The Shield of Kuromori. Jason Rohan

a hand on Kenny’s shoulder. ‘You did well, Kuromori-san, very well indeed.’

      ‘Hey, what about me?’ Kiyomi snapped. ‘I saved Kenny’s butt – again – and I was ready to finish off the croc until Mr Show-off here decided to get cuddly with it.’

      ‘Cuddly?’ Kenny retorted. ‘What, are you jealous because I’m better at this magic stuff than you are?’

      ‘Hah! Me, jealous of you? In your dreams!’

      ‘Enough!’ Harashima barked. ‘Kiyomi-chan, go to your room. Now.’

      Kiyomi glared before storming out. Harashima closed his eyes, took a deep breath and held it. After ten seconds, he exhaled slowly.

      ‘I put you two together today for a reason,’ he said to Kenny. ‘How would you describe Kiyomi-chan’s . . . emotional state tonight?’

      ‘Uh, well . . .’ Kenny ran his fingers through his damp hair to buy time. He didn’t want to get Kiyomi into any further trouble with her father, but at the same time, she had been acting really weird.

      ‘As I thought,’ Harashima said. ‘She has anger-management issues, as they call it these days.’

      ‘You can say that again,’ Kenny agreed. ‘She’s always been a bit fiery, but lately it’s been off the chart.’

      ‘Something is wrong, Kuromori-san,’ Harashima said, his brow furrowing. ‘You know that my family is sworn to hold the balance, to keep the forces of chaos from dragging Japan backwards, to keep the yokai in check.’

      ‘Yes, sir,’ Kenny said.

      ‘I do not know how I can do that if my own family is tearing itself apart. Kuromori-san, I want you to make me a promise.’

      Kenny had a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t going to like what came next, but nor could he refuse. ‘OK.’

      ‘If anything was to happen to me and I could no longer lead this organisation, I would want you to take over as commander to my men.’

      Kenny blinked. ‘I-I can’t do that, sir. I’m just a kid. I’m a gaijin. They’d never accept me. Surely your brother is a better bet. Besides, nothing’s going to happen to you.’

      Harashima gave a low bow. ‘Kuromori-san, sooner or later, everyone’s time comes to an end. My hope was that Kiyomi-chan would take my place, but as she is now . . .’

      A quiet tap on the door signalled that Kenny’s lift home was waiting.

      By the time Kenny got back to the two-bedroom flat in Shibuya he shared with his father, it was midnight. He slipped the key into the lock and opened the door gently.

      ‘Kenny? That you?’ his father called from the main room – a combined living and dining area with a kitchenette.

      ‘Yeah, Dad.’ Kenny kicked off his soggy trainers and went inside.

      Charles Blackwood stood up from his computer desk in the corner, stretched and came over to give his son a hug.

      ‘Whew, you’re damp,’ Charles noted. He sniffed Kenny’s hair. ‘And you smell like a swamp. You should have a bath before bed.’

      ‘OK, OK.’ Kenny yawned. ‘And I’ve got school tomorrow.’

      ‘Is your homework done?’

      ‘Not yet. I’ll do it on the train in the morning.’

      ‘That’s hardly ideal. You want anything to eat? Hot drink?’

      ‘No, I had something over at Kiyomi’s.’

      Charles folded his arms. ‘So? How was work?’

      ‘You know I can’t talk about that, Dad. For your own safety.’

      ‘Well, what can you talk about?’ Charles appraised his son’s dishevelled appearance. ‘Kenny, don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like hell.’

      Kenny laughed. ‘Woo, good thing you cushioned that one.’

      ‘I mean it. I’m not dismissing the importance of what you do, but . . . you’re making it very hard for me to be a father to you, which is kind of the whole point of you being here. I hardly see you. If you’re not at the Harashimas, you’re in school. When do we get some time together?’

      Kenny slumped in the doorway. ‘Yeah, I know. Tell you what, Dad, I’ve got football trials tomorrow after school. Come see me try out for the team and then we can go for food afterwards.’

      ‘You’re on. I’d like to see you play.’

      ‘Thanks, Dad. Oh, and one other thing.’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Is it just me or are all girls nuts?’

      Charles chuckled. ‘What’s Kiyomi done this time?’

      ‘Nothing, it’s just . . . I’m worried about her, Dad. There’s something wrong. I can feel it.’

      Charles frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

      Kenny’s voice was small, as if he was afraid to say the words. ‘It’s like with Mum. I think she’s ill. Really ill, as in . . . maybe dying.’

      Kenny carried his meal tray to an unoccupied table in the school lunch hall and sat down. He’d been the new kid at school enough times to know how it worked. Everyone was nice enough, but they still waited to size you up. Who were you going to be: the clown; the nerd; the smart alec; the sporty one; the cool kid; the punching bag; the teacher’s pet? Every class had its own cliques and factions. Kids in those didn’t need anyone new; their groups were self-contained. That left the outsiders, those who had to fend for themselves. They would gravitate towards any new student, hoping to find an ally.

      The problem was that Kenny had learned to be on his own. He had stopped trying to make friends long ago because what was the point? You always had to move on. Better not to have any at all and avoid awkward goodbyes. Except this time was different. Now he was enrolled at the American School in Japan and it was meant to be for a few years. That was going to take some getting used to, but he had been told – by a goddess no less – that he had to reach out to others or he would be emotionally stunted and never fulfil his potential.

      ‘You want to hear a joke?’ A girl’s voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘What did one horse say to the other horse?’

      Kenny looked up to see blonde highlights, a tan complexion and a dazzling smile. ‘Huh?’

      ‘Why the long face?’ A giggle like bubbles popping on a sunny day. ‘Stacey Turner,’ she said, balancing her meal tray on one hand and extending the other.

      Kenny half stood and shook her hand.

      ‘Are these seats taken?’ Stacey asked, eyeing the empty chairs.

      ‘No, no. Please, be my guest.’

      ‘That’s so sweet.’ Stacey set her tray across from Kenny’s and parked her jeans. ‘You’re the new guy, aren’t you? And from your accent I’d say you’re Australian, right?’

      ‘No. I’m from England actually.’

      Stacey’s eyes grew even wider. ‘That is so cool. I just love English accents. Quick, say, “Would you like a cup of tea?”’

      Kenny sat back. ‘I really don’t think that’s –’

      ‘Oh my God, you’re blushing! That is so sweet.’ Stacey wriggled round in her seat and waved to another table. Chairs scraped and