The trouble began with a pouch of coins.
Ren learned that much before he had even reached the house.
He had been sitting beneath the shade of the shop’s awning, sorting through the mental notes he had made during the past few weeks, when he heard raised voices coming from the road.
Not the usual shouting of drunk men.
There was anger in it, but also fear.
Ren looked up.
Two villagers were standing several dozen steps away.
One was a man Ren recognized.
Matsuo.
He was a farmer in his thirties, broad-shouldered and permanently tanned from working beneath the sun.
Ren had seen him several times since beginning his little practice as a fortune teller.
Matsuo had never asked for a reading himself, but he had once brought his wife when she was worried about their sick child.
The other person was an older woman.
Ren did not know her name.
The woman was pointing accusingly at Matsuo, her voice pitched high with fury.
“You know exactly what happened!”
“I told you already, I didn’t take it!” Matsuo’s voice cracked, more wounded than angry.
“You were the last person inside!”
“I was there because you asked me to repair the door!”
“Then where did it go?”
Several people had begun watching.
The old man behind the shop sighed.
“Again?”
Ren glanced at him.
“You know them?”
“Unfortunately.” The old man rubbed his forehead.
“That’s Matsuo.
The woman is Otsu.
She sells cloth and thread in the village.”
“What happened?”
“Apparently, money disappeared from her house.” The old man paused.
“And naturally, both of them have decided the other is responsible.”
Ren looked toward the arguing pair.
Matsuo was becoming increasingly red in the face.
Otsu looked close to tears.
Neither looked particularly like a thief.
Then again, Ren had already learned enough to know that appearances meant very little.
“What kind of money?”
“Enough to make people angry.”
“That’s not a useful measurement.”
“It is in a village.”
Ren almost smiled.
The old man glanced at him, mouth pulling into a warning line.
“Don’t get involved.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“You were looking.”
“I always look.”
“That’s precisely why I’m telling you.”
Before Ren could answer, Otsu suddenly turned toward the shop.
Her eyes landed on him.
The expression on her face changed.
Not relief.
Hope.
That was worse.
She hurried over.
“Ren.”
He immediately regretted being visible.
“Yes?”
“You can tell fortunes, can’t you?”
The old man groaned.
Matsuo followed her gaze.
“You?”
Ren straightened.
“I practice divination.”
“Then tell me who stole it,” Matsuo said, his voice sharp as a blade.
Otsu immediately snapped back.
“Of course you want him to tell us.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you’re the one who took it!”
“I didn’t!”
“Enough.” The old man’s voice was quiet.
It somehow carried farther than either of theirs.
The villagers fell silent.
He looked at Otsu.
“If Ren is going to help, stop shouting.” Then he looked at Matsuo.
“And you.”
Matsuo muttered something beneath his breath.
The old man pointed toward the shop.
“Inside.”
Ren stared at him.
“You said not to get involved.”
“I said don’t get involved.” The old man gave him a tired look.
“Apparently, nobody listens to me anymore.”
The missing money amounted to twenty-three mon.
Ren counted them twice.
Otsu had kept the coins in a small cloth pouch.
She had apparently been saving them for several months.
Not an enormous fortune, but enough to matter.
She had intended to purchase cloth from a travelling merchant who was expected to arrive within the next few days.
According to Otsu, the pouch had been hidden beneath a wooden box in her home.
She had checked it three days ago.
Yesterday, she had discovered it missing.
There were only three people who knew where she kept it.
Otsu herself.
Her younger brother, who lived with her.
And Matsuo.
That last part was where the accusation came from.
Matsuo had visited her home the previous afternoon to repair a damaged door frame.
He had been alone.
He had worked inside the house for roughly an hour.
Afterward, he had left.
The money was discovered missing the next morning.
Simple.
Almost too simple.
Ren sat cross-legged inside the shop, the pouch lying between himself and Otsu.
Matsuo sat several steps away, arms crossed tight over his chest.
The old man had decided to remain.
“Tell him everything,” the old man said.
“I already did.”
“Everything.”
Otsu hesitated, her fingers worrying at the hem of her sleeve.
Then she began again.
Ren listened.
He did not interrupt.
That was something he had learned recently — people often filled silence more readily than they filled questions.
She told him about the money.
About where she kept it.
About Matsuo repairing the door.
About discovering the pouch missing.
About the argument that followed.
Then came the accusations.
Matsuo had been struggling with his harvest.
He owed grain to another farmer.
His wife had recently fallen ill.
He had apparently asked Otsu for a loan several weeks earlier.
She had refused.
That was enough for Otsu.
“He needed money,” she said, chin lifting defiantly.
“So you think he stole it.”
“Who else could have?”
Matsuo scoffed, a bitter sound.
“I could ask the same question.”
“You were inside my house.”
“So was your brother.”
“My brother would never—”
“You don’t know that.”
Otsu’s expression hardened.
Ren looked at Matsuo.
“You borrowed money from her?”
“I asked.”
“Why?”
“My wife needed medicine.”
“Did you get it?”
Matsuo looked away, jaw working.
“Eventually.”
“So you didn’t need the money anymore?”
“I found another way.”
Ren nodded.
He looked at Otsu.
“Your brother.
Where is he?”
“At the neighboring village.”
“Why?”
“He went to visit our aunt.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Before or after you discovered the money?”
“After.”
Ren looked back at Matsuo.
“You were inside her house alone?”
“Yes.”
“For an hour?”
“Perhaps.”
“Did you see the pouch?”
“No.”
Ren studied his face.
Matsuo’s aura was difficult to describe.
Ren’s Spirit Vision had become more natural over the past several months — it no longer required deliberate effort every time he looked at someone.
There were faint colors around everyone.
Usually vague.
Usually useless.
But emotions left traces.
Matsuo’s aura was agitated.
Anger.
Embarrassment.
Fear.
Ren narrowed his eyes.
Fear.
That was interesting.
But fear did not mean guilt.
He had learned that much already.
A man could be afraid because he had committed a crime.
He could also be afraid because someone believed he had.
Or because he feared losing his reputation.
Or because he feared what would happen to his family.
Or simply because he was being accused.
Ren stopped looking.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
Otsu stared at him, eyes glistening.
“Find the truth.”
Ren nearly laughed.
Instead, he reached for the pouch.
“I’ll try.”
He placed the pouch in front of him.
The cloth was old and slightly worn.
Otsu had used it for years.
Ren held it between his palms.
His eyes closed.
He let his breathing slow.
He focused on the object.
Nothing.
He waited.
Still nothing.
Then, faintly — a sensation.
Not a vision.
Not words.
A direction.
Something had happened around the pouch.
Ren opened his eyes.
He looked at Otsu.
“Where was this kept?”
She pointed toward the back of the room.
“Beneath that box.”
Ren walked over.
The box was old.
He crouched beside it.
Dust had accumulated underneath.
He examined the floor.
There were marks.
Someone had moved it recently.
Ren’s heartbeat quickened.
“Who moved this?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“After you discovered the money?”
“Yes.”
That meant nothing.
Ren sighed.
He had been hoping for something more dramatic.
Instead, he had found a box that had been moved by the person who owned it.
He returned to the pouch.
Perhaps pendulum divination would help.
He took out the small pendulum he had made.
The old man watched.
Matsuo looked skeptical.
Otsu looked desperate, hands clasped so tight her knuckles had gone pale.
Ren placed the pouch on the floor.
He held the pendulum above it.
“Was the money removed from this house?”
The pendulum moved.
Back and forth.
Yes.
Ren’s eyes narrowed.
That was useful.
He changed the question.
“Was the money taken by Matsuo?”
The pendulum swung.
Ren watched carefully.
Yes.
His stomach tightened.
Otsu inhaled sharply.
Matsuo stood, chair scraping against the floor.
“I told you!”
Ren held up a hand.
“Sit.”
Matsuo stared at him.
“Did you just say—”
“Sit.”
Something in Ren’s voice made him obey.
Ren looked at the pendulum.
He repeated the question.
“Was the money taken by Matsuo?” Yes.
Again.
A clear response.
Ren looked at Matsuo.
“You took the money.”
“I didn’t.”
“The pendulum says you did.”
Matsuo’s face went pale.
“The pendulum can be wrong.”
Ren frowned.
It was not supposed to be.
At least, not in this way.
He had tested it.
Repeatedly.
The results were not perfect, but when the questions were precise, he had gotten surprisingly consistent answers.
Perhaps the object had retained something.
Perhaps the connection was weak.
Perhaps—
“Did you take the pouch?”
“No.”
The pendulum moved.
Yes.
Ren’s confidence increased.
“There.”
Matsuo shook his head, desperation creeping into his voice.
“I didn’t.”
“You expect me to believe you over the divination?”
“I expect you to believe me because I know what I did!”
Otsu looked at Ren.
“Then he stole it.”
Ren turned toward her.
“Don’t interrupt.” The words came out more harshly than he intended.
She fell silent, flinching slightly.
Ren looked back at Matsuo.
“Where is the money?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you move it?”
“No.”
“Did you touch the pouch?”
“No.”
The pendulum moved.
Yes.
Ren stared.
Something was wrong.
He asked again.
“Did you touch the pouch?”
Yes.
Matsuo looked almost offended.
“I told you I didn’t.”
Ren’s brow furrowed.
The pendulum had answered the same way four times.
Either Matsuo was lying — or — Ren looked at the pouch.
He remembered what the old man had told him.
People rarely asked what they actually wanted to know.
But this wasn’t fortune telling.
This was a question.
A simple question.
Yes or no.
Perhaps the pendulum was answering something slightly different.
Ren shook the thought away.
He was overcomplicating things.
“Did you steal twenty-three coins from Otsu?”
The pendulum moved.
Yes.
Matsuo slammed his palm against the floor.
“I DID NOT!”
Ren’s eyes narrowed.
“Then explain why the divination keeps saying otherwise.”
“I can’t!” Matsuo’s breathing had become ragged.
His aura was practically trembling.
But there was something strange about it.
Ren focused.
Fear.
Anger.
Humiliation.
No satisfaction.
No greed.
No relief.
No concealed amusement.
Nothing that looked like the emotional residue of someone who had successfully stolen money.
Ren looked away.
He did not trust himself enough to use another person’s aura as proof.
He needed something concrete.
“Did you take any money from this house?”
“No.”
Yes.
Ren’s grip tightened around the pendulum.
“Did you take anything from this house?”
“No.”
Yes.
“Did you remove something from beneath the box?”
“No.”
Yes.
Ren stopped.
He looked at Matsuo.
The man stared back, jaw set, eyes rimmed red with frustration.
There was no obvious deception.
Ren felt a headache forming behind his eyes.
The old man, sitting near the entrance, spoke.
“Perhaps you’re asking the wrong thing.”
Ren looked at him.
The old man shrugged, an infuriatingly placid expression on his face.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You just did.”
“I’ve been sitting here for an hour.
Eventually I have to say something.”
Ren ignored him.
He tried again.
“Who took the money?”
The pendulum didn’t move.
Ren stared.
“Unknown.”
It was a vague and broad question, so the result didn’t surprise him.
The old man nodded.
“Sounds promising.”
“At least it agrees with you.”
Ren gave him a flat look.
He tried another question.
“Is Matsuo responsible for the disappearance?”
Clockwise.
Yes.
Ren’s eyes widened.
Again.
He asked, “Did Matsuo steal the money?”
The pendulum didn’t move.
Unknown.
Ren stared at them.
That was inconsistent.
He tried again.
The result changed.
He tried a third time.
Different again.
His irritation grew.
“This isn’t working.”
Matsuo laughed bitterly.
“Good.”
Ren looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because perhaps now you’ll believe me.”
Ren decided to investigate the house.
If divination couldn’t give him a clear answer, perhaps the physical evidence could.
Otsu showed him the room.
The box.
The damaged door.
The place where the pouch had supposedly been hidden.
Ren examined everything.
There were no broken locks.
No obvious signs of forced entry.
The window was too small for an adult.
The door had been damaged before Matsuo arrived.
Matsuo had repaired it.
Ren looked closely at the wood.
“Did you replace this?”
“Part of it.”
“Where did the old piece go?”
“I threw it away.”
“Where?”
“Behind the house.”
Ren found it.
Nothing.
He examined the discarded wood.
Nothing.
Then he noticed something.
A faint smear of mud.
Not on the wood.
On the underside of the box.
He crouched.
The mud was old.
Perhaps a day.
Perhaps two.
He touched it.
Dry.
“Who moved the box before you?”
Otsu shook her head.
“No one.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Your brother?”
“No.”
“Your brother knows about the money?”
“Of course.”
Ren frowned.
“How much did he know?”
“That I was saving it.”
“Did he know where?”
Otsu hesitated, gaze sliding away.
“I don’t know.”
Ren looked at her.
She sighed.
“I suppose he did.”
“Why?”
“Because he lives here.”
That answer was technically correct.
Ren stood.
“What’s your brother’s name?”
“Jiro.”
“How old?”
“Seventeen.”
Ren nodded.
“Does he work?”
“Sometimes.”
“Doing what?”
“Whatever he can.”
“Does he owe anyone money?”
Otsu’s expression changed.
Ren noticed.
“Does he?”
She looked away.
“Not that I know of.”
That was not an answer.
Ren felt a familiar sensation.
His intuition.
Something clicking.
He followed it.
“Has Jiro ever asked you for money?”
“Everyone asks me for money.”
“Has he?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Last week.”
“How much?”
“Three mon.”
“Why?”
“He wanted to buy food while visiting our aunt.”
Ren paused.
“Your aunt is in the neighboring village.”
“Yes.”
“How long has he been there?”
“He left yesterday.”
“When?”
“Morning.”
“What time?”
“After sunrise.”
Ren looked at the floor.
Then at the box.
Then at the pouch.
Twenty-three coins.
Jiro had asked for three.
Matsuo had previously asked for money.
Two people had reasons to need it.
Neither admitted anything.
Ren felt as though the pieces were almost fitting.
Almost.
He hated that word.
That evening, Ren followed Matsuo home.
Not secretly.
At least, not particularly well.
Matsuo noticed him halfway there.
“What are you doing?”
“Walking.”
“To my house?”
“Apparently.”
Matsuo sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion.
“My wife is sick.”
“I know.”
“You think I stole the money.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Ren stopped.
“Do you owe someone money?”
Matsuo looked at him, then away, shoulders sagging.
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“How much?”
“Ten mon.”
Ren frowned.
“Who?”
“A man from the next village.”
“Why?”
“Seeds.”
“Did you pay him?”
“No.”
“When were you supposed to?”
“Yesterday.”
Ren understood.
The timing was almost perfect.
Matsuo had needed money.
He had been inside Otsu’s house.
The money disappeared afterward.
The pendulum had answered yes.
Everything pointed toward him.
But something still bothered Ren.
“Why didn’t you take it?”
Matsuo stared, wounded.
“Because I didn’t.”
“Then why does the divination say you did?”
“I don’t know.”
Ren believed him.
That frightened him more than if Matsuo had lied.
Because if the divination was wrong, then what exactly had he been trusting?
He looked at Matsuo’s aura.
Fear.
Not the fear of being caught.
The fear of being accused.
Ren lowered his eyes.
“Did you touch the box?”
Matsuo hesitated.
“No.”
The pendulum in Ren’s hand moved.
Yes.
Ren looked up.
Matsuo’s expression changed.
“I didn’t touch the money.”
Ren said nothing.
Matsuo swallowed.
“I moved the box.”
“Why?”
“Because the door was damaged.
When I was repairing it, I needed somewhere to put the tools.”
Ren stared.
“When?”
“While I was working.”
“So you moved it.”
“Yes.”
“And then put it back.”
“Yes.”
“Did you touch the pouch?”
“No.”
“Did you see it?”
“No.”
Ren asked again.
“Did you touch the pouch?”
“No.”
The pendulum moved.
Yes.
Ren stared at it.
Matsuo looked at him.
“Does that mean I stole it?”
Ren slowly lowered the pendulum.
“No.”
“Then what does it mean?”
Ren didn’t answer.
Because he didn’t know.
*****
The answer came the following morning.
Not through divination.
Through a child.
Ren was standing outside Otsu’s house when a little girl approached.
She was carrying a bundle of firewood almost too large for her.
Ren moved aside.
She looked at him.
Then at the house.
“Are you the fortune teller?”
Ren sighed.
“Apparently.”
“My mother says you’re good.”
“Your mother?”
“Otsu.”
Ren blinked.
“She’s your mother?”
The girl nodded.
Ren looked at the bundle.
“Put that down.”
“I can carry it.”
“I believe you.”
He took it anyway.
The girl frowned, cheeks puffing with mild indignation.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know.”
She looked at him suspiciously, then said, “Mother’s angry.”
“I noticed.”
“She thinks Matsuo took the money.”
“I noticed that too.”
The girl kicked at the dirt.
“My uncle says he did.”
“Your uncle?”
“Jiro.”
Ren’s attention sharpened.
“What did Jiro say?”
“He said Matsuo was inside the house.”
Ren crouched.
“Did you see Jiro yesterday?”
“No.”
“He wasn’t here?”
“He came back.”
Ren went still.
“When?”
“At night.”
Ren’s heart skipped.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“He gave Mother some coins.”
Ren stared.
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you see them?”
“Yes.”
“What did they look like?”
“Like coins.” She said it with the flat certainty of a child stating the obvious.
Ren almost smiled.
“Fair enough.” He stood.
“Where is Jiro now?”
“At home.”
Ren turned.
Then stopped.
Something bothered him.
“Why did Jiro give your mother coins?”
The girl shrugged.
“He said he found them.”
Ren felt the pieces shift.
Not into place.
Away from place.
He hurried inside.
Otsu was sitting near the fire.
Jiro was there.
A teenage boy.
Thin.
Tired.
His clothes were dusty from travelling.
Ren looked at him.
Then at Otsu.
“Your daughter says Jiro gave you money last night.”
Otsu frowned.
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-three mon.”
Ren’s mind went blank.
Twenty-three.
Exactly.
He turned toward Jiro.
“Where did you get it?”
Jiro looked at him, eyes darting briefly to his sister before settling somewhere on the floor.
“I found it.”
“Where?”
“On the road.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Where?”
“Near the river.”
Ren stared.
The story was plausible.
Almost.
“Why didn’t you tell your sister where you found it?”
Jiro hesitated.
“I thought she would worry.”
“Why?”
“Because I was afraid someone might accuse me of stealing it.”
Ren looked at Otsu.
She looked confused.
Then angry.
“Jiro.”
“I didn’t steal it.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because—” Jiro stopped.
Ren waited.
The silence stretched.
Finally, the boy spoke, voice barely above a whisper.
“I did take it.”
Otsu’s face went pale.
Ren remained still.
“I took the money.” Jiro lowered his head.
“I needed it.”
Otsu’s voice trembled.
“Why?”
“I owed someone.”
“Who?”
Jiro didn’t answer.
Otsu stood, fists clenched at her sides.
“You stole from me?”
“I was going to return it.”
“With what?”
“I had work.”
“You had work?” Her voice cracked, disbelief and hurt tangled together.
Jiro’s voice broke as well.
“I was going to work for them for a few weeks.
They would have let me pay it back.”
Otsu stared at him.
Ren finally understood.
Jiro had taken the money.
But he had not kept it.
Something else had happened.
“What happened to the coins?”
Jiro looked at him.
“I lost them.”
Ren frowned.
“Lost them?”
“On the way.”
“How?”
“I put them in the pouch.” He glanced at the small cloth pouch.
“Then I hid it.”
“Where?”
“Under the box.”
Ren’s eyes widened.
“When?”
“Before Matsuo came.”
There it was.
The missing piece.
Jiro had stolen the money.
Then hidden it again.
Matsuo had moved the box while repairing the door.
The pouch had been exposed.
Matsuo had touched it without knowing what was inside.
But the pouch was gone.
“What did you do when you came back?”
“I looked for it.”
“Where?”
“Under the box.”
“It wasn’t there.”
Jiro shook his head.
“I thought someone had taken it.”
“So you lied.”
“I was scared.”
“And then?”
“I searched the house.”
“Did you find it?”
“No.”
Ren stared at him.
“Then where did the money come from?”
Jiro looked confused.
“What?”
“The money you gave your sister.”
Jiro shook his head.
“I didn’t.”
Ren looked at Otsu.
She looked equally confused.
“But you gave me twenty-three coins.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t.”
Silence.
Ren’s pulse quickened.
Someone else had given Otsu the money.
Someone else had put it back.
Someone else—
He looked toward the door.
Matsuo.
Matsuo arrived less than an hour later.
Ren confronted him outside.
“You returned the money.”
Matsuo stared.
“What?”
“The coins.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Otsu has them.”
Matsuo’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
But Ren saw it.
“You put them back.”
Matsuo was silent, jaw tightening.
“Why?”
“I didn’t steal them.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you accusing me?”
“I’m not.” Ren took a breath.
“Did you find the pouch?”
Matsuo looked away.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Where?”
“Under the box.”
Ren stared.
“After you moved it?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Matsuo’s jaw tightened further.
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Being accused.”
“You were already being accused.”
“I didn’t know that.”
Ren paused.
Matsuo continued.
“I found the pouch after I finished repairing the door.
It was sitting behind the box.”
“You opened it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to see if it was empty.”
“Why?”
Matsuo looked at him.
“I thought it was mine.”
Ren blinked.
“What?”
“I have a pouch that looks exactly like it.”
That explained the pendulum.
Ren felt a chill.
“Continue.”
“I opened it.
There were coins inside.
I realized they weren’t mine.”
“And?”
“I put it back.”
“Where?”
“Under the box.”
Ren frowned.
“Then why is the money gone?”
Matsuo looked at him.
“I don’t know.”
Ren’s mind raced.
Jiro had hidden the money.
Matsuo had found the pouch and opened it.
Then returned it.
Jiro had returned later.
The pouch had been missing.
But Otsu had received twenty-three coins.
Something didn’t fit.
Again.
Ren closed his eyes.
He let his Spirit Vision spread.
Not toward the people.
Toward the house.
Toward the objects.
The room was quiet.
Then — a faint impression.
Movement.
A small shape.
Ren opened his eyes.
“Where did you put the pouch?”
Matsuo pointed.
“Under the box.”
Ren walked inside.
He crouched.
He looked beneath it.
Nothing.
He ran his fingers along the floorboards.
Then he felt something.
A gap.
Ren pushed.
A small wooden panel shifted.
Behind it was the pouch.
Empty.
Ren stared.
The answer was finally there.
Not one answer.
Several.
He turned toward Matsuo.
“You put it here.”
“Yes.”
“Then Jiro took the coins.”
“Yes.”
“And you thought the pouch was yours.”
“Yes.”
“Then you returned it.”
“Yes.”
“And Jiro found it empty.”
“Yes.”
Ren nodded.
Then he looked at Jiro.
“But you gave Otsu twenty-three coins.”
Jiro’s face went pale.
“I didn’t.”
Ren looked toward the doorway.
Otsu stood there.
“Then who did?”
Nobody answered.
The silence stretched.
Then the old man spoke, his voice mild but pointed.
“Perhaps you should ask her.”
Ren turned.
The old man was looking at Otsu.
She stared back.
“What?”
“Where did those coins come from?”
Otsu hesitated.
Ren watched her aura.
Fear.
Shame.
Then resignation.
She reached into her clothing.
She pulled out a small bundle.
Twenty-three coins.
Ren stared.
Otsu lowered her head.
“I found them.”
“Where?”
“Under the floor.”
“Did you know whose they were?”
“No.”
That was a lie.
Ren knew it immediately.
“You knew.”
Otsu closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
Jiro stared at her.
“You knew?”
She nodded.
“I found them yesterday morning.”
Ren’s mind clicked.
Before Jiro returned.
Before Matsuo had been accused.
Before anyone had known the money was missing.
Otsu had found the coins.
She had recognized them.
And she had said nothing.
“Why?”
Her answer was quiet.
“Because I thought Jiro had taken them.”
The room went silent.
Otsu looked at her brother.
“He asked me for money.
He had debts.
Then I found twenty-three coins hidden beneath the floor.”
Jiro shook his head.
“I didn’t put them there.”
“I know that now.”
Ren looked at her.
“Then why did you let everyone think Matsuo stole them?”
Otsu swallowed.
“Because I was angry.”
That was all.
No grand conspiracy.
No malicious plan.
Just anger.
Fear.
Assumption.
One mistake after another.
Ren looked at the empty pouch.
Then at the twenty-three coins.
Then at Matsuo.
Then at Jiro.
Three people.
Three different secrets.
Three different reasons to lie.
And one missing pouch.
Ren suddenly understood why every answer had felt wrong.
The divination had never been telling him that Matsuo stole the money.
It had been telling him that Matsuo was involved.
He had touched the pouch.
Moved the box.
Opened the container.
He had been involved.
The pendulum had not lied.
Ren had simply asked a question too broad to deserve the answer he wanted.
He looked at the pendulum.
Then at his own hands.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Finally, Matsuo let out a long breath.
“So I’m not a thief.”
“No.”
Jiro added.
“Neither am I.”
Matsuo stared at him for a while before Jiro finally lowered his head.
“I did steal it.”
Matsuo stared.
“Then you are a thief.”
Jiro winced.
Otsu immediately stepped forward.
“Enough.”
Matsuo snorted.
“Your brother stole from you.”
“I know.”
“And you accused me.”
“I know.”
“And he hid it.”
“I know.”
“And I touched it.”
“I know.”
Ren almost laughed.
The entire situation had become absurd.
But nobody was laughing.
Otsu looked at Matsuo.
“I’m sorry.”
Matsuo remained silent.
After a while, he nodded.
“Fine.” Then he looked at Ren.
“What about your fortune telling?”
Ren looked at him.
“What about it?”
“You said I took the money.”
Ren hesitated.
“No.”
“The pendulum said it.”
“It did.”
“Then?”
Ren looked down at the pendulum.
“I asked the wrong question.”
Matsuo frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Ren considered explaining.
He decided against it.
“I’ll work on it.”
The old man, standing by the doorway, smiled faintly.
“Good answer.”
Ren looked at him.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was.”
Ren sighed.
*****
Later that evening, Ren sat alone outside the shop.
The village had quieted.
The road was empty.
The pendulum rested beside him.
He stared at it.
For months, he had treated divination like a strange form of mathematics.
Ask the right question.
Receive the answer.
Interpret it.
Act.
Simple.
There were complications, certainly.
His ability was imperfect.
His intuition was inconsistent.
His methods required practice.
But underneath all of that, he had believed there was an answer.
A correct answer.
Today had shaken that assumption.
Not because the divination had failed.
That was what bothered him most.
It hadn’t.
Every answer had contained something true.
Matsuo had touched the pouch.
He had moved the box.
He had opened it.
He had been involved.
Jiro had stolen the money.
Otsu had hidden the truth.
The coins had been taken from the house.
The pouch had been moved.
All of it had been there.
Ren had simply wanted the answer to be: did Matsuo steal the money?
And the world had given him something messier.
He picked up the pendulum.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then he asked quietly, “Was Matsuo the thief?”
He held the pendulum still.
It did not move.
Ren waited.
Nothing.
He smiled bitterly.
“Of course.”
He lowered his hand.
Perhaps the problem was not that divination couldn’t answer.
Perhaps he simply didn’t know how to ask.
That was an irritating thought.
It meant that learning the tools wasn’t enough.
He needed to understand the things he was asking about.
People.
Their motives.
Their fears.
Their assumptions.
Their words.
And the things they didn’t say.
Ren looked toward the darkened village.
He remembered what the old man had told him months ago.
Learn to listen.
At the time, Ren had thought it was advice about people.
Now he wasn’t so sure.
He picked up a stick and wrote on the mud on the ground: A question without an answer is sometimes a question asked badly.
He stared at the sentence.
Then crossed out badly.
He thought for a moment.
He rewrote it: A question can have an answer and still not tell you what you need to know.
Ren put down the stick.
That was better.
He didn’t yet know what it meant.
He wasn’t sure he liked it.
But perhaps that was precisely why he should remember it.
The pendulum remained beside him.
Silent.
Waiting.
For the first time since becoming a Seer, Ren found himself wondering whether finding the answer was always the most important part.
He dismissed the thought almost immediately.
There was still much he didn’t understand about his abilities.
That was all.
He simply needed more practice.
More experience.
Better questions.
Better methods.
Eventually, he would learn.
Ren stood and returned to the shop.
Behind him, the night remained quiet.
And somewhere in the darkness, twenty-three coins changed hands one last time — not because a fortune had been told, but because three people had finally stopped lying to themselves.
Ren never noticed.
He had already moved on to the next problem.
How, exactly, was one supposed to ask a question properly?
Ren was suppose to learn something here, and he did, though whatever he had learned was wrong.
What did you think Ren should have concluded here?