Sapporo, Taisho era
: The crisp Sapporo air of early September did little to cool the nervous sweat beading on Kenji’s brow.
The Academy was the Emperor’s bold, and ultimately failed, attempt at social alchemy. In the spirit of the burgeoning "Taisho Democracy," he had decreed that the prestigious school, the sole institution where the scions of nobility learned to commune with and command Shikigami, should open its doors to commoners and all persons who were Japanese citizens.
Along with the few students who earn a scholarship and come from a commoner family like his. That Shougo had met and shared the room with them, like Kenji and Toshiro.
The crisp Sapporo air of early September did little to cool the nervous sweat beading on Kenji’s brow.
Shougo, walking with a steady, unbothered gait, glanced at his friend. "It’s a little late to be asking that, isn't it? The Elite didn't use a bus, they had a personal car. And now we're here. That's all that matters."
"That's easy for you to say," the third boy, Toshiro, muttered, clutching the strap of his worn leather satchel. "Your father writes for the Asahi Shimbun. You’re used to sticking your nose where it's not wanted."
Shougo offered a wry smile. "He writes about politicians, not ancient, ghost-summoning aristocrats. This is a different league of 'not wanted'."
As they spoke, a procession of motorcars—gleaming black Daimlers, a stately Rolls-Royce, a British-made Armstrong Siddeley, and several imported Packards—rumbled past them on the wide, gravel road leading to the school’s immense gate.
Through the polished windows, Shougo could see the faces of his future classmates, boys and a few girls, all clad in the same uniform as his, yet they wore it differently. Theirs were tailored from finer wool, the black deeper, the fit impeccable. The girls were dressed in elegant, dark-blue pleated hakama over kimonos with vibrant yagasuri arrow patterns, their hair done up in intricate sokuhatsu pompadours, some adorned with large ribbons—a fashionable blend of Japanese and Western styles.
"Look at them," Kenji whispered, his voice a mix of awe and resentment. "They don't even have to walk."
A car slowed as it passed them, the window rolling down to reveal a boy with a sharp, arrogant face and slicked-back hair. He leaned out slightly, his eyes raking over their standard-issue uniforms.
"Well, well. It seems the Emperor’s little experiment finally bore fruit," the boy said, his voice dripping with condescension. "Enjoy the walk. It will be the most pleasant part of your time here."
Another boy beside him laughed. "Don't be cruel, Kaito. They might get lost on the way to the stables. We should at least point them in the right direction."
The car sped up, leaving a cloud of dust and the faint scent of expensive cologne.
Toshiro stiffened, his knuckles white. "The nerve of them!"
"He's not wrong," Shougo said calmly, his eyes fixed on the towering wooden gate of Ootomi ahead. Carved into the crosspiece was a gilded chrysanthemum seal, a testament to the school’s long and storied connection to the imperial household.
"Shougo! Don't say that!" Kenji hissed.
"I don't mean he's right to be a bastard about it," Shougo clarified, his voice even. "I mean we should expect it. Did you think they'd roll out a welcome banner for the commoners who slipped through the cracks? My father told me about the debates in the Imperial Household. They fought tooth and nail to keep us out."
"Because they think we're no better than animals!" Toshiro spat, the word tasting like poison.
"It doesn't matter what they think," Shougo stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We passed a test more extremely difficult than they did. Today, we get our Shikigami, same as them. Let's see who's looking down on who after that."
His confidence seemed to bolster the other two momentarily. They walked in silence for a moment, passing under the shadow of the great gate. The school grounds opened up before them, a stunning landscape of manicured gardens, ancient ginkgo trees, and stone pathways that wound between imposing, traditional halls with tiled roofs.
Students were now alighting from their cars, their chauffeurs holding doors. The air buzzed with the excited, privileged chatter of the elite.
"It's... bigger than I imagined," Kenji said, his earlier anxiety returning.
"The main hall is that way," Shougo said, pointing towards the largest building at the center of the campus, a grand structure that resembled a temple more than a school auditorium. "That's where the Orientation will be held."
As they began walking again, an adult woman with a severe haircut and an air of authority stepped in their path. She eyed their slightly less-than-perfect uniforms with a critical gaze.
"You three. The new scholarship students?" she asked, her voice sharp.
"Yes," Shougo nodded politely. "My name is Okino Shougo. And my friends, Yamada Kenji and Toyama Toshiro."
"I am Ayako, of the Fujiwara clan," she announced, as if the name itself were a title. "I'm a teacher at this school. The Orientation is about to begin. Do not be late. And try not to draw any unnecessary attention to yourselves. The Headmaster prefers a peaceful start to the year."
"Thank you, Fujiwara-sensei," Shougo said.
Without any reply, she nodded curtly, turned, and glided away, melting into the crowd of aristocrats.
"Fujiwara..." Toshiro breathed. "As in, the regents?"
"The very same," Shougo said, a flicker of something—not excitement, but intense focus—in his eyes. "Come on. Let's go meet our future partners."
They followed the stream of students toward the main hall. Pushing open the heavy cypress doors, they were met with a wave of sound and the scent of old wood and incense. The hall was vast. Massive, dark wooden pillars supported a ceiling so high it was lost in shadow, from which hung long banners bearing the mon, or crests, of Japan’s most powerful families: the Taira butterfly, the Minamoto gentian, the Fujiwara 'Sagarifuji' (下がり藤), the Tachibana citrus flower, etc. The floor was polished to a mirror sheen, reflecting the light from the tall, latticed shoji windows lining the walls.
"This feels more like a castle than a school," Kenji whispered, shrinking in on himself.
"Look over there," Toshiro said, his voice tight. He pointed toward the front where the boy from the car, Kaito, was holding court, surrounded by a laughing group. "He's from the Soma clan. Their family claims descent from Taira no Masakado."
"The 'vengeful ghost' of the Heian period? Fitting," Shougo remarked dryly. "Don't stare. We need a place to sit."
He scanned the rows of chairs with cushions. The hall was clearly segregated, not by signs, but by an invisible, suffocating wall of social etiquette. The scions of the great families sat at the front, their circles impenetrable. The lesser nobles filled the middle. The back rows were sparsely populated.
"Guess that's our section," Shougo said, nodding toward the empty chairs at the very back, near the doors.
"Of course," Toshiro grumbled. "The dregs belong in the back."
"It's the best seat in the house," Shougo countered as they made their way over. "We can see everyone without being easily seen. It's better for observation."
They sat down on the silk cushions, the sudden quiet of their small group a stark contrast to the boisterous chatter filling the rest of the hall.
"Do you really think we'll get one?" Kenji asked, his voice barely a whisper. "A real Shikigami? My grandfather used to tell me stories, but I thought they were just... stories."
"They're real," Shougo said, his gaze sweeping across the room. "Why else would this school exist? It’s not to teach calligraphy to the children of dukes. It’s to train them to control the spirits their families have contracted with for generations."
"So they'll probably get amazing ones," Kenji fretted. "A dragon, or a kitsune... what's left for us?"
"That’s the question, isn't it?" Toshiro chimed in, his anger giving way to a grudging curiosity. "If the powerful families have contracts with the famous spirits, what does that leave? Goblins? Tree spirits?"
"Maybe," Shougo said, a thoughtful look on his face. "Or maybe it leaves the ones they couldn't control. The ones who don't care about a bloodline."
Before they could continue, a low, resonant bell chimed through the hall, silencing the chatter instantly. Every student straightened their back, their faces becoming solemn masks of propriety. The heavy doors at the front of the hall slid open, and a line of robed figures entered, led by an old man with a long white beard and the piercing eyes of a hawk.
"The Headmaster," Toshiro breathed. "Kamo Yasumori(泰盛). They say his family has been the head of the Bureau of Onmyō for a thousand years."
Shougo leaned forward slightly, his nonchalant demeanor finally cracking to reveal a sliver of raw anticipation. "This is it. The ceremony is starting."
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