Chapter 50

“This looks just like me. This has to be my grandmother,” Kira said, staring at the faded black-and-white photo of a young woman who looked almost identical to her, standing beside a WWII soldier.

“You remember, I told you about Malia? She’s the last one who saw Stiles at Eichen House. This picture, and this—” Scott lifted a sword, its steel glinting under the light.

“They found it with a body buried in a wall,” he continued. “The same backwards ‘5’ that the Oni put on us was on the wall.”

“It sounds like it all goes back to your family—your grandmother, your mom,” Silver said gently, her voice carrying a mix of concern and urgency.

Ren stepped closer, peering over Kira’s shoulder at the photo. His brow furrowed. “If this all traces back to our family, that means Mom’s been keeping secrets… big ones. And if the Oni were involved back then, we could be walking straight into the same danger they faced.” His gaze shifted between Kira and Silver, protective instinct clear in his tone.

Before Kira could answer, her phone buzzed sharply in the quiet room. She glanced down, and the color drained from her face.

“What is it?” Silver asked quickly, already picking up on the sudden shift in her expression.

Kira’s wide eyes met Ren’s first. “It’s Dad,” she whispered.

🦊

Silver, Scott, Kira, and Ren sprinted into the school, skidding to a stop outside the history classroom. Inside, Noshiko was kneeling beside her husband, who was struggling to breathe.

“Kira, did you bring it?” Noshiko asked urgently.

Kira handed her a small vial. “You going to tell me what ‘it’ is?” she asked, glancing between her mother and the man on the floor.

“Reishi,” Noshiko replied.

Kira blinked. “You’re not seriously giving Dad magic mushrooms?”

Noshiko shot her a sharp look before tipping the contents into her husband’s mouth. Mr. Yukimura gasped, then coughed violently, blood staining the napkin she held to his lips.

“Are you okay?” Noshiko asked as she helped him sit upright.

He nodded weakly, still catching his breath.

“Stiles did this?” Scott asked, his voice hard.

Noshiko’s gaze shifted to him. “He wanted the last kaiken,” she said, lifting a small, ornate dagger. “I’ve kept this with me ever since your friend disappeared.”

“Mom, you need to talk to us—about everything,” Kira pressed.

Noshiko hesitated, then gave a small nod.

Silver stepped forward, pulling the aged photograph from her pocket and handing it over. Noshiko’s eyes widened as soon as she saw it.

“Where did you get this?” she demanded.

Kira frowned. “Is it Grandma?”

“No… it’s me,” Noshiko said.

Scott’s brows shot up. “If that’s you, then you’d have to be, like, ninety years old.”

“Closer to nine hundred,” Noshiko corrected calmly.

Kira stared at her mother. “Okay. Sure. Why not.” Then she turned to her father. “Dad, how old are you?”

“Forty-three,” he replied with a faint grin. “But I’ve been told I look mid-thirties.”

Silver chuckled, but Ren stood there with his arms crossed, processing everything. “So, we’ve been dealing with ancient demons, and now we find out Mom’s been walking around for nine centuries like it’s nothing?” he muttered. “This family really needs a manual.”

Kira shot him a glare, but he ignored it, stepping closer to the sword in Scott’s hands. “Is that the same blade from the stories you told us, Mom?”

Noshiko took the sword, snapping the chain with a practiced motion and sliding the handle free from the sheath. Pieces of a broken katana clattered onto the desk.

“The blade shattered the last time it was used,” she explained.

“When was that?” Kira asked, her voice quieter now.

“1943… against a Nogitsune,” Noshiko said.

Silver narrowed her eyes. “All this—it’s all happened before, hasn’t it?”

Noshiko looked at each of them in turn, her expression grave.

“Yes.”

“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it,” Mr. Yukimura said, his voice carrying the weight of a teacher’s warning.

Kira frowned, tilting her head. “Where did that come from?”

“It was an internment camp during World War II… in Oak Creek, not far from here,” Noshiko replied evenly, though there was a tension in her tone.

Scott turned toward Mr. Yukimura, but Silver was the first to speak, her expression sharp. “Hold on—you told Allison, Michael, Isaac, and me there was no internment camp at Oak Creek.”

Mr. Yukimura’s lips pressed into a thin line before he gave a small nod. “Your family has a certain… history of violence. I didn’t know if you could be trusted with the truth. There was a camp, yes—but all the records were erased.”

“They covered it up,” Noshiko said, her voice low but firm.

Mr. Yukimura walked to his desk, opening the bottom drawer. He pulled out a worn folder, the edges frayed from years of handling, and set it on the table. “When I was a grad student, my passion project—actually, more like an obsession—was uncovering what really happened at Oak Creek. I tracked down photographs, military logs, survivors’ statements… anything I could find before the trail went cold.” He began laying out faded black-and-white photos: rows of barbed wire fencing, weathered barracks, and grim-faced soldiers.

“It’s how I met your mother, Kira,” he added quietly.

Kira picked up one of the photos, her brows knitting together at the image of a burned man in a hospital bed. “So… where did the Nogitsune come from?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Noshiko stepped forward, placing the broken blade pieces on the table. Slowly, she aligned them, the jagged edges forming the ghost of the original katana. “Isn’t it obvious yet? It came from me.”

Ren’s head snapped toward her, his voice tense. “From you? As in… you released it? Or you created it?”

“There isn’t much time,” Noshiko continued, her eyes locking on Kira. “This is something that must be done in the daylight, and I’ll need your help.”

Kira crossed her arms, refusing to move closer. “Not until you tell us everything.”

“Tell them, Noshiko,” Mr. Yukimura said firmly, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Tell them what they need to know.”

Noshiko let out a slow sigh, her hands tightening on the table’s edge. “Foxes and wolves tend not to get along—not just in fables and stories,” she said, her gaze flicking briefly toward Scott, then Silver.

Silver rolled her eyes but exchanged a knowing glance with Kira and Scott.

“But allies, however unlikely, should be welcomed—especially in times of war,” Mr. Yukimura added, looking directly at Ren as if trying to impress the point upon him.

Noshiko took a deep breath, slamming one of the blade fragments down onto the table with a metallic ring before launching into a story—vivid accounts of betrayal, battles fought under the shadow of barbed wire, and the chaos that came with the Nogitsune’s arrival in 1943.

She spoke of soldiers who vanished overnight, of whispers in the barracks about a shadow that fed on pain, and of a desperate act that shattered the katana. Her voice grew tighter, her words quicker, until—

“Okay, stop. Just stop!” Kira interrupted, her tone sharp with frustration. “We don’t want to hear your Casablanca story—we want to know how to save Stiles!”

“I’m trying to tell you—” Noshiko began, but Scott cut in, stepping forward.

“You’re trying to stall. When the sun goes down, the Oni are going to come after him again, aren’t they?”

Mr. Yukimura’s expression darkened. “Your friend’s gone, Scott.”

Ren’s jaw tightened, his hand curling into a fist at his side. “Not if we get to him first.”

Silver narrowed her eyes, her voice dropping into a near whisper. “Then we’d better move fast.”

“If you’re smart then you know that’s not true. Possession of a dark spirit is tricky as hell- more so when it’s a trickster. But it is never permanent. People can be saved, if you don’t waste time which you are doing my stalling.” Silver said, making Noshiko look at her and sigh, “You brought the Oni- can you call them off?” Scott asked.

“It’s not his fault.” Kira said and Noshiko looked at Scott, “Stiles may be your best friend… He might be like a brother to you… But he is Nogitsune now. He is void.” Noshiko said. “Can you call them off?” Scott asked a little louder this time and Noshiko sighed, “When you hear the rest of the story, you won’t want me to.” She said.

“Rhys and I found ways to see each other. Sometimes at the barracks… sometimes in the bunkers where they parked military vehicles. He was being transferred to North Africa in a few weeks. I was teaching him some French…” Noshiko explained.

“We watched Merrick and Hayes talking with the camp doctor. They were whispering, speaking in low, hurried voices, glancing around like every shadow might be listening,” Noshiko said, her tone tightening as the memory surfaced. Her fingers curled tighter around the jagged shard of the blade, the metal biting into her palm until fresh blood welled up and dripped slowly onto the floor.

“Noshiko,” Mr. Yukimura said sharply, his voice cutting through the tension.

Ren, who had been standing silently in the corner, immediately stepped forward, his expression tightening when he saw the blood. “Mom—stop. You’re hurting yourself,” he said, his tone sharper than usual, worry cutting through every word.

Kira’s head snapped toward her mother, her eyes widening when she caught sight of the crimson running down Noshiko’s hand. “Mom—what are you doing?” she asked, moving quickly toward her. She reached for her mother’s arm, but Noshiko pulled away with deliberate force.

Mr. Yukimura stepped in, offering her a folded tissue. Without a word, Noshiko dropped the bloodstained blade fragment onto the table, its clink against the wood sharp in the silence. She took the tissue and calmly wiped her palm clean, the red smears vanishing to reveal smooth, unbroken skin.

Ren frowned, his protective stance between Noshiko and Kira instinctive now. “That’s not normal,” he muttered under his breath, still eyeing his mother suspiciously.

Kira stared at her in disbelief. “How… how did you do that?”

A faint, knowing smile tugged at Noshiko’s lips. “It’s one of our talents—something you’ll learn, Kira. You should have noticed by now… you never get sick. Ever. You’ll never know the weight of something as small as a cold, or as punishing as the flu. And there are… other things you’ll never experience.” Her voice softened, trailing into silence for a moment before she refocused on the tale at hand.

Ren’s jaw clenched as he glanced at Kira, his worry deepening. If this was the kind of power they’d inherited, he wanted to know the cost.

“Rhys checked his log,” Noshiko continued, her voice lower now. “But we already knew the truth. Dr. Liston was using Merrick and Hayes to smuggle medicine out of the camp—selling it on the black market while the sick lay suffering. I realized, too late, the mistake I’d made by speaking out too soon. I thought I was helping. But I wasn’t… I was fanning the flames. My words became a spark in a room soaked in gasoline.”

Her gaze dropped, and for a moment she seemed to see that night unfolding again. “I shouted for them to stop. But the sickness had already taken too many… and desperation is louder than reason. The anger I saw—it wasn’t just human. It was alive. It moved through the crowd like a predator, latching on to anyone with fear in their heart.”

She paused, looking at Scott now, her tone taking on a deeper weight. “That’s when I understood why Satomi was always so quiet. Why she endured those migraines every month. Why she sat at the Go board for hours—it wasn’t just a game. It was control. Discipline. The only thing that kept her from losing herself.”

“She was bitten,” Scott said, making Noshiko glance at him.

“Bitten werewolves have a harder time suppressing their anger,” Noshiko explained. “One unexpected flare-up, and they could lose all control.”

Ren, standing near Kira, tensed slightly at the warning. His eyes flicked to his sister as if silently measuring whether she was in any kind of danger.

Noshiko’s gaze darkened as she continued. “The gunfire nearly killed me. I don’t know how many bullets tore through my body, but I fought every one of them… My heartbeat slowed so much, it appeared I was dead. Even then… I was better off than Rhys. His screams carried through every room, every hallway of Eichen House. He died in agony. The doctor had sold the morphine, too.”

Ren’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides.

“Merrick and Hayes were ordered to dispose of the bodies—American and Japanese-American alike. Dr. Liston was being transferred somewhere else, far from blame. They were covering everything up. They were going to get away with murder.”

Her voice dipped lower. “By chance, Rhys’ body was laid beside mine. I wanted those responsible to face justice… but I knew the clock was ticking. They were going to burn me with the others. I could barely move. My body was still healing. I was going to die.”

Ren frowned, glancing at Kira again. “This is starting to sound like the kind of choice you don’t come back from,” he muttered, his tone edged with suspicion.

Noshiko’s eyes flicked briefly to her son before she admitted, “With time slipping away, I made a terrible decision… I called out to our ancestors for kitsune-tsuki—possession by a Fox spirit. A Nogitsune. One that thrives on chaos, strife, and pain. I wanted it to use my body as a weapon.”

Ren’s face hardened, his protective instincts sharpening. “You invited that into you?”

“Calling a trickster is dangerous,” Noshiko said. “Their humor can be… cruel. The Nogitsune came to possess someone—but it wasn’t me.”

Scott’s brows lifted. “What happened?”

“My body began to heal, and I forced myself up… but it was too late.” She hesitated, her eyes flicking to Silver.

Silver raised her eyebrows. “What did it do?”

Noshiko met her gaze. “It brought chaos, strife, and more pain than you can imagine. I had to find him. I had to stop him.”

Noshiko and Kira knelt to align the broken pieces of the sword. Ren stayed standing behind them, eyes scanning the darkening glass of the window like he expected trouble to come through it.

“Kira, hurry,” Noshiko urged, glancing toward the fading light. “Night is coming.”

Ren’s eyes followed the shadows stretching across the room, and his hand subtly moved closer to Kira’s shoulder, like he wasn’t letting her out of his reach.

“Coup de foudre. The literal translation is ‘a bolt of lightning!'” Noshiko said, her eyes glinting as she glanced toward Scott and Silver, who were standing close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed. “In French, it can also mean ‘love at first sight.'”

Scott and Silver exchanged a quick, almost awkward glance, the corner of Silver’s mouth twitching.

“But,” Noshiko continued, her tone shifting, “a bolt of lightning happens to be exactly what we need right now.”

Kira furrowed her brows. “For what?”

“Excising the Nogitsune from Rhys’ body shattered the katana… but you can put it back together.”

Kira’s gaze dropped to the scattered sword pieces. “Why don’t you just do it yourself?”

“Because I’m not a Thunder Kitsune.” Noshiko’s voice was steady but insistent. “Do you trust me?”

Kira blinked. “I just found out you’re nine hundred years old—I don’t think I’m ever gonna trust you again.”

Silver let out a quiet laugh, while Ren, standing off to the side with his arms crossed, gave a subtle smirk at his sister’s defiance, though his eyes never left the katana.

“Trust me on this,” Noshiko said firmly. She took Kira’s hand and guided it over the broken blade.

Kira looked over her shoulder at Scott and Silver; Silver gave a slight shrug and nod. Ren stepped forward just enough to stand at Kira’s other side, a silent show of support.

Moments later, the cracks in the katana began to glow with a brilliant blue light, each fragment aligning perfectly until the blade was whole again. Kira’s breath caught, her lips parting in awe as the glow faded, leaving polished steel where there had been ruin.

Noshiko lifted the katana and held it out to her daughter. “Go ahead. It’s yours now.”

Kira shook her head slightly. “What if I don’t want it?”

“You need it.” Without hesitation, Noshiko tossed the sword toward her.

Kira caught it easily, the movement so fluid it was as if she’d trained for years. She gave it an experimental spin, her stance instinctively balanced.

“You see? It gives you balance,” Noshiko said, her expression softening. “My power is yours now, Kira. If the Oni cannot stop Stiles, you have to—the same as I did. And maybe…” She glanced deliberately toward Scott, then to Silver, “…seek out a wolf and a shapeshifter to help you.”

“You didn’t tell us anything helpful,” Silver said flatly, crossing his arms.

Noshiko raised her eyebrows, her voice calm but edged. “You want to save Stiles? Kill him. That’s the only way.”

Silver rolled his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief, while Scott’s attention shifted to Mr. Yukimura. “You agree with this?”

Mr. Yukimura gave a slow, measured nod. “Sometimes, history does repeat itself, Scott.”

“Only if you don’t learn,” Silver countered sharply, his tone cutting through the air.

“But sometimes,” Mr. Yukimura replied evenly, “even then, fate conspires against you.”

Scott sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before glancing back at Silver. Just then, his phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket, glanced at the screen, then turned it toward Scott so he could read the text from Allison: Derek’s loft.

Ren, standing just behind Silver, had been silent until now, but the tension in his posture spoke volumes. His eyes narrowed slightly, glancing between Noshiko and Mr. Yukimura. “There’s always another way,” he muttered under his breath, almost as if it were more to himself than to anyone else.

“There’s a way to save him. There has to be,” Scott said firmly. Without hesitation, he took Silver’s hand and started for the door.

Ren immediately fell into step behind them, his protective instinct toward his sister kicking in without thought. Kira moved to follow as well, but Noshiko’s voice stopped her.

“Kira.”

Kira turned, and Noshiko held out the sheath. Kira took it, sliding it over the katana with a smooth motion, her expression conflicted.

Ren glanced back at her for a brief moment, their eyes meeting in silent understanding before Kira finally hurried after Scott, Silver, and her twin.