Without warning, the dam broke-not with tears, but with laughter.
"AHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAA!" Cillian's laughter exploded, loud and unrestrained, echoing through the space. His body shook so violently that the water pooled at his feet rippled and bounced away from him. He bent forward, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other clutching his jaw as if trying to stifle the laughter, but failing miserably.
I stood there, caught between embarrassment and disbelief. "Huh? Huh?" I blurted, my cheeks flushing as his laughter only grew louder. He wouldn't stop. The sound filled the air, absurd and infectious, making the seriousness of the moment feel suddenly surreal.
"WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?" I shouted, frustration boiling over. I bent down, scooped up a handful of mud, and hurled it at him from across the distance.
He sidestepped with surprising agility, dodging the mud with a grin still tugging at his lips. The corner of his mouth twitched, the laughter finally subsiding into a smirk.
"So... you think I'm handsome?" he said finally, running a hand through his wet hair.
I lunged for him, grabbing a fistful of mud from the riverbank. "THAT'S what you took from all of that?!"
He ducked, barely avoiding my mud projectile. "I'm just saying, you were very specific about that part. 'Definitely SOO MUCH MORE handsome.' Your words, not mine."
"I WILL DROWN YOU IN THIS RIVER MYSELF!"
"Bold threat from someone who just admitted they need self-defense lessons," he countered, dancing backward as I grabbed more mud. "Also, I'm already soaked, so mud doesn't really—"
The mud hit him square in the face mid-sentence.
He stood there, dripping and stunned, mud sliding down his perfect cheekbones. Then he wiped his eyes slowly, deliberately.
"Did you just..." he began softly.
"OH, I'M SORRY," I mocked. "DID I RUIN YOUR MYSTERIOUS BROODING AESTHETIC? MAYBE NEXT TIME ANSWER A SINGLE ONE OF MY ACTUAL CONCERNS INSTEAD OF—"
Without warning, he bent down, gathered an enormous handful of mud, and hurled it at me with terrifying accuracy.
I gasped as cold mud splattered across my chest. "You did NOT just—"
"You started it," he said with infuriating calm, but I could see the dangerous glint in his eyes. "And for the record, I'm twenty-one, not that you gave me a chance to answer between accusations of being a—what was it?—'mother fucking assholic bitch'?"
"THAT'S BECAUSE YOU ARE ONE!" I shrieked, diving for more ammunition. "AND DON'T THINK I DIDN'T NOTICE YOU AVOIDING LITERALLY EVERYTHING ELSE I SAID!"
He easily sidestepped my next attack. "It's hard to address 'EVERYTHING' when you're screaming about fifty different grievances without taking a breath! Perhaps if you organized your complaints into categories—"
"CATEGORIES?!" I was practically foaming at the mouth now. "THIS ISN'T A FUCKING POWERPOINT PRESENTATION!"
"Clearly not," he replied dryly, gesturing to his mud-covered self. "Those usually have better structure."
I threw another mud ball that caught him in the shoulder. "Structure THIS!"
What followed was the most undignified mud battle the kingdom had likely ever witnessed between a royal couple. We slipped, slid, hurled insults and mud in equal measure until we were both unrecognizable brown creatures from some swamp legend.
"AND ANOTHER THING," I panted, trying to wipe mud from my eyes, "WHY DO YOU ALWAYS DISAPPEAR RIGHT WHEN—"
I slipped on the muddy bank and went down hard, sliding toward the water. Before I could splash in, his hand caught my wrist, yanking me back with such force that we both tumbled backward, landing with him flat on his back and me sprawled unceremoniously on top of him.
For a moment, we just breathed heavily, faces inches apart, both covered in mud.
"I was trying to give you some space," he said quietly, all humor gone from his voice.
"By almost killing me?" I hissed.
"By removing the target from your back," he replied, his eyes suddenly intense. "Actually—"
"Oh SPARE ME the noble sacrifice bullshit!" I interrupted, jabbing a finger into his chest. "You know what puts me in MORE danger? Being alone with psychopaths while my so-called husband is off playing hero elsewhere!"
He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it, looking genuinely perplexed. "Did... did you just call me your 'so-called' husband? We ARE actually married, you know."
"A MARRIAGE I DIDN'T CONSENT TO!"
"You literally just screamed at me about how I'm supposed to be your 'protector' and 'dignity' and 'other soul'!"
"THAT'S WHAT HUSBANDS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE! NOT WHAT YOU ARE!"
"So you acknowledge I'm your husband, just a terrible one?"
I made an incoherent sound of rage and tried to push myself off him, but slipped in the mud again, face-planting directly into his chest.
From beneath me came a sound I'd never heard before—he was laughing. Not a sardonic chuckle or a menacing rumble, but actual, genuine laughter that shook his entire body.
"Did you just..." I lifted my head to stare at him in disbelief.
"I'm sorry," he gasped between laughs, "but if you could see yourself right now—"
I couldn't help it. The absurdity of the situation—me covered head-to-toe in mud, sprawled atop the kingdom's most feared assassin who was now giggling like a schoolboy—it broke something in me. A snort escaped before I could stop it.
"Don't you dare laugh," he warned, which only made it worse.
"I'm not," I lied, as another snort escaped.
"This is serious business," he said, his face contorting with the effort not to smile. "I'm a mother fucking assholic bitch, remember? Very serious."
That did it. I collapsed into helpless laughter against his chest, both of us shaking with it until tears cut tracks through the mud on our faces.
"God, we're a disaster," I finally managed, still half-laughing, half-crying.
"The worst," he agreed. Then, more softly: "But we're our disaster."
I looked down at him, at those eyes I could never quite read, and felt something shift.
"Strangle me now?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.
He smiled—a real one this time. "Later. First, I think we both need a bath."
"Where?" I asked, glancing at the river behind me.
He hesitated. "Hmm… yeah."
I turned to face him and-smack-lightly tapped his head. "Idiot."
He grinned. "I know a place we can go," I declared, rising to my full height, brushing off the mud, and extending my hand to him.
He took it, and I pulled him up.
"And, where is it?" he inquired, giving my head a gentle smack in return.
I inhaled sharply, and a reddish-orange, fiery light began to swirl around us-my teleportation magic humming with energy. "In Hell," I said, and in a flash, we vanished, leaving only laughter and muddy footprints behind.
-In front of Hana's Minka-
The air outside Hana's minka was thick with the scent of earth and thatched roof, the kind of tranquil rural quiet that made even our muddy arrival feel out of place. "We're here," I announced, stepping ahead and knocking on the sturdy wooden door, its grain worn smooth by generations.
Cillian glanced around, brow furrowed. "And where exactly is this place?" he asked, but I ignored him, letting the anticipation settle between us.
We waited, silence broken only by the distant chirp of cicadas, until the door creaked open and Hana's face appeared. Her eyes widened in delight, and before I could say a word, she rushed forward, arms wide despite the mud caked on my clothes. She wrapped me in a tight embrace, pressing her cheek against my shoulder, uncaring of the mess. I hugged her back, warmth blooming in my chest.
Cillian hovered behind, visibly perplexed by the scene.
"Ojōsan! Hontōni nagaiai-kai tte imasendeshita. Hontōni aitakattadesu." Hana exclaimed, her voice bright. Though her words were lost on me, her joy was unmistakable.
(Translation: Lady! It's been so long. I've missed you so much.)
I still couldn't understand, but I smiled back at her.
Then, catching sight of Cillian, she tilted her head curiously as he fumbled with a device.
"Ara mā! Kono sutekina wakamono wa daredesu ka? Ojōsan." She exclaimed.
Suddenly, his watch beeped and a robotic voice translated, "Oh my. Who is this fine young man? Lady?" My eyes widened in amazement at the unexpected technology bridging our worlds.
"I'm Cillian. Nice to meet you," he replied, and the watch echoed in Japanese, "Kiriandesu. Hajimemashite."
Hana's face lit up even more. "A~tsu! Hanadesu. Kirian-san mo hajimemashite," she replied, her words instantly translated: "AH! I'm Hana. Nice to meet you too, Cillian-san."
I caught on to the honorific, "-san," realizing it was a mark of respect and politeness, much like Mr. or Ms. in English. The watch's translations made the cultural nuances tangible, and I found myself quietly impressed.
Hana leaned in, whispering, "Okusama. Kare wa daredesu ka?" The watch, ever efficient, translated, "Lady. Who is he?"
Suppressing a laugh, I answered, "My husband," which the watch relayed as, "Watashi no otto."
Hana's eyes widened in delight. "Ā, nantekotta! Kokorokara oiwai mōshiagemasu," she exclaimed, her hands trembling with excitement. The watch translated, "OH! MY GOODNESS! I sincerely congratulate you, lady." Her smile was radiant, her happiness infectious.
She stepped aside, gesturing us in. "Dōzo ohairikudasai," she said, the watch translating, "Please, come on in."
"Thank you, Hana-san," I replied, slipping off my zōri at the entrance, the traditional etiquette of entering a minka not lost on me1. Cillian, still distracted by his watch, managed to remove his shoes one-handed, eyes flicking between the translation device and our host.
Inside, Hana's minka felt timeless: the wooden beams, the faint scent of tatami, and the gentle light filtering through shoji screens. It was a space steeped in tradition, yet, in that moment, alive with the laughter and connection of three people from different worlds, brought together by mud, technology, and a little bit of luck.
Hana's voice was bright as she led us down the narrow hallway, her words tumbling out in a melodic rush. "Fushigina koto ni, hon'no sū-bu mae ni o furo ni haitta bakarinanoni, ukkari oyu o wakashi sugite shimatta ndesu. Mada yokusō no naka ni nokotte ite, mada atsui to omoimasu. Hontōni, totsuzen arawarete, mō oyu ga junbi sa rete iru nante, anata-tachi futari e no kami no go kagoda to omoimasu."
The watch on Cillian's wrist chirped to life, translating in its pleasant, robotic tone: "How strange-I just took a bath a few minutes ago and accidentally boiled too much water. It's still in the tub, and still hot, I think. Honestly, I believe this is God's blessing on you two-showing up suddenly, and already having hot water waiting for you."
"Wow," I breathed, genuinely impressed by the serendipity.
The watch echoed, "Ō."
We reached the end of the hall, where Hana slid open a wooden door with a practiced hand. Steam drifted out, curling into the cool air. "Tsukimashita!" she announced, her smile radiant.
The watch faithfully translated, "We're here."
She turned to us, her eyes twinkling. "Sonoaida ni fuku o motte kimasunode, o furo o tanoshinde kudasai," she said, already halfway down the hall.
"I'll get you some clothes in the meantime. Please enjoy your bath," the watch relayed.
The bathroom was simple and serene-a single, deep tub filled with steaming water, the surface shimmering in the soft light. The faint scent of hinoki wood and mineral water filled the air, a soothing contrast to the mud caked on my skin.
Cillian hovered behind me, silent. I glanced over my shoulder; he was eyeing the tub, then me, then his own sorry state, mud drying in jagged patches on his clothes and skin, like cracked armor after a long battle.
"You first," I said, plucking the black watch from his hand-the same expensive one from chapter 71, still gleaming despite the grime. I tucked it away, holding it hostage.
He raised an eyebrow, a smirk threatening at the corner of his lips. "Where are you going? I thought we were supposed to-"
I spun around, cutting him off. "ALONE. You alone. Separately. Different planets, Idiot."
A low, amused chuckle rumbled from him as he stepped past me, sliding the bathroom door closed behind him.
I didn't bother to reply. Instead, I slid down the wall beside the bathroom door, knees drawn up, letting my head rest back against the cool plaster. The house was hushed, the only sounds the distant trickle of water and the soft, final click of the sliding door as Cillian disappeared inside. For a moment, I simply closed my eyes, feeling the exhaustion of the day settle over me like a heavy blanket. My muscles ached, my skin itched beneath the crusted mud, and my mind buzzed with the chaos of everything that had happened.
Inside the bathroom, I could hear the faint rustle of fabric. Cillian grunted as he peeled off his ruined shirt, the fabric sticking to his skin before coming free with a wet slap. Through the thin door, I caught a glimpse of his bare back in the reflection of the polished wood-a map of old scars and fresh bruises, some faded into silver lines, others still angry and red. The sight made my chest tighten. I'd seen some of those wounds before, but there were new ones, too-evidence of battles he'd never spoken about.
"WAIT!" I blurted, unable to keep the panic from my voice.
He froze, one arm tangled in a sleeve, startled. "What?"
"Don't just jump into the bathtub!" I said, my words tumbling out in a rush. "You have to wash first!"
There was a pause, then a confused, "What?"
I pressed my palm to the door, exasperated. "There's a little stool and a bucket by the side. You wash your body outside the tub first! Otherwise, you'll contaminate the water. That's how it's done here!"
On the other side, I heard him sigh, the sound muffled but unmistakable. "Of course. Rules. Even for dirt."
"Especially for dirt," I muttered, more to myself than to him.
To be Continued...