a stout man who sensed the tension but valued his livelihood, wisely said nothing.
Nowa kept his eyes locked on the potatoes, but his shoulders were rigid. He could feel Sakuya's presence like a physical weight. The part of him that was a strategist knew this was a critical moment for his "cover." The part of him that was just a hurt man wanted to disintegrate, dissolve, sink into oblivion, and disappear without a trace, to escape reality on the spot.
Sakuya spoke again, her voice cutting through the quiet with clarity. She was not addressing Nowa, but his increasingly tense silence. "The Scarlet Devil Mansion often requires unique ingredients. It is a professional duty to ensure their quality." She paused, then added, her tone losing none of its formality. "I trust there will be no further... confusion... regarding your mistakes in the future."
It wasn't forgiveness. It was a statement of expectation. A line drawn in the sand. She was effectively declaring the incident closed, provided it will never happened again.
Reimu, sensing the opening, stepped forward. "We're just here for standard shrine supplies. We won't be long."
"Of course," Sakuya said. She collected her purchased. "Do not let me detain you." With a final, unreadable glance that swept over the entire group, she turned and walked away.
Reimu completed her purchase. The moment Sakuya was out of sight, Marisa broke the tense silence.
"Alright! The dango stall now! Come on, Old-timer." She grabbed Nowa's arm and began pulling him down the street. Nowa offered no resistance, only letting out a weary sigh of surrender. Reimu followed, the weight of the groceries in her haul feeling lighter than the weight of the social catastrophe she was trailing.
They walked for a short while, arriving at Marisa's favorite dango stall. And there, meticulously selecting a box of sweets, was Sakuya… Again.
"What a coincidence, Sakuya!" Marisa grinned, finally releasing Nowa, who immediately found a nearby tree to study with intense interest. Reimu rubbed her forehead. "Is this your doing, Yukari?" she muttered to the heavens.
"Well, since you're here, Sakuya, why not join us?" Marisa chirped, ever the agent of chaos. "It's on Reimu's huge paycheck after all."
"Why me?!" Reimu dropped her haul to put her hands on her hips to protest.
Marisa leaned in close. "This is how we solve the awkwardness! And you haven't even spent thirty percent of your new fortune from him~" she winked. Reimu understood the unspoken logic that a shared meal could act as a sealing ritual for social disasters, and let out a sigh of resignation. "Fine. The bill is on me."
Sakuya pondered for a moment, her gaze drifting from the mortified Nowa to the exasperated Reimu, and finally to the gleefully manipulative Marisa. A tiny, imperceptible smile touched her lips, reserved only to a friend. "Sure," she said calmly. "I have some free time to spare anyway."
The dango stall's owner, an elderly woman with a warm smile, didn't bat an eye at the extraordinary gathering assembling before her: the Shrine Maiden, the Ordinary Magician, the Head Maid of the Scarlet Devil Mansion, a tall, foreign-looking man who seemed to be trying to fuse with a tree, and a journalist documenting in the background.
After Marisa had a quick chat with the elderly woman. They found a bench, the seating arrangement itself is a silent negotiation. Reimu sat first, claiming a neutral point. Marisa plopped down next to her, leaving the space on her other side open. Nowa hesitated before taking the far end, as far from Sakuya as possible. Sakuya, with her characteristic poise, sat between Nowa and Marisa, completing the group and trapping him with impeccable politeness.
The dango was served, sweet and colorful on its skewers. The silence was thick enough to chew on.
Marisa, mouth already full, broke it. "So! Is it good, right, Ze?"
Nowa picked up his skewer, his movements stiff. He took a small bite and gave a curt nod, still refusing to make eye contact with anyone. "It's... good."
Reimu decided to take the direct approach, addressing Sakuya. "How is Lady Remilia?"
"She is well," Sakuya replied, taking a delicate, precise bite of her own dango. "She has been... intrigued by the recent atmospheric disturbances." Her eyes flickered toward Nowa for a fraction of a second.
Nowa finally spoke, his voice low, directed at his skewer. "The money's real. The bread was good. The dango is good. I'm just a guy with poor social skills and a worse memory." It was as close to a combined apology and explanation as he could muster.
Sakuya considered this, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. "So long as you know your line," she said, her tone neutral. "After all, Gensokyo is a place that attracts such individuals. It is part of its charm."
It wasn't warmth, but it was a ending of hostilities. A formal acceptance of his presence, flaws and all. Aya, who was hovering the entire time like a satellite, took the last photo of the resolution: the four of them sitting in that painfully awkward silence. The caption in her mind: "An Understanding Reached, Over Sweets."
The conversation didn't become friendly, but the unbearable tension began to slowly dissolve, replaced by a merely awkward silence, punctuated by the sounds of eating and Marisa's cheerful, one-sided commentary on the different dango flavors. It was, by Gensokyo's standards, a resounding success.