Worlds First Demon Lord - Chapter 114 That Person And Sakura

Sakura

May 20, 12:00 pm, Osaka, Japan

Sakura looked down at her phone, then up at the houses to make sure she was going along the right way. Sure enough, her little icon was still on the blue line, showing her that she was still on the correct path to her mother’s house in the suburbs of Osaka.

Contrary to the bustling train station, the suburbs were quiet and peaceful. They reminded her of some of Tokyo’s older suburbs, with terracotta roofs and more traditional Japanese houses. That, and the people here seemed much friendlier. A couple older ladies even offered to shout out directions to her as she passed by their houses. Sakura declined, politely.

She reached the top of the hill, her legs and feet already aching. It was really her own fault for wearing heels, but she wanted to make a good impression. As such, she had splurged a little, getting a new, professional black skirt and blouse. She had used Ayai’s ex’s make up that had been left behind too, making sure she looked presentable and professional.

Sakura often wondered why women had to go through so much trouble just to look “presentable.” It wasn’t too big a deal for her, who liked all this stuff anyway. But she did think it was a little unfair how she could’ve gotten away with just washing her face and brushing her teeth back when she was a teenager.

Well, at least now people didn’t look at her weird for knowing the difference between concealer and foundation.

At last, she arrived in front of a mailbox reading “Watanabe.” She stopped in front of the gold-plated nameplate, and looked at the house behind it.

A traditional, two-storied Japanese mansion looked back at her, with a pond and large Sakura tree shading the path towards the front entrance. The entire structure seemed to be made of red, lacquered wood, the terracotta roof tiles old, but well-kept.

There was a young man sweeping the front of the house as Sakura walked up to it. He seemed to be around Sakura’s age, and looked up with a smile when he saw her coming.

“Sakura?” he asked cheerfully.

Sakura was surprised. She was expecting to get dead-named. At least that was one little thing off her mind.

That, coupled with the fact that apparently she was actually expected. Sakura had half-assumed that the invitation had been some weird joke.

She nodded, and the man lead her into the house. She had never been here before, and so had not known the fact that it was a traditional Japanese mansion. Because of that, she felt a twinge of regret for wearing heels; she was switching them out when she got in anyway.

She sighed, calming herself. Now was not the time to lose herself to her past. She steeled her resolve as she shuffled through the halls of the mansion, determined to meet her mother on her terms.

The last time they had spoken had gone quite badly, after all.

“Ah, just here please,” said the man, stopping Sakura in front of a shoji door. Sakura waited as the man went inside, and said a few words to the person inside.

Her mother.

Misao Watanabe.

The person she looked up to most in the world, despite everything that happened.

Sakura almost couldn’t believe that she was actually here. She hadn’t expected her mother to agree to a meeting. And technically, she hadn’t.

“I’m busy at the moment,” her mother had said on the phone. “If you really need to speak, come to Osaka in a few days time. You haven’t seen the mansion yet, have you?”

She had hung up before Sakura could even respond.

So of course, Sakura had gone to Osaka. Surprisingly, Michi and Bunta had not been that enthusiastic about the trip.

“We should stick together,” said Michi, as Sakura packed her admittedly few items. “The last time we got split…”

“If we get captured, it’s better if it’s just one of us instead of all of us,” said Sakura, already done with everything. It was just a day trip, so it wasn’t like she needed much. Still, it never hurt to have some make up or fresh clothes on hand.

Bunta and Michi shared a look, before turning back to Sakura.

“I agree with you,” said Bunta. “But only if that’s one of us.”

Sakura had looked up at him, frowning.

“What he means to say,” Michi explained, “is that it’s no big deal if it’s me, or him, or Ayai that gets captured.”

“Speak for yourself!” Ayai yelled from the other room.

“You’re replaceable!” Bunta and Michi both yelled back. “But we appreciate you staying!”

“Screw you both!” Ayai yelled back.

“But if you’re kidnapped, we’re screwed,” said Michi, turning back to Sakura. “We wouldn’t know where to begin to write this story. We wouldn’t know who to trust, or how to move ahead.”

Sakura had sighed.

“I’m doing this because I have no other choice,” she explained clearly. “It’s not because I have something to settle with dear old mom.”

Michi and Bunta raised their eyebrows in synch. It would’ve been funny if it weren’t also deeply irritating.

“Okay, maybe I do have some mommy issues,” Sakura granted. “But that’s all the more reason for me to go! I can get like, closure or whatever.”

“We’re not telling you not to go,” said Bunta. “We want to come with.”

“No,” said Sakura immediately. “Absolutely not.”

When asked why, Sakura had not been able to give a clear answer. Surprisingly, it had been Ayai who had resolved the issue.

“Look, if she wants to go alone, then she has her reasons,” she had said, glaring at the boys. “Do you trust her enough to let her make her own decisions or not?”

The boys acquiesced, albeit reluctantly.

The shoji door opened up once more, and the man came out smiling.

“She will be seeing you now,” he said, bowing politely and standing to the side. Sakura bowed slightly back, then opened the door to walk into the room.

Inside was a wide tatami room. The far wall was actually knocked down to show the garden, which had a small pond and a zen garden. For a moment, Sakura stood there, surprised by the lavishness of it all.

Then she looked down, to find her mother sitting in seiza, concentrating on her calligraphy. She was dressed in just a bathrobe, her hair done up in a towel, still drying.

Sakura sighed quietly in exasperation, but smiled as she walked over in front of her mother and sat down. The table in front of her mother was large enough to fit a small family, and Sakura decided to sit opposite her mother.

She looked out at the garden, relaxed as she sat down. Every now and then, the shishi-odoshi would tap against the rock, scaring the birds away.

The door suddenly opened again; the man had come bearing tea. Sakura accepted her cup gracefully, and he left the cup for her mother on the table while she worked, bowing as he left.

Sakura brought the cup to her lips; bitter, green tea. Just how she and her mother liked it.

“I see you’ve improved your manners,” said her mother tersely. Her voice was quiet, but carried. It had that same soothing, musical quality to it that Sakura had always enjoyed.

“Although you it seems you still haven’t learned to sit properly,” she added, looking up Sakura without moving her head.

Sakura didn’t say anything. She simply sipped at her tea, enjoying it.

It was probably going to be the only thing she enjoyed here.

“How are you doing, mother?” said Sakura, still watching the garden. “I heard you went to the hospital last year.”

Her mother chuckled.

“And yet you did not visit?”

She seemed amused as she asked the question.

“The last time we met, you did say that you never wanted to see me again,” Sakura said matter-of-factly.

“And I seem to recall you saying that you would never want to see me again either,” said her mother, finally looking up from her calligraphy. She finally looked displeased.

“And somewhat ruder than before,” she put down her brush to take her cup in her hands, carefully and gracefully taking a sip.

“If I’m rude, we can get through this quicker,” said Sakura. “Since I’m sure you’re busy with other things.”

Her mother didn’t answer. She simply took a long sip on her drink, then looked out to the garden.

“You haven’t changed, you know,” she said suddenly.

For a moment, Sakura said nothing. She balled a fist.

“That’s what I told you,” she finally replied.

She wanted to add more, but she stopped herself. The sudden burst of anger threatened to escape her from her chest as a scream, or something worse. Determined not to let that happen, Sakura simply took another sip of her tea, and slammed the cup back on the table.

Her mother looked at her disapprovingly, but didn’t say anything. For a moment, Sakura felt ashamed; scolded by her mother. That shame quickly turned to anger again, fueling the fire.

“I need your help,” she said, not bothering to wait for her mother to finish drinking. “I have a story that needs to be told, but no one will believe in me.”

Sakura’s mother didn’t say anything for a while. Instead, she simply looked out at the garden, calmly enjoying her tea. This annoyed Sakura even more, but she held her tongue.

Calm, keep calm. She knew her mother liked to take time with things. Sakura was here to ask her for a favor; no need to jeopardize everything just because she was getting impatient and annoyed.

“I heard that you were working for the Yomiuri Shimbun,” said her mother finally. “Can’t you simply run this story by your bosses there?”

“I don’t work there anymore,” said Sakura flatly. “I left.”

Sakura’s mother raised an eyebrow.

“You never struck me as the type to give up,” she said.

“There’s a difference between giving up and letting go of something that was never going to work out,” Sakura sighed. “You should know that better than anyone.”

Sakura’s mother chuckled, and through her annoyance and anger, Sakura felt a small spark of pride. She made her mother laugh.

“I did always say that tongue of yours would be perfect for journalism,” Misao sighed. She took a sip of her tea, but didn’t say anything.

Sakura didn’t say anything either. They simply watched the garden, the koi swimming peacefully in the pond. It was easy to let anger dissipate while watching the garden.

The shishi-odoshi tapped against the stone again.

“So what exactly is your plan?” Sakura’s mother ended up asking. “Come running to me and have me publish this story for you?”

From her tone, Sakura knew that if she said yes, she would get ridiculed. The problem, was that this was exactly Sakura’s plan.

“…yes,” she replied, unable to think of another thing to say.

Misao scoffed once more, and once more Sakura felt a stir of irritation.

“You expect me to run a byline for a no-name upstart?” she said, putting her tea down. “What else would you like? A trip to Antarctica?”

“This story is important, mother.”

“So is every other story I have,” Misao replied curtly. “And they’re written by people that have earned their stripes in the industry.”

“I have to start somewhere, mother.”

“And that place should have been the Yomiuri Shimbun,” said Misao. “And yet you threw that away with your-”

“With my what, mother?” Sakura interrupted. “Were you there when I handed in my resignation, mother? Did witness any wrongdoing on my part? You’re a journalist; where is your evidence of my misconduct, mother?”

Misao pressed her lips together at that. Her and Sakura’s gazes were locked in a death match, neither side willing to give in.

In the end, Misao was the first to look away.

“You’re right. I do not know the circumstances of your…leave,” she said, turning her body away to face the garden. “I apologize.”

“Thank you,” Sakura snapped, also turning her body to face the garden.

The two of them watched the garden, the air buzzing with tense silence. The shishi-odoshi hit the stone once more.

Sakura sighed. She swallowed her pride, and turned to face her mother.

“I…I don’t need a byline,” she said. “I just need…I just need someone to tell this story.”

That got Misao’s attention. She turned to face Sakura once more, eyebrow raised.

“What kind of story is this?” she asked for the first time.

“The kind I can’t talk about without putting you in danger,” said Sakura, looking away. “I’ve already done that one too many times.”

“That kind of story could put my paper in danger,” said Misao bluntly.

“From what I hear, your paper isn’t doing too well anyway,” said Sakura.

Misao nodded her head, indicating for Sakura to go on.

“You’re too old fashioned, it seems,” Sakura went on. “Print isn’t selling like it used to.”

“We do have a website,” said Misao, picking up her tea.

This time, Sakura scoffed.

“That mess?” she said bluntly. “I’d say that thing you call a website would attract about ten people a day at most.”

“One hundred, actually,” Misao replied instantly. Sakura looked at her pityingly.

“How about this,” she said. “I’ll get you someone who can help with the website, in exchange for the running this story.”

Misao seemed to mull it over, sipping at her tea.

“I can guarantee you get at least a couple thousand clicks per story on the website,” Sakura went on. “The guy I know is very good.”

“Will I have to pay him?” Misao asked.

“Only in food and lodging,” said Sakura.

Misao looked out to the garden once more, deep in thought.

“I will need to see this story,” she said. “And it needs to be airtight.”

Sakura blinked, then nodded.

“I have to finish up some of the final research,” she said excitedly. “But I should be done in-”

“And,” Misao interrupted, “you’ll need to intern.”

For a moment, the room grew silent. The shishi-odoshit hit the stone once more.

“Intern?” Sakura repeated.

“You’ll be paid, obviously,” said Misao, still sipping at her tea and watching the garden. “I have just the spot for you. You’ll be helping a senior with his story. It should be a good experience.”

Sakura bit back her retort.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

If it meant the story got out and was taken seriously, then Sakura would do it. Even if it meant having to be an intern again.

“Very good,” said Misao dismissively. “I’ll send you the details through email.”

With that, Sakura knew she was dismissed.

Slowly, she got up and headed out of the room. She took one step out the door, and turned to look back.

“Thank you,” she said. “For listening.”

She didn’t wait to hear what Misao said. She shut the door behind her, and left.