Folding a Thousand Cranes
A month had already passed since Hanna, the paper crane girl, left the mansion. She'd adapted to life at the Imperial Academy and even sent a letter saying she had no plans to return to her family.
It's already December. It feels like just yesterday I met you, butler, but the year is already drawing to a close. The weather's gotten chilly—have you pulled out your winter clothes? I'm fine with my uniform. The imperial one is warmer than I expected... I wonder if you've tried it on? Haha... I probably won't be able to visit this winter break. I have some personal business. Don't worry, it's not dangerous! I'll write again next time. Thank you... always, butler. Oh! Say hi to the young lady for me too!
Hanna had sent a heartfelt handwritten letter, along with word that she wouldn't be able to show her face this winter break.
'Some business, huh...'
I had no idea what it was, but it didn't seem like she was heading back to her family. Neither last time nor this time had she mentioned them even once. Besides, Malik had told me directly.
"Sorry for the disgraceful display."
"It's fine. I had my own awkward matters..."
"Good that you knew."
"Do I seem like the type to lack shame?"
"You do."
"..."
"Anyway, I talked to Father about ownership of Tyrfing. I said you saved my life catching Pascal, so you can use it without worry. And Hanna... she's decided to leave the family."
"...I see."
"She'll keep the family register, though. It's Father's wish and mine. The Histania name might come in handy someday."
"That's for Hanna to sort out."
Malik had visited the mansion about a week after Hanna left the academy, pouch of gold coins in hand. We'd talked about Hanna, about the Tyrfing I'd swiped. It was substantial gossip. Rowen had taken a huge shock, apparently. Not my concern, but it felt damn good knowing the man who'd tormented Hanna was suffering.
Before leaving, Malik tossed me a bit of advice.
"Why Tyrfing of all things? Plenty of other fine swords out there."
"Looked fun to touch."
"You're insane. Just don't go mad. It's a demon sword."
A cool patron who worried to the end. He claimed it was because getting his mind dominated would be a hassle for him, but I could vaguely sense the concern beneath. True patron material. I'd serve him as big bro for life.
And so, Hanna's saga and the Tyrfing business wrapped up. All I could do now was cheer for her wallet to fatten up.
Thinking of the day she'd become my patron, I spread a sheet of letter paper on the desk.
"I wish you all the best in your future endeavors."
I said softly to the young lady seated at the desk.
"Your. Fu-ture. En-dea-vors."
The girl with pen in hand mimicked my words as she wrote, then looked up with a bored expression. Not liking something, she set the pen down with a pout.
"Hey, Ricardo. That line's too cliché. Got anything more stimulating?"
Paid fairly in chocolate, she fired back at her employer's opinion. Said it sounded too old, asked for something more sophisticated. Hurt, I gave a stuffy reply.
"Can't be helped. Sometimes the classics are best."
"Boring. What if they fall asleep reading it?"
"Letters aren't for entertainment."
"Boring."
The young lady yawned long, rolling her stiff shoulders. Guess writing after so long made her body ache. I crept behind her and massaged her shoulders gently.
"Write well, and I'll give you one more chocolate."
"...Two."
"Fine. Two."
She giggled, beaming happily.
"The letter's content is fun, though. Kids these days don't use words like that—sounds like a geezer..."
"Too late for that."
"...Tch."
No talent for flattery, that girl. She was writing the letter to Hanna in my stead, with my hopelessly ugly handwriting. I'd thought my penmanship would improve with healed hands, but it remained disastrously the same—barely legible, needing an ancient language expert like Malik said.
Moments later, after scribbling with fervor that nearly burned holes in the paper, she stretched her weary body and declared,
"Done."
"Oh..."
Neat handwriting caught my eye. Uniform as if typed on a keyboard, transcending talent into mechanical perfection. I couldn't help but gasp in admiration.
"Do all nobles write like this?"
"Nah. I'm special."
"As expected...!"
"And Ricardo writes like shit."
"...One chocolate."
"Whyyy?!"
Gathering her vicious assets front and center, she spoke. Rational suspicion: her handwriting talent proportional to bust size. Satisfied with the view, I placed two chocolates from my pocket on the desk.
"Your fee."
"Heehee!"
Ignoring her irreverent gaze, she pocketed the chocolates in her bosom. Another fine show today—I sat across from her with a pleased smile.
The weather had turned bitterly cold. The fur coats in the closet were seeing daylight after a year, the chill wrapping the mansion tight. The wooden hearth in the room blazed dutifully, filling it with toasty warmth. No one wanted to go out. Not me, not the young lady, not furry Gomtangi. Animals and humans alike hated the hassle of winter, it seemed.
What to do at home? Didn't want to go out, didn't want to just kill time blankly. Wanted to do something. Bath salts? Made those last time—pass. Straw doll? Fun idea to voodoo curse someone I hated, but too advanced for magicless me and a girl with a failed black magic track record. Shelved.
'Hmm...'
After ten minutes pondering blankly at the desk, inspiration struck. I fetched a cardboard box from the mansion storeroom.
Dust-caked box. On it, a drawing from the young lady's innocent days: her stomping a redheaded boy's head. Petty revenge from the girl who'd always lost our childhood fistfights.
Eyes widening at the box, she exclaimed,
"Oh... ancient relic!"
"Ten years old."
"That's ancient."
Harsh on nostalgia, that one. Smiling faintly, I opened it. Musty smell, but contents intact: childhood toys, old photo albums. And...
"Found it."
Colored paper. Curious-eyed, she watched me pull it out.
"Whatcha doing?"
"Paper folding."
"Boring."
Interest gone. With a nostalgic smile, I offered her a white sheet.
"It'll be fun after so long."
"Probably not."
"Make it fun, get a chocolate."
"Sounds fun!"
Quick on the uptake. I set a cup of black tea on the desk, and we began folding. Her making weird shapes, me meticulously channeling past-life memories. A serene mood settled.
Crackle.
Listening to the firewood pop, we focused on our tasks.
*
There's a famous tale from my past life: fold a thousand cranes, and your wish comes true. With time to burn in my fine unemployed life, I was folding paper cranes. Doubled as decor, simple handplay to wish on petty dreams. Seeing the crane take shape at my fingertips, the young lady looked intrigued.
"How's this?"
She squinted.
"What'd you fold?"
"A crane."
"...That?"
A crumpled mess. Rusty after ages—barely crane-like.
Seriously, she said,
"Looks like an orc."
"No. Crane."
"Kindling?"
"Don't mock my artistic soul."
"Hmm... definitely not a crane."
Crushing my thirty-minute crane dream, she added,
"Looks like half-chewed gum."
"Chew gum long enough, it becomes a crane."
"Impossible."
"..."
Handwriting and origami talentless, that was me. She snatched a red sheet, furrowed her brow, and concentrated.
"Lemme show you."
Folding the red paper vigorously.
"Hng..."
Fold in half.
"Hnnng!!!"
Half again.
"HNNNNG!!!!!"
Half more. Watching her focused frown, I asked what she was making.
"What're you making?"
"Paper crane."
"...?"
"Did good, right?"
".....?"
A rectangle, insisted as a crane. Hilarious. More like a Mentos—questioning her hunger,
"Hungry?"
"...Yeah."
Honest with emotions. Knowing her answer,
"What for dinner?"
"Meat."
"Vetoed."
"Then why ask."
"....."
My fault for asking anyway. A thousand cranes held a warm legend: your first love fulfilled. Childish nonsense. Superstition for the naive—I hadn't lived richly enough to buy it. Better to earn money in that time; success worth more than a thousand cranes. A way to appeal to sweet girls, too...
"Ricardo's folding so hard."
Face on desk, she watched me concentrate.
Smiling at her,
"Fold a thousand cranes, your wish comes true."
"Wish?"
"Yeah. Fold 'em neat and pretty, they fly to the heavens and deliver it."
"Who grants it?"
"Uh... Goddess?"
"..."
Pondering, she nodded, grabbing fresh red paper.
"Goddess sounds trustworthy."
High praise for the divine. The empire's state religion, melting even her faithless heart with sanctity.
Slipping my folded crane into a glass jar, I asked,
"What're you wishing for?"
"Chocolate palace."
"I can make that happen."
Vowed to earn big. She tucked her crumpled crane in too, asking,
"You?"
"Me?"
Yeah. What to wish? Grinning foolishly, I folded fresh white paper.
"Secret."
Too embarrassing to say.