"Hisato, your mother told me you wanted to become a lawyer."
I looked across the table as I spoke.
Lunch was simple that day: rice, grilled fish, soup, and a few vegetables arranged neatly between us. Steam drifted lazily upward from the bowls before disappearing into the winter light filtering through the window.
Hisato paused in the middle of eating.
"Oh, hmm."
He finished what was in his mouth before answering.
"Yes. I told Mom during one of our discussions."
He lifted his bowl and took a small sip of soup.
The movement felt ordinary.
A few months ago, it would not have been.
Back then, he had barely been able to sit upright for long without tiring himself. Now he was discussing careers.
The thought lingered pleasantly.
"A lawyer," I repeated, cutting a piece of fish with my chopsticks. "Do you like that?"
"Yes."
Hisato nodded.
"I like the idea of being one."
There was no hesitation in his voice. No uncertainty. Just quiet certainty.
I glanced briefly toward Yu. She remained focused on her meal, listening without interrupting.
"That is very good."
I took a drink of water.
"Liking what you do is important."
A faint smile crossed Hisato's face before he returned to his rice.
"Do you have any school in mind?"
He shook his head.
"I haven't decided."
"I see."
I nodded.
"We'll have to look into it."
Yu simply drank from her soup bowl.
The conversation settled naturally after that. Nobody felt any need to force it forward. The soft tap of chopsticks, the faint clink of ceramic, and the distant rustle of wind outside filled the space instead.
It was peaceful.
The sort of peace that had become easier to notice lately.
Time continued forward.
As it always did.
"Dear, it's time to wake up."
A hand tapped my shoulder.
I groaned softly. The warmth beneath the blankets immediately argued against consciousness.
"Oh, is it already?"
I attempted to sink deeper into the futon.
Yu was unimpressed.
"Yes."
A brief pause followed.
"Now get up."
I sighed.
The discussion about renting a room near the Fair surfaced briefly in my thoughts. We had spoken about it more than once. The travel was long, and the return trips often happened at awkward hours. A hotel would solve that.
It would also cost money.
Money that could be used elsewhere.
The argument had ended there every time.
I opened one eye.
The clock showed four.
Far too early.
Far too late.
Depending on how one chose to look at it.
The floor felt cold against my feet when I finally stood. I washed quickly, the cold water chasing away the last remnants of sleep.
By the time I finished dressing, the cart had already been prepared.
The goods were packed.
Flour parcels stacked carefully.
Citrus products secured.
The remaining radishes arranged for transport.
Yu had done most of it before waking me.
I stepped outside while fastening my coat. The air bit immediately.
"Be careful."
Yu held out a metal flask.
I accepted it. The container was pleasantly warm.
"What is it?"
"Coffee."
She adjusted my collar.
"So you don't fall asleep."
I laughed softly.
"Thank you."
The flask disappeared into my coat pocket.
Nearby, the horse stamped impatiently.
The sky was still dark when I climbed onto the cart.
A few moments later, I was on the road.
The first part of the journey passed quietly.
Darkness gradually surrendered to grey. Fields drifted by. Leafless trees stood along portions of the road, their bare branches stark against the pale sky.
The world felt larger when traveled alone.
When Yasui had accompanied me, conversation naturally occupied parts of the journey. Now there was only the creak of wheels and the occasional sound of hooves striking packed earth.
I drank from the flask.
The coffee was strong.
Strong enough that I blinked twice afterward.
Yu had clearly intended to ensure I remained awake.
A rabbit darted across the roadside.
A flock of birds erupted from a nearby field.
The road continued.
A bend.
A bridge.
A weathered shrine marker.
Small landmarks appeared one after another, reassuring me that I remained on the correct path.
Eventually daylight began fading again.
The winter sun never seemed particularly committed.
Twilight approached.
The road grew quieter.
Then I heard wheels behind me.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
I glanced back.
A carriage approached steadily.
I maintained my pace.
The other driver did the same.
Eventually he pulled alongside me.
"Good evening."
We exchanged greetings.
Recognition followed shortly afterward.
He was the farmer who sold produce at the Fair.
I had noticed him before.
For a while we rode side by side without speaking. Neither of us seemed in a hurry to fill the silence.
Finally he broke it.
"This road doesn't see much traffic during this time."
I looked ahead.
"It would seem so."
The road stretched empty before us.
"It has been a while since I traveled this direction regularly. I'm not sure how I feel about it."
He chuckled.
The sound carried easily through the evening air.
"I am Asano Kenko."
"Nagaoka Sada."
We exchanged names.
I took another sip from the flask. The warmth helped.
"Heading for the Fair?" he asked.
I glanced at him briefly.
I had assumed people simply avoided mentioning it.
Apparently not.
"Yes."
I nodded.
"And it seems you are as well."
"I am."
He laughed again.
The companionship eased something I had not realized I was carrying.
The road felt less empty afterward.
The conversation remained light and comfortable. Sometimes several minutes passed without either of us speaking.
Neither seemed bothered by it.
Eventually Asano checked his pocket watch.
"It seems we might be a little late."
"Really?"
I glanced toward the fading horizon.
"Not by much."
He snapped the watch shut.
"We'll arrive in time."
"Ten minutes past six."
Asano checked his watch again when the Fair finally came into view.
Lantern light glowed ahead.
The location had changed.
The character had not.
The familiar feeling returned immediately.
Rows of lights.
Moving crowds.
The scent of food and incense drifting through the evening air.
I found myself relaxing.
That surprised me.
The first time I had arrived at a Fair, I had felt like an outsider wandering into something far larger than himself.
Now it felt familiar.
Not home.
But familiar.
We parted after entering.
I stored the cart and greeted one of the Lamplighters. The face was unfamiliar. The coat was not. A lantern glowed softly at his side as he returned the greeting.
From there, I made my way to my stall.
The setup happened almost automatically.
Boxes opened.
Products arranged.
Price board positioned.
Flour parcels stacked neatly.
Oil bottles aligned.
Dried peels placed beside them.
Finally, I propped up the board.
My gaze lingered on the symbol in the corner.
The patron mark.
The thing that had puzzled me for weeks.
Now I knew what it meant.
Not everything.
But enough.
That alone felt like progress.
Soon customers began arriving.
The transactions flowed smoothly.
People examined products.
Selected what they wanted.
Paid.
Left.
The rhythm felt natural now.
A woman picked up one of the oil bottles.
"Sorry, are these oils only from oranges?"
"Yes."
I nodded.
"Only oranges."
"I see."
She purchased two.
The exchange lasted less than a minute.
Another customer asked a similar question.
I found myself explaining ingredients rather than origins.
The symbol answered larger questions.
The buyers merely wanted details.
By midnight, more than half my stock was gone.
The citrus products sold particularly well.
The flour continued moving steadily.
The raw radishes remained reliable.
Afterward, business slowed.
The crowd thinned.
The Fair entered one of its quieter phases.
I stretched my back and looked toward Asano's stall.
"Mr. Asano, would you mind watching my stall for a moment?"
He glanced over and nodded.
A simple agreement.
One trader helping another.
I thanked him and walked away.
The Assessor's stall looked much the same as before.
Not flashy.
Not crowded.
Purposeful.
I paid the fee and presented the sample.
A single radish.
Freshly harvested.
Representative of the crop.
The Assessor worked with practiced efficiency. His hands moved carefully, his attention never drifting.
This was clearly not his first assessment.
Nor his hundredth.
I waited.
Around us, people came and went through the Fair. Lanterns swayed gently in the night breeze.
Eventually he finished.
I straightened.
"What is it?"
The Assessor looked at me.
"Blooded Eclipse."
The words arrived plainly, as though he were naming a variety of cabbage.
No drama.
No emphasis.
Just fact.
"Blooded Eclipse."
I repeated it.
The name meant nothing to me.
The Assessor continued.
What it did.
How it functioned.
The relationship between hope and despair.
The emotional cycling.
Why consumers sought it.
Why it carried value.
The actual market value.
Not Yasui's numbers.
The actual market numbers.
I listened carefully.
Without interruption.
Without reaction.
Only when he finished did I ask one more question.
"The symbol on my price board."
I hesitated briefly.
"Is it related to what you've just told me?"
"Yes."
The answer came immediately.
"What does it mean exactly?"
The Assessor explained.
Patron marks.
Domains.
Recognition systems.
Information understood by participants within the ecosystem.
People who knew what they were looking at could identify a product immediately.
Its source.
Its affiliation.
Its category.
Everything.
"Did you place it there yourself?"
"No."
The Assessor accepted the answer without visible interest.
It wasn't his concern.
Professional neutrality.
Nothing more.
I thanked him and left.
Back at my stall, everything remained exactly where I had left it.
Asano nodded once.
I returned the gesture.
No words were necessary.
The remaining hours passed steadily.
I sold.
Counted.
Packed.
Sold again.
All the while my thoughts moved elsewhere.
The Assessor's figures.
Yasui's figures.
The difference between them.
The name.
Blooded Eclipse.
I turned it over in my mind, examining it from different angles. Not reaching conclusions.
Just observing.
By the time the Lamplighters began dimming the outer lanterns, most of my stock was gone. The remainder sold directly to the Fair.
Below market value.
Standard practice.
I accepted it.
Counted the final earnings.
The numbers were good.
Better than before.
The citrus products had helped.
The flour had helped.
Expansion was working.
Still, the Assessor's numbers remained beside every calculation.
Quiet.
Persistent.
I now understood exactly what Yasui took beyond his stated percentage.
The sixty percent was calculated against his price.
Not the market's.
A system designed to keep me profitable.
And dependent.
The realization settled without anger.
Without excitement.
Simply knowledge.
Knowledge rarely disappeared once acquired.
The sun was rising when we left.
Two carts.
Two tired farmers.
The road stretched ahead beneath pale morning light.
For a while neither of us spoke.
Then Asano glanced toward the roadside.
"Radishes and oranges are really smart."
I laughed.
"Ah, yes. You know us farmers."
"That's true."
His own cart carried a far wider variety.
Sweet potatoes.
Mushrooms.
Tangerines.
Several products I didn't immediately recognize.
The silence returned.
Comfortable again.
Eventually Asano yawned.
"The Assessors are worth paying."
I glanced toward him.
He remained focused on the road.
"Took me three visits before I thought to use one."
I filed the advice away.
"The inner ring is a whole different thing."
He spoke almost casually before taking a drink from his container.
No elaboration followed.
Only after several moments did he add quietly:
"Selling things you don't want to know you've sold until after."
The words nearly disappeared into the wind.
I didn't ask questions.
I simply listened.
Eventually we reached a fork in the road.
"I'm going this way."
"As am I."
We pointed in opposite directions.
"Until next time, Mr. Sada."
"Safe journey, Mr. Asano."
We parted there.
Two roads.
Two carts.
Two traders continuing along their own routes.
Dawn had fully arrived when I reached home.
Yu was already awake.
Tea waited on the table.
The smell reached me before I sat down.
I told her the earnings.
She immediately reached for her paper.
The number was better.
Noticeably better.
She acknowledged it with a small nod.
Nothing dramatic.
Simply fact.
I did not tell her about the Assessor.
Not yet.
I needed time.
Time to sit with the information.
To understand it properly.
The patron name remained in my thoughts.
Blooded Eclipse.
The meaning of the mark.
The true market value.
All of it stayed with me.
Instead, I told her about the citrus products and how well they had sold.
She underlined something on her calculations.
A loose strand of hair slipped forward.
She tucked it back absentmindedly.
Outside, morning settled over the yard.
The chicken wandered somewhere beyond the window, making its usual noises.
Ordinary sounds.
Comfortable sounds.
I wrapped both hands around my tea and felt the warmth seep into my fingers.
Blooded Eclipse.
The name remained where new knowledge always remained.
Near the front of the mind.
Waiting.
Eventually, I would decide what to do with it.
For now, I simply drank my tea and prepared for sleep.