Chương 3: Fourteen Winters

At the base of the porch stairs, Officer Gilmore rested her hands on her duty belt, her eyes tracking across the wooden deck to take in the broken angle grinder and the severed halves of the manacles before locking onto the broad teenager standing behind the homeowner.

As he tracked her movements, Kurisu observed the dark uniform and the belt loaded with an array of unfamiliar pouches, noting that rather than a singular weapon worn on the left hip to facilitate a clean draw, this woman carried a cluttered assortment of tools wrapped around her waist, leaving him to guess which implement she actually favored.

"I'm Officer Gilmore," she announced.

"Are you the homeowner who called dispatch?"

"I am," Steven confirmed, stepping down the stairs to meet her halfway.

"I'm Steven Miller, and my wife and I made the call." Briefly nodding, Gilmore shifted her focus past Steven, locking her gaze onto the reddened rings around Kurisu's wrists.

"Dispatch mentioned you found a young man locked in irons, Mr. Miller. Are those the restraints on the porch?"

"Yes, they are," Steven answered as he retrieved his license from his wallet, handing it over to the officer.

"We actually found him wandering near our property line last night. While my wife, Charlotte, called DCFS immediately to get it on record, we held off on calling police dispatch until this morning because the guy was dead on his feet, so we got him a bath, food, and a bed first." When she accepted the ID, Gilmore appeared to relax at the explanation, nodding her head as she pulled a notebook from her breast pocket. Repeatedly clicking her pin, she stepped onto the porch to address Kurisu directly.

"Sir, do you understand anything I'm saying? Do you have a name?" No glowing box in use, Kurisu just heard unintelligible foreign syllables. He kept his gaze fixed on her eyes while Steven stepped in to bridge the gap, pulling out his phone to show her the interpreter.

"He's only responded to Japanese so far, Officer," Steven explained.

"I've been using this to get basic concepts across, but he doesn't seem to know where he is, and we haven't gotten much else out of him."

"And the firefighters were able to successfully remove the restraints," Gilmore mumbled as she scribbled. She glanced at the two firefighters, lingering on them as they packed the angle grinder away into a duffel bag, the first man shaking his head once he zipped the fabric closed.

"No. Whatever that metal was, it broke my angle grinder, Officer. But that kid was able to peel it apart with his bare hands." Hovering her pen over the paper, Gilmore looked down at the rings of twisted metal resting on the porch, shifting her gaze back to Kurisu's hands. Shaking her head, she scribbled on the paper some more before handing the ID card back to Steven and tapping the radio on her shoulder.

"Dispatch, this is Unit Six. What's the ETA on that DCFS caseworker, and can they bring a Japanese interpreter with them? Unidentified minor is a potential abuse victim." With a release of the button, she turned her attention back to Steven.

"Take him inside, Mr. Miller. I'm going to secure these irons as evidence while we wait for the social worker." While walking back into the house was easier than navigating the stairs earlier that morning, Kurisu still had to concentrate on carefully placing his feet down on the carpet to avoid bouncing off the floorboards. After taking a seat at the dining room table, he rested his hands flat against his thighs.

When Charlotte stepped up beside his chair a moment later to place a hand over his forearm, his shoulder muscles twitched, settling back down only after he recognized her presence. As the doorbell chimed two hours later, Steven walked down the hallway, pulling the door open to usher two men into the dining room. Sagging under a wrinkled suit jacket, the older man carried a leather briefcase, while the second man, who looked scarcely older than Kurisu, wore a blue button-down shirt and carried a yellow legal pad.

After Charlotte guided them toward the chairs, pulling one out for herself to sit beside Kurisu, the older man dropped his briefcase onto the dining table to pull out a digital tablet.

"Mr. and Mrs. Miller, I'm Arthur Henderson with DCFS," the older man said.

"This is Ren Sato, a certified interpreter for the county. Officer Gilmore briefed me on the physical evidence outside and the timeline of your initial call. We need to establish this young man's identity and figure out where he belongs." Pulling a chair out, the interpreter sat directly next to Kurisu, flashing a smile. Then, accompanied by more of those thumb clicks, he spoke in what Kurisu considered an overly casual dialect.

"Hello. I'm Sato, the interpreter. May I ask your name?" he asked in Japanese. Finally hearing something familiar, Kurisu couldn't help but note the soft hands and the lack of calluses as he studied the young man, identifying him as a scholar type rather than a fighter. Straightening his spine, he endeavored to address this civilian with the appropriate formality and projected his voice." Ware, Nodaichi Kurisu nari."

With his pen ready above the paper, Sato blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing his features before he smoothed his expression back into a polite smile.

"Nodaichi- san. Where in Japan did you come from?" he asked. Through half-closed lids, Kurisu stared at Sato and lowered his voice." -San? Do not address me with such familiar insolence. And what is ' Nihon'? Do you refer to the daishō? If you speak of the daishō, state so plainly." Flinching at the rebuke, Sato leaned back in his chair.

"I'm terribly sorry, Nodaichi- sama," he stammered, providing the elevated honorific as he slowly lowered his pen. Running a hand through his dark hair, the interpreter let out a shaky breath before turning his head to look at Henderson.

"Mr. Henderson, I can communicate with him, but we have a strange problem here. He speaks Japanese, but it isn't normal at all." Henderson narrowed his eyes, looking up from his tablet.

"Is it a regional dialect? Okinawa? Hokkaido?" Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

"No, it's not geographical, it's temporal," Sato explained, leaning forward as his pitch rose.

"He's using archaic grammar structures and historical vocabulary. He ended his sentence with a classical copula that translates roughly to how a warlord would speak in a historical text. Furthermore, he just forced me to apologize for using a standard polite honorific, and he claims he doesn't know what the word ' Nihon' means. He thought I was talking about the daishō, the traditional samurai sword pair, since the word Nihon is a homophone for—""We don't need a linguistics lesson, Sato," Henderson interrupted.

Leaning forward, Charlotte cut in, her voice even.

"He was wandering around wearing iron shackles, Mr. Henderson. If he was raised in some sort of isolated environment, it clearly wasn't by choice."

"I understand that, Mrs. Miller," Henderson sighed, tapping a stylus against his screen.

"We need to get through the standard intake questions. Ask him his age, Sato, and find out where his parents are." His tone shifted to match the formal Kurisu had established. Sato turned back to address him.

"Nodaichi- sama. How old are you?"

"I have crossed fourteen winters." As the pen clattered to the table, Kurisu watched it roll along the wood until it hit the edge of Henderson's tablet.

"Now what?" Henderson barked. The interpreter stared at Kurisu.

"He says he's fourteen," he told Henderson, his voice devoid of its earlier polish.

"This kid is actually claiming to be fourteen years old." Halting his typing, Henderson locked his gaze onto Kurisu's broad shoulders and the thick arms stretching the black cotton fabric of the t-shirt.

"Fourteen? Sato, look at him. He weighs at least two hundred and twenty pounds. Are you sure he didn't say seventeen? Or maybe, maybe sixteen?"

"He used the phrase 'crossed fourteen winters,'" Sato replied, picking his pen back up with a shaking hand.

"The phrasing is archaic, but the translation is exact. I agree with you, though. He speaks Japanese, but look at his height. He's at least six-foot-three or four. A native Japanese fourteen-year-old built like an American linebacker? Genetically, that doesn't make sense."

"Fine. Ask him about his parents, and ask who put those chains on him." Clearing his throat, Sato directed his attention back to Kurisu, keeping his chair pushed back from the edge of the table.

"Nodaichi- sama, where are your parents? Who put you in those iron chains?" His jaw set, Kurisu held the man's gaze for a long moment. Why did everyone insist upon asking this same question? Hadn't he recalled it enough?

"My father and mother have already departed this world. The chains were placed upon me by the emissaries of Ryū." After scribbling something onto the yellow pad, Sato looked up at the caseworker with wide eyes.

"He says his parents are deceased, and he claims the people who chained him were 'the emissaries of the dragon,' which sounds exactly like a cult." With a sigh, Henderson rubbed the bridge of his nose, reaching down to pull a stack of forms from his leather briefcase before spreading them across the wood.

"Write it down. I'll have PD run the name through the gang and cult databases." Arranging the papers in front of Charlotte, the older man shook his head.

"Normally, an unidentified minor with suspected severe abuse goes straight to a county intake facility. We run his fingerprints, check missing persons, and notify the Japanese consulate to begin the repatriation and deportation process. Until we locate extended family, he stays in a group home." While Henderson continued outlining the standard protocol, Sato leaned across the table, speaking in a hushed tone to provide Kurisu with a running translation.

"They are discussing where to house you, Nodaichi- sama." Without shifting his expression, Kurisu accepted the information, acknowledging the interpreter with a single, slow nod. As the caseworker detailed the intake process, Charlotte shook her head, cutting into the conversation.

"He doesn't need to go to a group home. He's exhausted, he doesn't speak the language, and the state facilities are already overcrowded. We have a spare bedroom, and he's already somewhat familiar with us."

"This woman argues that you should remain here, Nodaichi- sama," Sato whispered. Kurisu cocked an eyebrow. And just what is this woman thinking? She knows nothing of me. I should inquire of the golden building I saw. Though barring that, I suppose accepting this woman's hospitality would serve me for the time being.

When Henderson shifted his gaze from Charlotte back across the table, Kurisu met the caseworker's scrutiny, catching a slight, almost nonexistent glaze of purple in the older man's eyes for just a moment. What was that? Frowning, Kurisu kept his back straight against the chair while he listened to the whispered translation.

"You're right about the state facilities being overcrowded, Mrs. Miller," Henderson admitted, tapping his stylus against the table.

"Given the lack of established identity and his high vulnerability index, moving him to a strange facility could be detrimental. Since you and your husband are the reporting parties, and he appears stable in your presence, I can utilize an emergency kinship protocol, which essentially functions as a temporary foster placement. Though that's a large load you're taking on." Stepping closer to the table, Steven pulled up a chair to sit beside his wife.

"What does that mean for us?"

"It means he can stay here, under your temporary guardianship, while the state conducts an investigation," Henderson explained, sliding another printed form across the table toward Steven.

"We will run background checks on both of you. You provide him shelter, food, and safety. I will assign a permanent caseworker to visit weekly, and Sato will assist with interviews so we can figure out who he is and where he came from." Leaning back slightly in his chair, Sato whispered, "They have agreed. It has been decided that you shall remain here, Nodaichi- sama."

"What of a golden pavilion?" Kurisu asked.

"I was instructed to seek it out upon my arrival here."

"A golden pavilion? You mean the Golden Pagoda in Kyoto? That's in Japan, which is a possible place for you to go to once your citizenship is verified," Sato explained.

"For right now, you'll need to stay here, but once the consulate of Japan has been notified of you, they will likely have you sent there."

"And where is this 'Japan'?" Kurisu asked.

"Wow, we've got a lot of work ahead of us, don't we? It's across the Pacific Ocean, on the other side of the world. Again though, just sit tight with the Millers and you'll be home in no time," Sato replied. After Steven signed his name across the bottom line, he passed the paper to Charlotte, watching as she signed the document before pushing it back to the caseworker. Once he gathered the printed forms, Henderson slipped the paperwork back into his briefcase, standing up to button his wrinkled suit jacket.

"The state will issue him a temporary identification number by tomorrow. Until we find his extended family, he is a ward of the county, placed in your care." With a bow toward Kurisu, Sato stood up to follow the older man down the hallway. When the front door clicked shut a moment later, the house fell quiet, broken only when Charlotte let out a long breath, reaching over to squeeze her husband's hand.