Ryuzo was too good to me. Whatever he needed to do, he didn't say, but taking me around the city wasn't it.

We walked through the excited morning streets of Gion, passing tourists and nationals alike, all dressed in kimonos, gawking at the picturesque weathered wood buildings the same way I did. It was such a perfect blend of past and present.

He took my hand, guiding me past a small crowd that had gathered near a street crossing. In the center, a geisha stood in her full, exquisite glory. White painted skin, red lips, perfect kimono and hair. As if out of a movie, she stood tall and perfectly still, completely unaffected by the raucous attention. I would have stared at her the way everyone else did if I wasn't obsessing over Ryuzo holding my hand in public. A small joy of being lost in a crowd of worldly strangers, far away from the probing eyes of Tokyo and Fujiwara turf.

"You know this place," he said.

I looked up and saw the downhill cobblestoned street and the tall pagoda framed perfectly at the end. Working as much as I did made me forget how little of Japan I had seen — how much history I may never see before I had to leave.

"That's a temple, right?" I asked. He nodded. "How old is it?"

"Uh . . . I don't know," he said with a sheepish grin, clearly not expecting a pop quiz on architectural history.

"Hundreds of years?"

"Closer to a thousand."

"Are you for real?!" My jaw dropped. "I've never seen something that old before."

He laughed. "Really?"

"Yeah!" When you erase tens of thousands of years of history and replace it with Europe 2.0, everything older than 300 years was riveting. "Everything is so new compared to here, and most of the old things in the South are not fun memories for people like us."

"What would you show me if I was there? What do you miss most?"

A question I hadn't considered. I had been too focused on running to take time to reminisce.

"Driving," I answered. "I know that sounds stupid, but I do miss it. And the food. It's amazing here, don't get me wrong, but what we have isn't authentic and isn't good for you, but it is good."

"I like that you always pick food," he said with a chuckle. "When will you go back?"

"If I have my way, never."

"Never?"

I shook my head. "There's nothing there for me but bad memories."

His hand left mine. I pouted until I felt it slide up my spine and settle on my nape. He had my full attention when he said, "Do you think you might come back to Japan one day?"

I looked up at him, though his gaze was still on our path. "Do you want me to come back?"

Finally, his eyes found mine. They narrowed over a laughing grin, but he never answered. His thumb stroked against my neck before his hand settled on my waist, leading me through the sea of blissfully oblivious strangers.

We walked for a while longer as I enjoyed the beautiful views. I couldn't stop staring at everything we passed, especially the pagoda that towered higher and higher the closer we got. We stopped outside of a brick building. Small kids trailed behind teachers in perfect lines.

"I will be right back," he said.

"Okay."

Ryuzo left my side. Awkwardly, I stood alone, unsure of what to do.

Looking around, I assumed this place was a school, but the sign beside me was translated into English: Children Support Services. I grew more confused than before.

A tiny human stopped and stared up at me with wide eyes. Coming from the family I did, I never considered having kids, but deep inside, that little face and the knowledge of their situation made me feel a little different.

I crouched down, putting myself at eye level with him. "Ohayo gozaimasu," I greeted the little boy.

"Ohayo," he said in a quiet voice.

He didn't look like Ryuzo, but he reminded me of him nonetheless. Dark eyes with an inquisitive gaze, never looking away from me until he was called away by his teacher. He followed her without hesitation, but looked back at me again.

When I glanced at Ryuzo, I saw him hand a fat envelope to a woman. She hugged it to her chest, bowing and thanking him over and over for what was certainly a considerable amount of cash.

He came back to me. "Let's go."

I followed him, my mind full of questions.

We doubled back on our path, going up a different street, but one with the same steep slope as the one we traveled down.

The stairs seemed to go on forever. When I was embarrassingly short of breath, we turned a corner and followed a path to an overlook. The view was gorgeous and the area empty.

"Can we take a little break?" I asked.

"Are you hungry?"

"I'm always hungry."

A knowing smirk tilted his lips. "I will get us something. Wait here."

I did as he said, taking gulps of the breeze as it wafted by. The warmth of spring was threatening to push out the cold of winter, but not yet.

I came back to reality when chicken skewers appeared in my view. Ryuzo cocked an eyebrow after seeing the food grabbed my attention before he did. "Thank you," I said. He hummed his acknowledgment.

Even as he stood next to me, he was still quiet. One million thoughts swam in my head, trying to land on my tongue as words, but I didn't know how to ask, or know if I should ask. The idea of family was a tricky subject for both of us. And so were conversations about his money.

I watched Ryuzo's eyes dance over the landscape, then return to me. He gave me a knowing smirk. "Just ask me, Mina-chan." Mind-reading bastard.

I turned and sat on the stone wall. "Was that an orphanage?"

"Yes."

"And you gave them money?"

"I did."

"Why? I mean, I know you're a good person, but that was unexpected."

"I'm not a good person."

"I'm not a good person," I mocked his deep voice. "Shut up, Zo-chan. You're sweet, cats love you, and now you give money to babies. At some point, you'll have to admit you're not the bad guy you pretend to be."

His mouth twisted into a smile. I watched as it slowly faded with solemness. "My mother grew up in that orphanage," he said with downcast eyes.

I stared at him. He only mentioned her once before. His wistful look was the same as that time.

"That's very honorable," I said. It didn't look like he believed me. I knew there was more to the story, so I waited for him to tell me what he wanted.

"Growing up without a family . . . It was very hard for her and it brought her a lot of shame."

"Shame?"

"Her mother was a young immigrant from Korea and her father denied their relationship. They left my mother at that orphanage and never came back."

That felt close to home. "Did anyone adopt her?"

He shook his head. "Adopting children is not something that happens often here. She stayed until she was old enough to leave, then made a life for herself on her own," he explained, a bit of pride adding light to the otherwise sad recollection. "We didn't talk about it much, but she always donated to them whenever she could. I knew she would want me to continue that for her, so I have."

He stood stoic, overlooking the city below. Though he was good at hiding it, I could see the gray of sadness when it dampened the fire in his eyes. I gripped his arm in support. "She sounds like an amazing woman."

"She was," he said.

"You don't talk about her much," I said.

"You have never talked about yours."

Deflection, but a valid point. We didn't know those parts of each other yet. "There's not much to say about mine. I don't know really know her."

"What do you mean?"

I looked into his eyes, feeling a sense of calm. My reality was what it was. I didn't feel embarrassed by it, but my past wasn't something I enjoyed talking about. But with him, it felt like an opportunity to relieve the pain I pretended didn't exist.

"My mom wasn't in a good place when she had me, and if she knew who my father was, she never mentioned it," I divulged. "My grandmother raised me."

His eyes widened slightly. "You . . . You were like my mother."

I nodded. "Where I come from, it's not common, but it's not that rare either. There was a time I wished I could have had parents like the other kids, but looking back, I honestly wouldn't have had it any other way. It made me who I am."

He looked at me with interest, not judgment. "Tell me about her. Your grandmother."

"Oh, God," I laughed. "Where to start?"

My granny's face popped into my head, that big, toothy smile. The only sign of her age were her gray curls, smile lines, and the way she could tear your ass up in one sentence. That was how I remembered her. Grinning, laughing, giving me shit.

"She was very southern," I said, "meaning she spoke her mind even if it meant telling you all about yourself. But she was so wise and so unbelievably compassionate. The biggest thing she taught me was to always seek more from life — knowledge, experience, success — regardless of what people tell us we can or can't do, and to always see people as the human they are beneath their pain, not necessarily the way they behave due to the things they've had to go through."

His lips curled with a genuine smile. "You are everything she wanted you to be and more. I'm sure she would be very proud of you."

Emotion welled in my chest and behind my eyes, but I had cried those tears too many times. I pushed it away with a smile and rolled my eyes. "She'd say my manners ain't shit."

He laughed with me. My desire to cry faded behind my smile.

"What was your mom like?" I asked.

"Like you in some ways. Bold, unapologetic," he said. "She was the smartest person I have ever known. She was educated, traveled, never bound by the expectations or limits the world placed on her. People always say she didn't stop to breathe until she met my father and had me."

I hesitate to ask, "How did you lose her?"

"She was sick. A rare form of lymphoma," he answered. "How did you lose your grandmother?"

"Heart disease. She was a Type 1 diabetic and more prone to it. Caring for her while I grew up made me want to be a nurse."

Leaning against the wall next to me, he tucked his hands into his pockets. "You never stop surprising me, Mina-chan. And somehow, everything you tell me makes me like you more."

My cheeks warmed. "Hard same, babe."

He leaned closer and pressed his lips to my cheek. Having him be so open with his affection made me never want to go back to Tokyo.

It was nice to hear him talk about her, as much as it seemed to pain him. He seemed so different from her, and I couldn't figure out why. "Your father is still alive, right?"

His mood dimmed. He hummed a yes.

"Do you have a relationship with him?"

He let out a dark chuckle. "I hate him."

"Why?"

He looked at me again. "Why wouldn't I?" he asked rhetorically. "Let's get you back. I will have to leave soon."

"Zo . . ."

The conversation was over. I took the last bite of my rice and followed him.

We continued along the outskirts of the area we had gone through before, following the overlook until we had to turn.

In the alley, two men leaned against the wall, smoking and laughing together, both in suits that seemed out of place for the area we were in. They straightened up when we approached. They raised multiple red flags in my head, but I didn't know why until what happened next.

The larger of the two men stepped into our path. He rolled up the edge of his sleeve to reveal his tattoos and the small switchblade in his hand. "You are in the wrong place, Fujiwara."

___

A/N: Was that the secret you expected? What do you think will happen next?

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