In Search of the Soul’s Water

Umeboshi stared at the ground, his thoughts swirling as he processed what the Michibibito had just told him.

For his entire life, people had looked down on him. He never fit into society's mold, never wanted to follow the expectations imposed on him. The idea of working a dull job he despised, just to scrape by and eventually die a meaningless death, was unbearable to him.

What he truly longed for was freedom—a life where he could ride beautiful bikes, party every now and then, and enjoy the company of pretty girls. More than that, he craved a purpose that resonated with his soul, a goal born from his own desires, not something dictated by society or any external influence.

And yet, he did manage to find a purpose—or at least, he thought he had. Deep down, even he wasn't sure. The moment he believed he might have found that elusive goal, his life was cut short. He died. For thirty-three years, his spirit wandered the earth, aimless and without direction.

Umeboshi was a stubborn man, notorious for refusing to listen to anyone who tried to impose their beliefs on him, especially when they looked down on him. It didn't matter if it was a teacher, a rival delinquent from a neighboring school, the principal, or even the strange shaman boy he had reluctantly allied with during the chaos of the Hellride Amusement Park.

That boy—Cyrus Miravine—the shaman who had defeated him twice in a row.

He gritted his teeth at the memory but then paused, a thought creeping into his mind like an unwelcome guest.

I've never really matured, have I? he admitted to himself, the words bitter but undeniable. I never truly found my purpose. He beat me twice… Maybe it's time I listen to what he has to say. Maybe this journey will finally give me the answers I've been searching for—answers I couldn't find in life or even in thirty-three years of wandering as a spirit. Maybe, just maybe… I can finally be reborn.

Umeboshi lifted his eyes and met the gaze of the man in the dark kimono adorned with red spider lilies. His voice was low but carried a sharp edge.

"I accept the deal. But don't get my words twisted—I'm only accepting because, when I finish that journey, I'm going to crush you."

A smirk tugged at his lips, defiant and unyielding.

The Michibibito reached up and adjusted the kasa on his head, tilting it slightly. His gentle smile betrayed no hint of offense or malice.

"Very well," the man replied softly, "but I must warn you, this journey will leave scars—not just for the rest of your afterlife, but perhaps for multiple soul cycles to come."

Umeboshi's smirk faded. He looked up at the sky, his expression shifting to something more somber.

"I've always been stronger than most. Heh, I was the legendary delinquent who took down the five greatest delinquent factions in the city all on my own… in one night. Turns out, I've even got documentaries and movies about me." His voice grew quieter, tinged with regret. "But… I never found my purpose in that world. I let a lot of people down because of it."

His gaze dropped to the river beside him, its surface rippling beneath the glow of the infinite red bridge stretching into the horizon.

"After I died, I didn't know if I'd failed in my life or not—even though the answer should've been obvious. But my experience with that shaman… and in that park… it made me realize something."

He paused, his reflection in the water almost unrecognizable.

"I was never strong. Not really. I never found my purpose. I never truly matured—spiritually or mentally. For the first time in my life—if I can even call it that anymore—I… I want…"

His voice faltered for just a moment before he raised his eyes from the river, locking them with the Michibibito's. This time, his gaze burned with certainty.

"I want to finally answer the questions I've been asking myself my whole life—and my afterlife. I want to understand. To grow. So that I can start anew. That's why I'll take this journey. Through that river… I'll go."

The man raised his hand and pointed in the direction opposite the river. Umeboshi turned to follow the gesture, his gaze landing on a massive volcanic mountain looming in the distance. The sight was breathtaking—the mountain's jagged peaks jutted into the ashen sky, shrouded in a dense haze of smoke and sulfur.

"That's a big mountain—and quite a beautiful one, I'll admit," Umeboshi remarked, his voice carrying an edge of suspicion. "But why are you pointing at it? Aren't I supposed to head to the river?"

The Michibibito gave a small nod, his calm demeanor unshaken. "Yes, your journey lies within the river. However, to cross it, you must first possess six Mon. Without them, your passage is impossible."

The mention of Mon stirred a memory, vague yet familiar, in Umeboshi's mind. For centuries, Mon—ancient coins used in rituals and spiritual rites—had been symbolic of a soul's readiness for rebirth. Each coin represented a trial overcome, proof of a soul's resilience and maturity. The number six was not arbitrary but deeply rooted in the spiritual philosophy of balance and enlightenment. To traverse the Sanzu River, a soul needed these coins as payment for their passage—a tradition upheld since time immemorial.

"And I found these coins… where?" Umeboshi asked, his brow furrowing.

The Michibibito extended his hand toward the mountain again. "On Mount Osore," he said simply.

Mount Osore. The very name sent a ripple of unease through Umeboshi's mind. Known as the "Mountain of Fear," it was said to be a sacred yet treacherous place where the boundary between life and death was thin. Its volcanic terrain, filled with sulfuric lakes and ash-stained peaks, mirrored the torment of restless spirits trapped between worlds. For centuries, it had been both a place of pilgrimage and a graveyard for souls seeking redemption.

"Mount Osore…" Umeboshi murmured, the weight of the task settling over him. "And the trials?"

"The spirits of the mountain will test you," the Michibibito explained, his voice steady. "They hold the Mon and will offer them only to those they deem worthy. Each trial is unique, crafted to challenge not only your strength but your spirit, mind, and heart. If you survive and return with six Mon, you may cross the river."

The man in the dark kimono knelt gracefully, picking up the broken staff lying on the ground. His fingers traced the splintered wood, and with a faint glow emanating from his hand, the staff was restored to its original, unbroken state. He held it out to Umeboshi with a calm, steady gaze.

"Everything that needed to be said has been said," the man spoke in a gentle tone, his voice carrying an air of finality. "Good luck, Umeboshi Tatsunosuke."

Umeboshi stared at the staff for a moment, his expression unreadable. After a brief silence, he reached out and took it from the Michibibito's hands. Without a word of gratitude, he slung the staff over his shoulder and turned toward the looming volcanic mountain.

As he began walking, his voice, low and laced with defiance, broke the silence. "No potential, he said… Just wait. That brat and this smug bastard—both of them will see me again."

His smirk widened, confidence blazing in his eyes like the molten heart of the mountain ahead. "And when they do, I'll crush them both under my feet."

With that, Umeboshi continued toward Mount Osore, the shadow of the colossal peak swallowing him as he disappeared into the distance.

***

"No good! No good at all! Why can't I do it again? I was able to do it the first time!" Viora screamed in frustration, her voice echoing through the serene garden. She lay sprawled on the grass, her hands clutching at her hair in exasperation.

Two days had passed since she had first taken the initial step toward Mushin—the state of no-mind and pure flow. In that fleeting moment, she had achieved something extraordinary. Yet now, that same accomplishment seemed impossible to replicate.

Her body had undergone a remarkable transformation during her training. Her healing abilities had advanced to such an extent that wounds that once took weeks to mend now closed almost entirely after two days of rest. But despite her physical progress, her mind remained a battlefield of doubt and frustration.

The sound of footsteps approached, but she didn't bother to look up. She already knew who it was. Cyrus stood nearby, his wooden sword resting against his shoulder, his expression calm yet unreadable.

"Still stuck, huh?" he said, his tone detached but not unkind.

Viora sat up, glaring at him. "What do you think? I keep trying, but it's like my body just… won't listen! It worked before, so why not now?"

Cyrus sighed, lowering his wooden sword slightly as he looked at Viora. His voice carried a calm but firm tone as he spoke.

"You're hesitating and overthinking my next move," he said. "You're hurting your own progress by doing so. You need to be fully present in the moment—not stuck worrying about the future of the fight."

He turned his gaze upward, watching the clouds drift lazily across the sky. In a quieter voice, as if reciting a lesson to himself as much as to her, he continued, "The master of Zen, Takuan Sōhō, once said:

'If you focus on striking a man, grasping a sword, or even thinking about your opponent, your mind will stop. If your mind stops, your actions will stop.'

His eyes shifted back to Viora, sharp and piercing. "In a fight, when even a single second can mean the difference between life and death, you don't have the luxury to overthink or hesitate. We've told you this before—Gwishin and I both."

Viora sighed deeply, her gaze falling to the grass as she sat, her shoulders slumped. Her voice was low, tinged with sadness.

"I don't know, Cyrus," she murmured. "I might've dodged Gwishin's attack by pure luck. I mean, I was on the verge of passing out… I don't think I'm good enough for this."

Cyrus exhaled sharply, his tone steady but carrying a hint of exasperation.

"What the hell are you talking about? No one dodges and counters an attack in the state of Mushin by luck." His eyes narrowed slightly as he continued, his words firm but not unkind. "You have immense potential, Viora. Just pulling off what you did two days ago, with barely any real fighting experience, is proof enough. And more importantly…"

He paused for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle. Then, with a teasing smirk, he added, "Aren't you supposed to be my partner in taking down spirits from now on? Surely, my partner wouldn't give up this easily. Honestly, I'm a bit disappointed if that's all you've got… Viora."

Her head shot up, her face flushed with embarrassment as she quickly scrambled to her feet.

"Shut up, silly!" she snapped, her voice rising in mock anger. "What are you even talking about?"

She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and then her expression softened into a gentle smile.

"Obviously, it's not all I've got, silly. Thanks for the kind words... partner. Let's continue this sparring session."

Cyrus's smile was subtle but genuine as he nodded. Without another word, the two dashed toward each other at incredible speed, their movements a blur of determination and resolve.

chapter sixty five end