Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Onmyoji Pays a Visit

A wilted-looking young man sat on the sun-warmed veranda, facing a lush, vibrant Japanese garden. He seemed a little older than Minato, who sat beside him. His posture was proper, but his suit was slightly rumpled. Though his features were well-defined, his complexion was pale like a salaryman worn down by life.

Minato stared at his profile, puzzled by how different he looked from their first encounter. Back then, he’d seemed healthy and full of color.

Behind them, the mountain god lay invisible, watching the scene with amused interest.

The visitor had appeared suddenly it was the man Minato had once bumped into in the shopping district. When Minato saw him standing ghost-like at the front gate, he shuddered but quickly remembered who he was.

He bowed respectfully to the older man and offered a formal apology:
“Sorry for being so casual back then.”
“No worries,” came the standard reply.

Minato led him into the garden, where the man stopped in his tracks, stunned by its elegance. Minato couldn’t understand what was so shocking. After coaxing him for a while, he finally got him to sit down.

Between them, a tray held a glass beaded with condensation. The ice inside clinked softly.

After gazing at the garden for a good while and taking a deep breath, the man who introduced himself as Harima turned to Minato. He looked slightly more alive now.

Of course he does, Minato thought. No one can stay gloomy in front of a garden this beautiful.

Still, he braced himself for whatever Harima was about to say.

“I’m an onmyoji.”

Straight to the point. His serious expression made the declaration sound like something out of a fantasy novel.

Behind them lay the mountain god. In front, the sacred pond shimmered, with the little turtle paddling about.

Minato, already used to divine beings and strange phenomena, didn’t flinch. He simply gestured for Harima to continue.

“You’re the one who exorcised that evil spirit the other day, right?”
“Apparently.”

Minato had no memory of it. He hadn’t seen anything, hadn’t felt anything. But there was no point in denying it Harima had clearly witnessed something and had come all this way to find him.

Harima frowned, as if swallowing something bitter.

“There’ve been too many evil spirits lately. We onmyoji are stretched thin. There weren’t many of us to begin with.”
“I see.”
“You couldn’t see the spirit, but you exorcised it perfectly. Any idea how?”
“Well… it seems like the stuff I write does the trick.”

“Would you sell me one of those ofuda?”

“Ofuda?”

Minato echoed the unfamiliar word, confused. Behind him, a soft chuckle rang out.

“A fitting term,” the mountain god said. “He wants a piece of paper with your writing on it.”

Minato understood now. “Ofuda” wasn’t a word he used in daily life.

While Minato could see and hear the mountain god clearly, Harima only glanced behind uneasily he couldn’t perceive him at all. So it was true: only Minato could see the god. His quiet faith in the mountain god deepened.

Harima pulled out a thick wallet from inside his jacket.

“Name your price.”

“For a shopping list?”

“A… shopping list?”

Minato’s casual remark made Harima’s face twitch.

For a moment, Minato imagined a nice windfall but quickly sobered. It was just a scrap of paper with scribbled words. The ink cost next to nothing. He hadn’t put in any effort. Charging a high price would feel wrong.

“I don’t think it’s even worth a yen…”

Harima looked dazed, muttering, “No way… why…”

Minato didn’t know what it took to become an onmyoji, but surely it involved training and hardship. Compared to that, he’d just written some words and accidentally exorcised a spirit. Harima must have had complicated feelings about that.

Still, Minato wanted to help if he could.

“Wait… maybe if I really focus, pour my feelings into it… the paper might become stronger?”

He wasn’t about to turn down a gift, after all.

“Write with spirit,” the mountain god chimed in cheerfully.

Minato realized he hadn’t written much lately only shopping notes, and now he had the mountain god to talk to. He missed writing.

“Alright, time to get serious.”

While Harima finally reached for his drink, Minato pulled out his memo pad and began writing carefully, word by word.

“Brown sugar buns, chestnut buns, imagawayaki, kusa dango, sakura mochi…”

He listed the mountain god’s favorite sweets.

“Smooth red bean paste,” he added.

Harima, watching from the corner of his eye, suddenly spat his tea in a fountain-like spray.

“You okay?”

Harima nodded silently, dabbing his mouth with a handkerchief.

The more Minato wrote, the more the paper glowed with a jade-green light of purification. Just words. Just sweets. No training, no rituals. Yet the power was undeniable.

Harima laughed dryly.

“That’s enough.”

“Ah, yeah… What is this feeling…”

A wave of sleepiness hit Minato just like after he’d prayed to the mountain god before.

He only managed to write five sheets before his arm grew heavy. Scratching the back of his neck, he apologized.

“Sorry, that’s all I could do.”

“No, it’s more than enough.”

Minato handed over the papers carefully. Harima received them like sacred treasures, placing them gently into his wallet. Minato felt oddly ticklish inside it was just a memo, after all.

Then Harima pulled out a thin bundle of ten-thousand-yen bills.

“You’re kidding.”

Minato’s polite tone vanished in shock. Even his sleepiness was blown away.

He stared at Harima’s serious face. No trace of mockery.

Harima pushed the money toward him insistently.

Minato raised his hands and shook his head violently.

“No way! I can’t accept that! It’s way too much! You saw me—I just scribbled! This memo pad is super cheap, like 100 yen for three! I was hoping maybe 300 yen per sheet, tops!”

“It’s worth it. Honestly, this is too little. I didn’t expect such power. I’ll bring more next time”

“What are you saying?!”

“Just take this for now.”

Harima was relentless.

“Take it.”
“No.”
“Come on.”
“I can’t!”

Their back-and-forth continued until a loud sigh came from behind.

“Just accept it. That man won’t back down,” said the mountain god.

So Minato gave in, muttering, “This is enough. I won’t take any more. Don’t bring more later,” as he accepted the money.

Still feeling guilty, he went inside and returned with a pen.

“Give me your hand.”

Harima offered it without hesitation.

“It might not make a difference, but here goes.”

Minato drew a five-pointed star the Seimei crest on Harima’s hand with permanent ink.

“If you’re an onmyoji, you’ve gotta have a pentagram. I poured all my feelings into it.”

Though Minato couldn’t see it, the mark glowed with powerful jade light.

Harima stared, mouth half-open. Minato yawned, satisfied.

“Man, I’m sleepy…”

Harima, looking wistful, eventually left.

Minato dozed off on the veranda, overwhelmed by sleep.

When he woke, the little turtle was peering at him from the side.

“Whoa!”

He jolted upright. The sky was painted in layers of twilight he’d slept for quite a while.

Stretching, he noticed the turtle gazing at him expectantly.

It didn’t speak or make a sound. Without the mountain god’s translation, it communicated by nodding or shaking its head.

Maybe it wanted sake?

“What’s up?”

The turtle stretched its neck toward the garden.

Minato followed its gaze and spotted a thin, unfamiliar tree.

“Wait… is that the seed we planted?”

He stepped off the veranda and walked toward the sapling.

Yesterday, it hadn’t even sprouted. Now it had grown to his eye level, with sparse green leaves.

“Already this tall? Must be the mountain god’s power. Amazing… but is it getting enough nutrients?”

The turtle gently stroked the slender trunk.

Before the newly sprouted sacred camphor tree, Minato and the turtle scrambled to fetch water, while the mountain god watched from the veranda, yawning wide.

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