A raindrop for pompomshoes! (1/4)

[stormies]

Title: Tremor on the Heaven Sun
Pairing(s): Sakurai Sho/Matsumoto Jun
Genres: Alternate Universe, Modern Fantasy
Rating: NC-17/E
Summary: After his ascension, Sakurai Sho’s first task as the newly appointed marriage deity is to hunt for the one who is destroying his image.
Warning(s): Implied/referenced character death (they die in order to ascend), minor injuries, implied internalized homophobia, coercion of minor characters (OCs), temporary amnesia, the word count (100k)
Author's notes: For pompomshoes. I may have gone a bit overboard with your deity prompt; still hoping you’ll like it and it’ll all make sense. This is partly inspired by a popular danmei which I still haven’t finished reading so I had to take liberties. Most of the stuff is lifted from Shinto practices and the Kojiki, though there’s no need to know them to understand what’s going on. Thanks to R who listened to me rant about the plot, to F for the beta, and to the mods for the patience.

Part I: Plain of High Heaven

Once, back when everything freshly sprang from an endless void, the threads that shaped the three realms created a single tapestry. These realms—the heaven, the earth, and beyond—remain separated from one another despite being interwoven together, their affairs their own. It is said that beyond is where souls go to after their mortal life on earth, and the heaven is where the gods reside.

A realm dedicated to the most supreme and divine of beings, with abilities to influence the lives of mortals and sometimes, other gods alike.

This isn’t something for mortals to understand. It’s the privilege of the divine, that their whims are held in reverence and not placed under scrutiny. A god’s word is absolute: how it may affect mortals is often merely a consequence. For mortals, such things are left to their own interpretation and to their choice.

They may believe it or not; supplication is entirely their decision.

For those who believe it, it is said that there was once a god whose existence was a consequence, a result of the influence exerted by another god.

This, they say, was how it went.

--

Sho wasn’t the religious type when he was still alive.

He said his prayers back when he visited shrines prior to major exams in college and job interviews in prestigious companies. He offered his excess change when he was feeling particularly desperate, and sometimes, he took an omamori or two with him for luck.

But more than faith in a higher, unseen power, Sho was the type who believed in himself. He did believe in the supernatural, but only to an extent. He didn’t let his life be dictated by how much or how little faith he had as opposed to what his elders had told him.

Perhaps he should have listened to them more.

That’s how he feels as he stands in a pavilion so ornately and richly decorated that he thinks it’s all a figment of his imagination still, despite being here for a while that the vertigo has long dissipated. There’s a heavy feeling in his gut that he would attribute to indigestion were he still alive, but now he knows it’s due to the anxiety.

He doesn’t belong here. At least, he thinks so.

He knows he died. That much was clear when the last thing he could remember feeling before arriving at this place was searing pain that he wanted to end. There was no way he could’ve survived that accident. The train came too fast and he was too distracted by his phone to even notice where he was walking, and that was it.

The next thing he could remember when the pain passed was the blinding light.

And now he’s here.

Standing at the foot of the dais, still wearing his favorite, most comfortable suit paired with a red tie. When he’s done staring at the elaborate decoration of the hall, he notices a spot on the leather of his shoe that makes him pause.

The single red dot doesn’t register at first. But when it does, it suddenly makes him nauseous.

He really died. Whatever this place is, it’s no longer the world he remembers growing up in.

The creaking of the massive wooden doors opening nearly makes him jump in surprise, but he manages to hold his ground. There’s nothing but bright, white light past the gap made by the doors, and when they swing shut once more, Sho sees someone approaching the dais.

The man is dressed in robes so rich in color and made of the finest fabrics. The ostentatious garb matches the hall itself—it’s the kind he only saw in expensive period dramas produced by NHK.

The almost metallic sheer of the man’s outer robe as he walks past Sho rippled—something Sho had to blink twice at in order to fully process. The fabric had the intricate stitching of a goldfish in one of its sleeves, but the fish is moving.

By the time Sho recovers, the man has climbed up the dais and is sitting on the lone, opulent chair at the top of it. A throne amidst a vast, but otherwise empty, hall.

If this was a period drama, there would be courtiers. There would be guards. But there’s no one else in the hall aside from him and the man, and Sho doesn’t quite know what to expect. A part of him is beginning to think he is hallucinating and is currently undergoing surgery in some tertiary hospital to save his life.

“I bid you welcome, Sakurai Sho,” the man suddenly says, his voice soft and soothing, but thanks to the silence of the hall, each syllable echoed, “to the Plain of High Heaven.”

He’s in the Spiritual Realm then. He’s dead. The impact must’ve killed him right then and there—now that he’s thinking about it, he hasn’t heard of anyone surviving a railway crash.

He suddenly feels underdressed. If his memory serves him well, this is the realm of the gods. Of the deities his superstitious grandparents believed in, the ones that somehow influenced daily mortal lives because of the divine powers bestowed upon them.

He wonders now if he’s here as a punishment. Is this the gateway? Do all mortal souls make a stop here before they cross to the other side, to the world where spirits not worthy of divinity go?

The man, when Sho looks at him, meets his gaze evenly. He must’ve been looking at Sho for a while, and Sho only noticed now. When Sho studies his face, he notices that the color of the man’s hair is akin to burnished gold.

The man is currently lounging comfortably on his throne, an elbow propped on the armchair, his chin resting delicately on his knuckles. The curiosity in his eyes is hard to miss.

“Are you him?” Sho finds himself asking. Where the courage to speak came from, he has no idea. “God?”

The man blinks. “One of them, yes. It depends on who you’re looking for, exactly.”

Sho lets his gaze sweep over the entirety of the dais before he looks at the man once more.

The man is smiling now. “I see your point. Had you arrived before I was appointed, the previous Emperor would have sent you straight to the Netherworld for your cheek.” He inclines his head. “I’m the current Heavenly Spiritual Emperor of the Plain of High Heaven.”

The goldfish on his sleeve has switched directions and is now appearing to be swimming southward. The longer Sho looks at it, the more it disorients him.

If Sho has interpreted those words correctly, in the simplest of terms, it means he’s talking to the big boss. The types he was apprehensive of meeting unless he was receiving an award for his years of service in the company or he was getting promoted.

He’s dreading this meeting now.

“Why—” he tries, then clears his throat. He’s perhaps talking to the highest ranking deity here. The one with the most powers, perhaps. The most divine. The beloved of the high heavens. His insolence was forgiven once, but he isn’t keen on finding out for how many times. “May I ask what am I doing here?”

To his surprise, the Emperor laughs. His eyes turn to slits, now bordered by thin lines that make him look younger. The bright blue hue of his robes shimmer like water under sunlight as his shoulders shake in mirth.

“Forgive me; I wasn’t laughing at you,” the Emperor clarifies. “It’s been so long that I have forgotten how mortals speak.”

“I would’ve addressed you as Kami-sama,” Sho points out, “but you said you’re not him.”

“No,” the Emperor asserts. “Though I understand why you initially thought that. Given my position, I might be the closest deity to that. Those who were Emperor before me have claimed it for themselves, but doing so is not in my nature.” He tilts his head in amusement. “You see, Sakurai Sho, I was appointed because I lost a game of janken.”

Sho is thankful he outgrew the habit of letting his jaw drop open when he’s surprised. It would’ve made for a hilarious but otherwise embarrassing sight.

The Emperor stands then, a swift movement executed with grace, his robes flowing behind him as he descends the dais. He offers a hand to Sho before his face breaks into a wide, pleased grin.

“Ohno Satoshi,” he says. “Deity of Oceans and Seafaring. That’s my other name aside from the whole Heavenly Spiritual Emperor business.”

Sho can only nod as he takes Ohno’s hand. His question lies at the tip of his tongue, but Ohno appears to be an extremely perceptive individual.

“You’re here because I am appointing you,” Ohno explains simply, like it’s just a job promotion after a particularly hectic work day. His tone implies that, but his garb and this entire place destroy the illusion for Sho.

Sho looks around the empty hall. Even the pillars holding the ceilings are coated in gold, their luster almost blinding the longer he stares at them. There’s not even a speck of dust in this place.

He faces Ohno once more. “Am I being appointed as your courtier or as your personal servant?”

For the first time since their meeting, Ohno appears surprised. There’s confusion marring his otherwise pristine features now, but his grip doesn’t loosen around Sho’s.

Then Ohno recovers. “No. Do they still have servants in the Manifested World?” At Sho’s questioning blink, he adds, “In the Mortal Realm, I mean.”

“They call them assistants or secretaries nowadays,” Sho says truthfully.

“Ah,” Ohno says with a nod. “We appear to have those here as well. Every deity has one or two. They’re the lesser deities, hence appointed as aides to the major deities. You will meet yours soon.”

Sho tries not to balk, but when he attempts to withdraw his hand, Ohno’s grip remains firm. “Mine?”

Ohno beams. “Yes. Sakurai Sho, as the Heavenly Spiritual Emperor, I am appointing you as the Deity of Matrimony of the Plain of High Heaven.”

Before Sho can fully process those words, Ohno finally lets him go and starts walking past him. “Your pavilion is east of here; follow me.”

Sho can only tread after him despite his mind reeling.

--

It’s perhaps insolent to allow the Emperor of High Heaven to act as your personal tour guide, but Sho is left with little choice. He doesn’t know where to go. He remains a few paces behind Ohno, aware that given their positions in this realm, he mustn’t match Ohno’s strides.

Leaving through the doors of the massive pavilion he arrived in, he’s greeted with the sight of what appears to be a city fortress. Beyond the walls are puffs of clouds, the wisps nearly touching the tips of some of the highest pavilions.

He and Ohno descend a set of marble stairs, and Sho familiarizes himself with his surroundings. When he turns back, he sees the carving of Heavenly Spiritual Pavilion on top of the doors he just passed through.

Ohno leads him down the stairs and through the winding cobblestones that formed streets. Everywhere Sho looks stands a shrine pavilion of varying heights and decorations. There’s no time to remember everything as he’s also trying not to lose Ohno, who’s walking so gracefully yet swiftly that only the blue of his robes is left in Sho’s periphery each time they turn a corner.

“You must have a lot of questions by now,” Ohno says after a moment of silence. He doesn’t look over his shoulder to check if Sho has heard, his gaze fixed forward.

Sho jogs the remaining distance between them until he’s right behind Ohno. He’s a bit taller than the man, but he tries not to be too close; he might step on the expensive robes.

“Why me?” Sho asks—it’s the most pressing question that he has. He’s still having trouble believing where he is, and moments ago, he just found out he’s appointed as a god after dying in a freak accident.

There’s too much for him to process that he thinks it’s a miracle his head hasn’t split itself apart.

“Tell me about the work you did when you were still in the Manifested World,” Ohno says.

It’s the first order from him, and given who Sho was before he got here, he immediately caught it.

“I was a salaryman,” Sho says, deciding to keep his answers simple but forthright. Was mindreading a part of a deity’s supernatural abilities? He doesn’t know, but he doesn’t want to risk it.

That makes Ohno pause. His sudden halt nearly makes Sho collide against him, but he seems to sense how close Sho was trudging behind him that he smoothly manages to sidestep before he pivots around to face Sho.

The execution of those movements barely took a second, and Sho is beginning to understand why Ohno has been appointed as Emperor. He wonders if all the grace comes with being a deity.

“A salaryman,” Ohno repeats. He’s frowning now, as if in thought. “I have heard that term before. But I can’t quite remember who replied in the same way.” His eyes narrow. “Now, that’s troublesome. Have I appointed so many that I’m beginning to forget which one it was?”

He’s talking to himself, Sho realizes.

He has to wait a moment for Ohno to regain his presence of mind.

Ohno’s focus shifts back to Sho. “What exactly did you specialize in?”

“Profit projections,” Sho says. “I worked for an electrical company.”

Ohno is nodding now. “Nothing related to what I’m appointing you as, wouldn’t you say?”

That, in fact, is what Sho has been thinking since Ohno told him about his appointment. The mindreading theory Sho has is now becoming more plausible, and Sho puts up his guard.

“I don’t mean to question you,” Sho clarifies. “I’m certain there’s a particular reasoning for it that I don’t understand. But if you will permit it, I’d like to know the reason.”

The switch to keigo isn’t lost on Ohno—Sho can see the slight twitch of his lips.

“When you were still in the Manifested World, how many weddings have you attended?” Ohno asks before he turns on his heel and begins walking once more.

Sho can only follow after him. “A lot, actually.”

A hum. “And how many of those were instances in which you knew the couple and not just one of the spouses?”

Sho opens his mouth to reply, but he stops.

Ohno picks up on his silence and adds, “How many people have gotten married after meeting you?”

It was something his colleagues at work had often joked about. There was a high occurrence of marriage announcements after someone crossed paths with him, no matter how unremarkable the encounter was.

It could be a colleague taking the same elevator as him or being at the office pantry at the same time he was. It didn’t always happen, but it happened a lot. If he struck up a conversation with someone and they announced engagement or marriage registration after a few months, his colleagues attributed it to him.

Sakurai the marriage shrine, they’d said. It had become a running gag.

“Even here, in the Plain of High Heaven, there are things we don’t understand,” Ohno says, his voice piercing through Sho’s thoughts like a swift arrow. “Some people are blessed with luck more than others. There are those who seemingly attract misfortune more than anyone else. The mortals attribute it to gods and their blessings, to the will of the heavens. But as gods, we can’t control everything. There’s nothing to control.”

Ohno halts in his steps once more, and Sho sees that they have arrived in the middle of the city fortress, a square that has an imposing torii at its center, surrounded by a shallow pool that has lilies and koi swimming in it. There is a stone path that leads to the entrance of the torii, but they don’t approach it.

They remain at the side of the gate, adjacent to the pool, as Ohno waves his arm.

The goldfish on his sleeve ripples as if awakened, and Sho can only stare as the ripples transmit to the pool below, following the movement.

“We can merely influence,” Ohno says. He lowers his arm. “We don’t control. If a mortal prays in my shrine prior to a trip to the shore but forgoes praying to the Deity of Storms, who’s to say their trip will have clear skies?” He resumes walking, and soon, they’re leaving the square and the torii behind them. “I can influence the seas, but not the skies. If a mortal prays to me for a bountiful catch but uses unscrupulous means to acquire fish and destroys their habitat, then perhaps my influence will better serve the future generations by ascertaining that their catch has a poor yield on that day.”

Ohno looks over his shoulder. “You have an affinity to what I appointed you as, Sakurai Sho. I have permitted the question, but I will not do so once more. You were brought here to serve as the Plain of High Heaven’s Deity of Matrimony because of your affinity to causing it when you were still in the Manifested World.”

Sho inclines his head in an unspoken apology, something Ohno accepts with a nod. They reach the eastern gates of the city fortress, and Ohno leads him to a courtyard where a pavilion that stands out of place greets Sho’s line of sight.

The carving above the entrance reads Red-crowned Crane Pavilion.

Simply put, the shrine here looks abandoned. Dilapidated and filthy, the roof tiles cracking. Outside stands a wooden shelf that housed rows upon rows of miniature golden bells, but dust has already dulled their luster.

Unlike the pavilions around them, this one appears neglected. The atmosphere around here is bleak and gloomy, and there’s a stillness hanging in the air. As if the entire place is surrounded by negative energy, unaffected by all the grandeur surrounding its vicinity.

Isolated.

“The one before you hasn’t been seen in a long time,” Ohno explains. “I am largely at fault at the state of this place, and for that, I apologize.” He tilts his head, and Sho dismisses it with a shake of his head despite not knowing what exactly is Ohno apologizing for. “I tried to give them a chance to make amends, to return here, and to serve once more as the Deity of Matrimony, but they refused. I was putting off the appointment because of the blind faith that they would change their mind, but the consequences have started to show.”

Sho only understood half of what Ohno just told him. “Consequences?”

Ohno meets his gaze. “How many of your friends and colleagues in the Manifested World have filed for dissolution of marriage?”

Sho thinks about it. There were, indeed, an increasing rate of divorces being filed. Not only at the company he worked at, but in general. He’s heard of countless friends who seemed happily married but suddenly ending their union like the years they’d spent together hardly mattered, and it made him wary of finding someone to settle with.

He could remember thinking what if he ended up like them, the type that got married for love only to fall out of it years later? How was he supposed to know how long love usually lasts?

“The divorce rates,” he starts, “are they because of the absence of a marriage deity?”

“Partly,” Ohno says. “It’s the influence. People have been praying to an empty shrine for a long time.” He gestures towards the bells. “In the Manifested World, each of us has shrines in different places, and each of those has a bell. A bell here represents a shrine below. Those bells haven’t rung in a long time. The mortals are losing faith in marriage.”

Sho understands that feeling—he harbored the same thoughts before when he was still alive.

“As Emperor, I have let it go on for too long,” Ohno says. He looks at the abandoned pavilion. “That’s why I’m apologizing. My lack of intervention caused a problem, and now I’m troubling you to fix the mess I had a hand in creating. That fact isn’t lost on you, I believe.”

“No,” Sho admits. “It isn’t.”

He’s used to bosses acting like this. Being a subordinate his whole life has lent him an indifference to this kind of treatment. Were he in his twenties, he would’ve accepted it begrudgingly but made comments about the whole affair in private while drinking his frustrations at the hierarchy away.

He has mellowed down over the years. Considerably, as one of his classmates from university had once put it. There’s no anger or resentment in him over something like this anymore. The work culture he was a part of took away his dissent at such things, and he only realized it now.

Ohno might be the first and the only person who apologized to him over such a thing. Someone in power isn’t the type to admit mistakes. They tend to blame others and to find scapegoats to cover for them. That’s what Sho is used to, in the life he once knew.

He looks at Ohno now and sees someone else for the first time, past the regalia and mysterious aura. Whoever Ohno Satoshi was in his previous life, he certainly didn’t fit the mold of someone in power.

Ohno is looking at the carving now. “A deity’s influence doesn’t only extend to mortals. An elaborate, pristine shrine pavilion is a manifestation of a deity’s influence in the Manifested World.”

“The more believers you have, the grander and tidier your pavilion becomes,” Sho concludes.

Ohno nods. “We can only influence if there are those who believe that we can. The more prayers we get and the more offerings our shrines receive in the Manifested World, the stronger our abilities become.”

Sho stares at his own hand and finally understands. “I don’t have any, do I?” he asks. He keeps the disappointment out of his tone; he already knows he’s incredibly ill-suited for the position Ohno appointed him as. The only difference he has with any mortal is that he already died in order to get here.

He has no abilities. That much is evident. If there were enough people who believed in marriage, that would extend to this place and to him. But he feels nothing different, and this place looks like it has no business standing here. He’s been the marriage deity for more than an hour now, and yet nothing has changed in this place nor in his appearance.

He needs no mirror to know that he still looks like Sakurai Sho, the audit manager from the tenth floor who always made it to impossible deadlines. Employee of the Month.

He’s no deity. He doesn’t feel like one. Like the Red-crowned Crane Pavilion, he has no business being here.

Ohno approaches the stairs leading to the entrance of the pavilion and sweeps a hand under his robes before crouching. His sudden movement prompts Sho to stand close to him, and he sees Ohno cradling a seedling that sprouted from the corner of the last stone step.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Ohno tells him after a moment.

“Say what?” Sho asks. “It’s the truth. I’m terribly unfit for the position and have no place here, something you know yourself but haven’t acknowledged. If it’s insolent to voice that out, I ask for your forgiveness. But we both know it’s true. I don’t feel anything different since I died, and if being deified means I become someone divine, then perhaps I’m the exception. Maybe it doesn’t work because even the high heavens know that I can’t represent something I didn’t believe in.”

“Sho-kun,” Ohno says this time, and the change makes Sho stop, his earlier ire dissipating into quiet dissent. Ohno inclines his head. “If you will permit the familiarity…”

Sho can only nod; he thinks he’s already toeing a fine line here, having had an outburst like that in front of the Emperor of the High Heaven.

Ohno smiles, his forefinger caressing the tiny leaves of seedling. “Sho-kun, when I say I understand your apprehension, I don’t say it out of wishing to ease your mind. I say it because I truly do. I felt the same when I was appointed Emperor. I still feel it sometimes. This pavilion itself is a testament to how inadequate I am despite the divinity bestowed upon me. We gods make mistakes too. But I don’t believe that appointing you is one of them. Just because you feel nothing different doesn’t mean you’re ill-suited for the job.”

“Are you speaking as an all-knowing Emperor or is this an attempt to be encouraging?” Sho asks, not convinced. His shoulders have long slumped in disappointment, and Ohno sounds like a doting senpai. He would’ve loved to have one like that when he was still alive.

But he no longer is. He’s currently in a situation he never expected to be in, and he wishes his soul simply passed on to the Netherworld instead of heading straight here.

“I’m speaking based on what I’m seeing,” Ohno says patiently. He taps on the seedling pointedly, drawing Sho’s attention to it. “This wasn’t here yesterday.”

He straightens then and stands in front of Sho. “Whether you’re ill-suited or not is something we cannot determine today. And whether you believe in what you’re representing or not is something only you will know. Have I made a mistake in appointing you? I don’t know, but I don’t think so. This place might not be as grand as the other pavilions you’ve seen, but it has done something the other pavilions haven’t done for you—it has acknowledged you. Whether that plant lives or dies is now up to you.”

“It will die if those bells never ring,” Sho says, gesturing to the row of bells. “If no one prays to me, this place won’t change.”

“Would you pray to me if I said I can’t help you navigate the seas?” Ohno asks.

Sho doesn’t answer, but it is enough. The glint in Ohno’s eyes speaks volumes.

Ohno extends his arm and Sho’s eyes follow the direction he’s now pointing at. “When you’re ready, head to the Golden Turtle Pavilion. It’s close to the northern gates and it’s hard to miss.”

“Let me guess,” Sho ventures, “because it’s made of gold?”

Ohno nods. “You will find the Deity of Prosperity there. Here, however, he’s more known as the Bookkeeper of the High Heaven. He will be waiting for you.”

“Wait,” Sho says because Ohno is moving to leave. “Shouldn’t I know why I ought to go there? And what do you mean ‘when I’m ready’?”

“The marriage deity before you has transgressed and deviated from the laws of the High Heaven. If you feel nothing different, that is mostly due to their machinations,” Ohno explains. “When you’re ready to do something about that, I have told you where to go.”

“And if I’ll never be ready?” Sho asks. He gestures towards himself, at his salaryman suit that feels incredibly out of place the longer he remains here. He doesn’t have anything aside from Ohno’s words. A part of him is still thinking this is all some elaborate scam and he’s trapped in a vivid hallucination he might never wake up from. “If I don’t want anything to do with what you’re asking me to fix, what then?”

“All souls that have entered the High Heaven have been given divinity,” Ohno tells him. “If you decide not to be a part of any of it, I will understand. You will forsake divinity and your soul will be sent to the Netherworld. You will not remember anything about the High Heaven and the Manifested World.”

Sho thought it would have grave consequences should he choose not to accept. It’s why he followed Ohno all the way here. He laughs now, realizing he should have refused immediately. The moment Ohno told him about the appointment, he should have said no and be done with it.

“I shouldn’t have followed you here,” he finds himself saying.

Ohno’s expression is hard to name. There’s no judgment in his eyes, but that’s not the most startling thing.

It’s the lack of disappointment. Anyone by now would be disappointed, Sho thinks. He’s seen the crestfallen faces of his superiors when a colleague decides to turn in their resignation.

Instead, there’s something akin to understanding in Ohno’s eyes, but unlike the ones Sho saw before, this one is free of pity.

“You’re not the first soul that said that to me,” Ohno says. “If you wish to leave, head to the square and pass through the torii.”

Sho could do that right now and leave Ohno here. It’s so easy.

He frowns, blinking in question. “You’re not going to stop me?” After all that speech about how it’s now up to him to restore this pavilion and to make the people believe in marriage once more?

“I can, but I won’t,” Ohno says, like it makes sense. It doesn’t. Like most things about him.

To test the veracity of his claim, Sho takes a step away from the pavilion. Ohno’s expression doesn’t change, and he takes another.

He’s about to completely turn his back from Ohno and the pavilion when he hears something that makes him halt, his entire body freezing in place.

A tiny, unmistakable clang of a bell ringing.

Sho looks over his shoulder slowly, afraid that it’s a product of his imagination. Perhaps it’s his mind finally breaking itself apart and playing tricks on him.

But he sees it. Clearly.

The bell at the corner of the shelf, a small, dusty thing, is ringing. It shakes against the stillness, producing a soft yet steady sound that seems to affect Sho, igniting something in him.

He feels...refreshed. Like he hadn’t just died. He feels the flow of something in him—a heady rush of spiritual energy that soothes him like a salve to a bruise.

When the bell ceases ringing, in his mind, he hears someone speak. Their voice is soft and feminine, and when he listens, he hears them ask for blessing for their marriage, for the passion, love, and respect to remain until death.

Someone is praying. Someone in the Mortal Realm is in one of his shrines and praying to him, asking him to influence one of their life’s biggest decisions.

He doesn’t know how to answer. He turns to Ohno and finds him looking at the foot of the stairs leading to the pavilion, to where the seedling is.

“How do I help them?” he finds himself asking.

“You can’t,” Ohno says. “Not directly. Direct contact with mortals is forbidden for us. It will count as a transgression to do so and the punishment will be banishment.”

Sho looks around the courtyard they’re standing in, at the abandoned pavilion that is waiting for him and understands.

He has to increase his influence. If he wants to help whoever prayed to him just now, he has to believe in what Ohno has appointed him to be, to what he can be.

He has to leave the mortal behind and become whoever Ohno is asking him to be.

Not for Ohno’s sake or his, but for that person who just offered a prayer to him. How many times had Sho prayed when he was still alive and hoped that the higher power would listen and grant it? How many times had he felt disappointment that led to his disbelief that someone out there was listening?

He is now in the position to listen and help should he wish. And he finds that he does want to, despite not understanding how. If it will make the lives of those in the Mortal Realm a little happier and more bearable, then he wants to do what he can.

It’s not out of nobility. It’s not because he wants to prove himself either.

It’s because he knows how cruel and awful the world is and that the little things that bring joy ought to be cherished. Dying can make someone look at things differently, and among the myriad of things that Sho is feeling, regret is one of them.

He should’ve spent more time with his family and friends. He should’ve taken more trips with them, created more memories with them. He should not have let his job define him, because what did it matter? He died and no one here knows about Sakurai Sho, consistent employee of the month from the auditing department.

He’s being offered a chance to do something that can help people, a far nobler task than what befits him. Is he ill-suited for it? Perhaps. But rather than forsake it and forget about all of it, he wants to do something within his abilities, something that will hopefully help restore one of the few good things in life.

He’d seen how happy his closest friends were when they first got married. Sho might not understand how this entire thing works and how his newfound divinity influences the scheme of things, but he understands the responsibility.

Whoever was supposed to be here wasn’t, and it led to people forgetting the happiness they felt on their wedding day and only remembering the reasons to dissolve the marriage. Whoever this pavilion once belonged to has caused the pain he’d seen in the faces of people he once knew, of friends he even played piano for during their wedding ceremonies.

Sakurai Sho doesn’t know what influence he can exert to make things better for the people and the world he left behind, but he finds that he wants to do what he can.

Around them, the wind blows. Where it comes from, Sho doesn’t know. But when the gust hits him, he looks at where Ohno has been staring at, at the tiny seedling that moves with the wind.

This place has acknowledged you, Ohno told him.

“The torii at the square will always be there, right?” he asks Ohno eventually, when the silence has lingered long enough for a resolve to formulate in Sho’s mind.

Ohno faces him and nods.

“I won’t be going there today,” he tells Ohno. “I can’t promise I won’t cross it in the next few days, but I can promise today.”

“Today is good,” Ohno tells him. He moves to leave, the blue of his robes shimmering like the waves in the ocean. The scales of the goldfish on his sleeve glimmer as the fish appears to swim, and Sho watches him disappear upon turning a corner, the hem of his robe the last thing he sees.

When he looks down at himself, he sees that his tie has disappeared.

Ohno did say that the deity’s influence is manifested in the shrine, but now that Sho considers it, Ohno’s entire garb was a depiction of the sea. It rippled and shimmered like the sea itself, because it was a manifestation of it. Even the goldfish swam in changing directions each time Sho looked at it.

Unconsciously, his hand caresses the spot where his tie used to be.

It’s not much, but it’s a start.

--

Over the week, the most noticeable change in Sho’s immediate surroundings are his clothes.

The suit has gradually disappeared. After the tie, the shoes followed. His coat changed to the outer robe of a yukata overnight, and he tried not to freak out too much about it.

To pass the time, he starts tidying the place up. He somehow manages to find a few cleaning tools in the abandoned shack at the back of his pavilion, and he takes it upon himself to start cleaning. He starts with the pavilion and eventually moves to the courtyard, sweeping the steps and dusting off the doorframe.

His clothes have switched from a salaryman’s suit to a simple yukata dyed in bright red when he finally gets a visitor.

The stranger alerts him to their presence by clearing their throat, but it’s enough to make Sho jump. He brandishes the broom in a defensive stance until he sees that there’s no threat. He finally relaxes, but only minutely.

The one looking at him is younger than him, blinking in confusion, the corner of his lips lifting in amusement.

Sho takes one look at the red-crowned crane pattern of the stranger’s yukata and asks, “Did Ohno send you?”

The stranger’s eyes widen in surprise. Then he nods. “Yes. The Heavenly Sovereign, the Emperor of High Heaven, did send me.”

“I should’ve called him that, shouldn’t I,” Sho says belatedly, shaking his head as he chuckles. “How many titles does he have? Is that how everyone here refers to him?”

“We of the Lower Heaven refer to him as such,” the stranger says, pointedly looking at the ground.

At the mention of his place of origin, Sho nods. “You’re the aide.”

Or secretary. Or personal assistant of the marriage deity. Whatever this guy’s supposed to be, he thinks. The pattern of his yukata is a giveaway, and Sho wonders if his own will manifest the same pattern eventually. “Is that how you’re called? I’m sorry if I made a mistake again; it’s my seventh day on the job and I spent the past few days just cleaning.”

Sho hopes that the rolled up sleeves of his yukata are enough to prove that. There isn’t much to do when no one is praying to you, he figures.

“The Lower Heaven extends its felicitations to you, Sakurai Sho-sama, for your new appointment,” the stranger says, now bowing low. The sudden deference made Sho feel uneasy. He’s unaccustomed to this. “I’m Kikuchi Fuma, the courtier assigned to you, Sakurai-sama.”

From what Sho has gathered in his talk with Ohno, the Lower Heaven consisted of minor deities. But he doesn’t know exactly how that works; he certainly bypassed that stage if it was meant to be the step prior to becoming the major deity.

“Call me Sho-kun,” he says, and he reaches out to straighten Fuma’s posture. “And no bowing. Is that how everyone greets here? When it’s just us, please don’t do that. It makes me feel weird.”

Fuma stares at him in seeming disbelief. Perhaps, to him, Sho is an unconventional deity.

Sho thinks that’s exactly the case. He doesn’t know what he’s doing here. He’s cleaning, yes, but once that’s done, he doesn’t know what else to do. There are so many things he doesn’t know about the High Heaven, and now he has a courtier from the Lower Heaven.

“If you were assigned to me, I will understand if you opt for a transfer,” Sho tells him. He gestures around him. “There isn’t much to do here. The bells don’t ring.” He catches Fuma looking at the rows of bells. “One of them did, once, but that was a week ago. And I didn’t know what to do about it. Right now, I have no idea about what I’m doing.”

“You didn’t have to tidy up,” Fuma tells him after a moment. “The place would’ve changed eventually; how soon it does is all depending on how strong the mortals’ faith in you is. And simply by assuming the position of the marriage deity, they have started to believe in you.”

Sho finds that to be absurd. “Just by accepting and they know already? How?”

Fuma stares at him for a moment, as if gauging how serious he is with his question.

Sho smiles, keeping it bereft of embarrassment. “When I said I have no idea, it’s true.”

“When a deity is appointed,” Fuma begins carefully, and at Sho’s nod, he continues, “the mortals are informed of it subconsciously. It’s part of the blessing of divinity. When a soul is blessed to ascend and enter the High Heaven, it’s to assume a position as a deity. We of the Lower Heaven are informed of it by the messengers of the High Heaven. It is up to us now to inform the Manifested World, and we do it by planting the knowledge in their subconscious.”

Sho blinks in question, and Fuma adds, “It’s our way of communication with them. Put it this way, Sakurai-sama—” Sho gives him a glare and he bristles. “—Sho-kun. When you were alive, you did know there was a shrine dedicated to the prosperity deity.”

“Yes,” Sho says. He might’ve prayed to it once or twice, even.

“The mortals know you have a shrine,” Fuma tells him. “But what we do is that subconsciously, we let them know that someone inhabits the shrine. It will feel different for mortals. Like they simply...know that you’re there. That someone is listening.”

“Like a gut feeling, you mean,” Sho says.

Fuma nods. “Exactly. The mortals know you’re there. They just don’t know who you are, of course, but as a deity, you now inhabit all the shrines dedicated to marriage. To them, you’re simply the marriage deity. Your name only matters here in the Spiritual Realm.”

Sho turns to the shelf housing the bells before facing Fuma once more. “That’s why I heard that prayer. I inhabit the shrine they were praying at. Was I the only one who could hear that?”

“You are the only marriage deity of the High Heaven,” Fuma reminds him. “Only you can hear what is being lifted up to you.”

Sho wonders now why the thought hasn’t occurred to him. Of course it was some inner workings of both the High and the Lower Heavens that made it possible for him to hear such things.

He looks at Fuma now and sees the three scrolls he’s been carrying in his arms.

“What are those for?” he asks, gesturing to them with a tilt of his chin.

“This one is a record of all your shrines in the Manifested World,” Fuma explains, lifting the thickest of the three scrolls. “It hasn’t been updated in a while, but that’s what I’m here for.”

“Much as I want to hope that that scroll will get thicker, I know it won’t,” Sho tells him, smiling ruefully. There’s no merit in maintaining a shrine of someone people hardly believed in. Even appointed priests of a maintenance organization would eventually have to give a shrine up if it yields too little offerings.

“If a bell has rung, it means there’s still a shrine that is operating,” Fuma says. He offers Sho a small, kind smile. He lifts the second scroll, somewhat thinner than the previous. “This one is a record of the past marriages your predecessor has blessed in their tenure. Since their transgression, however, it hasn’t been updated.”

Sho can only nod, then he looks at the third one. It’s the thinnest and the paper looks new. “And that one?”

“This is intended to be a record of the marriages you have blessed,” Fuma explains, though he keeps his eyes on the scrolls and nowhere near Sho now. “In time, I believe it will bear the names of those who believe in you.”

Sho doesn’t need to see the scroll to know that there’s nothing in it. He doesn’t even know how to bless someone’s marriage. He tells Fuma as much. “I don’t know how to do that exactly.”

Fuma gives him an assessing look that quickly turns thoughtful. “I may be an inadequate source of information, Sho-kun. But if there’s anything you wish to know, the Lower Heaven also functions as the High Heaven’s archives. Any question you might have can be answered by a scroll or two from there, perhaps a book, and I can procure them for you.”

At that, Sho smiles. He pats Fuma’s shoulder and nods eagerly. “I have a lot of catching up to do, and you can help me by getting me anything that has information about this job, this place, and how it all works. I’m severely underqualified, yet here I am. How long will it take for you to get these?”

“Not long; the eastern gates lead to the Lower Heaven,” Fuma says, nodding in the direction of the gates. “I will also procure a map of the High and Lower Heavens for you. But I should help you with cleaning first, if that is what you wish to do. That is what I’m here for, after all.”

“Leave the cleaning to me,” Sho assures him. He takes the scrolls from Fuma and shoos him away. “Get me those scrolls and those books; the sooner I understand what’s going on here, the better it’ll be for us. Go.”

To his new courtier’s credit, he doesn’t need to be told twice. Fuma disappears after a courteous bow, and Sho quickly heads back inside the pavilion to arrange a desk for his aide.

If Fuma will be staying with him from now on, he has to at least make it worth the man’s time. Fuma appears to be too young to waste his time on someone like him of little influence.

Sho makes a mental note of asking someday if being his aide was some sort of punishment. Perhaps Fuma displeased some higher-ranking official in the Lower Heaven and his punishment was to be wasted away in the employ of a deity possessing the least influence.

But first, he has some studying to do.

--

Reading took time. It’s not that Sho lacks comprehension; he likes to think of himself as well-read and smart, and those are things he’s heard other people refer to him as.

But reading all the inner workings of both the High and the Lower Heavens is like reading the Kojiki. In fact, it’s a bit too much like the Kojiki. The one that people in the Manifested World thought of as a compilation of myths and legends and not as a compendium of truth.

He frowns at the particular section of text he’s reading. Fuma has done a spectacular job procuring all the essentials for him, and while Sho’s reading as voraciously as he can, Fuma has started updating records for him.

Sho has to clear his throat to get Fuma’s attention. He smiles at the blot of ink streaking Fuma’s cheek—the man’s calligraphy is nothing exceptional, but legible. “This says when I get merits, they help increase my influence. The influence works differently for each deity, right?”

Fuma nods.

“What exactly can a marriage deity influence aside from a happy union?” he asks. He’s been thinking about that for a while now; it’s not like he’s the Deity of Oceans and Seafaring who can influence the tides and all manner of sea creatures.

“I never worked for the Deity of Matrimony before,” Fuma confesses, somewhat sheepishly. “I worked for the Deity of Prosperity before they got appointed as the Bookkeeper of the High Heaven, so I can only share what I’ve seen them influence.”

“They made people rich,” Sho concludes.

Fuma seems surprised at how straightforward he is sometimes, but he’s learning to hide it better, Sho thinks. Fuma simply nods. “Essentially, yes. Not to the extent that it guaranteed instantaneous riches, but the prosperity deity helped a few mortals advance in their lives. Work promotions, job offerings, sometimes an entirely different path than the one who prayed to them was expecting.”

Sho quirks an eyebrow at that. If he was the prosperity deity, he’d simply make a few people hit the jackpot at the lottery from time to time. He tells Fuma as much. “It’ll be less work and yield faster results, won't it? Although, I can imagine how much of a nightmare it’ll be for his recordkeeper if he does that. If a god’s job is to make people believe, making people win lotteries can certainly accomplish that easily.”

“That may seem to be the easiest way to accumulate merits and to increase influence, but they couldn’t do that. Lotteries aren’t under the Deity of Prosperity’s jurisdiction,” Fuma explains.

It’s now Sho’s turn to be surprised.

Fuma continues with a nod. “Lotteries are based mostly on luck. Which makes them fall under the jurisdiction of the Deity of Good Fortune.” He offers a small smile to Sho. “One of the books I borrowed from the archives is a record of the current deities of the High Heaven. If I may, I’d like to suggest for Sho-kun to read that while perusing over the map of High Heaven. You’ll never know when you’ll need another deity’s aid.”

Essentially, Sho thinks, his secretary is telling him to forge friendships here. He sees merit in the suggestion—it’s one of the things he’s been planning to do since his arrival here. He has to know who to approach for certain things. He can’t go to the Emperor directly all the time.

“So, the Deity of Prosperity and the Deity of Good Fortune,” Sho notes. “Anyone else you’d like to suggest?”

Fuma looks pleased at his suggestion being considered; he tries to hide it by looking at his ink stone but Sho catches it. “Aside from the Heavenly Sovereign who is also the Deity of Oceans and Seafaring, the Deity of Medicine and Healing might be able to aid you in the future.”

Sho inclines his head in question. “We can get injured?” Didn’t divinity entail imperviousness to physical damage?

“Spiritually, yes,” Fuma affirms. “If any spirit granted divinity harms you, they will harm your spiritual energy, and that is what helps you exert influence upon mortals. If they damage the flow of your energy beyond repair, your soul will lose divinity and you will be sent to the Netherworld.”

Sho thinks he just died fairly recently, and so he isn’t keen on dying again anytime soon. “Nobody told me I can still die despite being a god.”

“The mortals can deal you no damage,” Fuma assures him. “It’s the malevolent and resentful spirits that can.” His gaze shifts away from Sho’s now. “The most dangerous ones are those who didn’t enter the Netherworld and turned away from the High Heaven, taking their divinity with them.”

Sho is not stupid despite his inexperience at the whole deity business. He understands.

“The one I replaced,” he concludes, and Fuma’s palpable discomfort basically confirms it. “They went rogue, didn’t they? Turned away from the High Heaven and caused all this?” He gestures around them. The pavilion is tidier than when Sho first arrived here, but the paint on the pillars and the walls have long chipped away and faded.

“The Emperor has banished them from the High Heaven because of their transgression,” Fuma says.

Sho hasn’t heard that before. That certainly wasn’t the impression he gathered when Ohno briefly mentioned it. “That’s not how he implied it,” he says by way of an explanation for his reaction, because Fuma is staring at him now. “He said he kept the position open for as long as he could.”

“The Heavenly Sovereign’s hand was forced because of the nature of the transgression,” Fuma tells him, gesturing to the book that Sho had opened. “You’re familiar with transgressions by now, Sho-kun. The previous marriage deity committed the worst of them.”

“Direct contact with mortals,” Sho says, picking up on the hints. He’s starting to think that whatever his predecessor did, it’s not as simple as making an apparition or revealing themselves to a mortal via a prophetic dream.

He’s about to ask what the previous marriage deity did exactly when he feels a tremor, a shaking of the earth that transmitted itself to their surroundings. He clings to his desk for purchase and sees Fuma doing the same, his calligraphy brush discarded, the ink smearing all over the parchment.

“What’s going on?” he asks, heart hammering.

Before Fuma can answer, the ground beneath them splits open, a crack through the marble that runs from the center of the pavilion to the outer courtyard. Sho closes his eyes, hoping the shaking will stop.

He hears the splintering of metal outside and as abruptly as they came, the tremors cease and everything returns to as it is.

Fuma is already helping him stand by the time he finds his voice.

“What was that?” he asks, looking around to make a preliminary inspection of the damage his pavilion has sustained.

Fuma doesn’t reply, instead leads Sho outside, and Sho realizes what caused the final sound he heard before the earthquake stopped.

One of the bells lies on the ground, shattered in pieces.

When Fuma speaks, he sounds apologetic, like he’d rather not tell Sho the truth but is left with no choice.

“Someone has desecrated one of your shrines in the Manifested World.”

--

After assessing the extent of the damage done to his pavilion, Sho makes up his mind.

The people are losing faith in him. Whoever destroyed one of his shrines in the Mortal Realm has ceased believing in him and what he represents, and their actions have reflected here in the High Heaven, and also upon Sho.

The spiritual energy that flowed in him when he first heard a bell ring is now gone. Because he is now the Deity of Matrimony and inhabits the shrine that was desecrated, any damage done to it was something he sustained spiritually.

He can feel the loss. He wonders what would’ve happened if his abilities were stronger. Perhaps, he’d feel extremely fatigued by now. He’s somewhat grateful he has very little abilities and influence; when one doesn’t have much, the damage is almost negligible despite everything being taken from them.

He decides that he’s read enough. There will be time for reading once he has sorted this mess out.

He straightens his clothes and beckons Fuma to follow him, and together, they head to the northern gates to look for the Golden Turtle Pavilion.

--

Ohno was right: it’s hard to miss.

The entire pavilion is made of solid gold. It’s a display of extravagance and wealth no matter where Sho looks, and unlike his courtyard that only housed a single shelf of bells, the Golden Turtle Pavilion has multiple of those that are at least thrice bigger than the size of Sho’s own, shelves standing and filling most of the courtyard.

Even the bells here are larger and more polished, the gold glinting under the light. Every once in a while, a bell would ring, and even Sho can feel the steady flow of spiritual energy emanating from the area itself. It’s warm and welcoming, almost soothing, but something feels off about it.

It’s not his. The warmth is alien to him, something that makes his guard go up instead of lowering it, because his body recognizes it as foreign. He feels as if he’s trapped in an overseas company function in which he hardly knows anyone, so instead he focuses on the sights that lie before him.

Whoever the Deity of Prosperity is, they didn’t shy away from displaying how powerful they are. Even Ohno held back when Sho met him, though, now that Sho considers the circumstances, he did arrive in the Heavenly Spiritual Pavilion and not in Ohno’s own.

Perhaps Ohno’s pavilion that represents his status as the Deity of Oceans and Seafaring is as grand as this, the energy overflowing in abundance.

He enters the courtyard and sees courtiers running back and forth, each of them cradling half a dozen scrolls or more.

He leans closer to Fuma and asks in a whisper, “Do you miss running around?”

Fuma is quick to shake his head. “The work never ends here.”

Sho laughs. He’s not insulted; it’s simply the truth if he compares himself with the prosperity deity. He’ll never have a pavilion as resplendent as this, and he finds that he’d rather have Fuma’s assistance than a dozen courtiers who will keep him preoccupied.

Fuma only steps in front of him once they reach the entrance to the pavilion, and Sho tries to conceal the awe in his expression. He’s not yet done admiring how everything here is made of pure gold, and the part of him that is recently deceased is now wondering how much a single golden tile will fetch in the Mortal Realm.

“Sakurai Sho-sama extends his greetings to the Deity of Prosperity,” Fuma announces in a clear voice, “and wishes to have a few words with him, if His Excellency will permit it.”

One of Sho’s eyebrows quirk at that. “Excellency?” he whispers behind Fuma.

“We courtiers address all deities in this manner,” Fuma clarifies under his breath.

“Fuma,” a male voice coming from the pavilion says in recognition, which Sho thinks is expected considering Fuma did work here. If anything, he’s glad his current secretary apparently made an impression to their former employer that they know them by name.

“Excellency,” Fuma answers with a low bow.

“I hope the marriage deity is treating you well,” the voice says despite Sho standing just right behind Fuma. “That’s him with you, isn’t he? You may enter.”

As if on queue, the golden doors of the pavilion that were only ajar now swing open, welcoming him and Fuma inside. Fuma quickly steps aside and leads the way for him, head still lowered and one hand extended.

The formality will take some time getting used to, but Sho understands the inner workings of the High Heaven better now, thanks to his recent readings. Fuma is following protocol, and Sho doesn’t want to do anything that can jeopardize the efforts of his subordinate.

He follows Fuma and finds himself led to a room instead of a hall. The deity’s influence is strong enough that his voice can echo even though he remains in the farthest room in the pavilion, and his abilities are strong enough that he is able to discern who has approached him for a meeting.

Fuma kneels and slides the door open for Sho, and Sho finds himself staring at a man whose youthful features surprise him. Like Ohno, he’s wearing a far more elaborate garb than Sho, the golden threads of his kimono accented with black swirls that move across the fabric like smoke.

Sho thinks he might be the only deity here wearing a simple yukata. His is only dyed bright red, the obi in aquamarine, and nothing more.

Sho bows in greeting, something the man returns. Sho notices he has a beauty mark on his chin. “My apologies for visiting without sending a word.”

The prosperity deity frowns, then he laughs.

“Right,” the deity tells him, “you’re new. I’ll let that slide for now; I’ve been waiting for you for a while since the Heavenly Sovereign has appointed you. I’m honestly surprised it took you this long to drop a visit.” He extends a hand before him. “Please have a seat.”

Sho assumes the seiza, and behind him, the door slides shut.

He doesn’t know what to make of the prosperity deity, and like him, the man is content with observing for now.

“Tea?” is the eventual offering.

Sho nods in acceptance and thanks. He’s unable to conceal his surprise when the deity simply waves a hand, and a steaming cup made of jade appears before Sho.

“If you prefer sake, I have that as well,” the deity offers.

“Tea is fine, thank you,” Sho assures him. He holds the cup in his hands and takes note of the weight; selling this cup alone can perhaps feed him for a year in the Mortal Realm.

The deity withdraws his sleeve to reveal a pale wrist before he extends his hand between them, something Sho accepts after setting the jade cup down.

“Ninomiya Kazunari,” the man introduces with a lopsided grin. “Deity of Prosperity and Bookkeeper of the High Heaven, but if you want to keep it simple: the richest and second most influential deity in the Plain of High Heaven.”

Sho appreciates Ninomiya’s straightforward approach—modesty won’t suit a pavilion like this. The display of wealth and power quickly intimidates, except Sho isn’t affected by it because as far as he knows, aside from his somewhat lacking greeting, he hasn’t done anything wrong yet.

“Sakurai Sho,” he returns, “Deity of Matrimony. Probably the poorest and least influential deity in the Plain of High Heaven, if we’re being honest here.”

That draws an amused chuckle from Ninomiya, his shoulders shaking as he withdraws his hand. “The Heavenly Sovereign did say you’re a little unconventional, one who does things in a rather unexpected manner. I thought he was pertaining to your etiquette since the customs here are mostly unfamiliar to you, but I see now that that isn’t all.”

Sho takes a gracious sip of the tea served to him before he asks, “What rumors have reached your ears, then? Perhaps I can shed light on how true they are.”

Ninomiya leans back, and Sho notices he has a pile of cushions supporting him. He half-expected this man to sit in a gleaming chair made of gold.

Following Sho’s gaze, he explains, “I have back problems. Divinity does give us excellent health and limitless endurance, but this is an old problem I had when I was still alive. I decided to keep it rather than do away with it.”

If his abilities have grown to the extent that he could get rid of health problems he once had, Sho thinks he’d do it in a heartbeat. “Why keep it?”

“It reminds me that I was once there in the Manifested World,” Ninomiya answers, which is not the response Sho expected at all. Ninomiya picks up on this easily, noting, “And now I’ve surprised you. My pavilion might represent the amount of merits I receive and the abilities I possess, but it will never represent who I am.”

That’s a different way of looking at how pavilions are, Sho thinks, but he chooses to say nothing and to finish his tea. He still doesn’t know Ninomiya that well to make judgments.

When he’s done with the tea, he decides to keep it simple. Ninomiya seems like the type who would appreciate getting straight to the point. “One of my shrines in the Mortal Realm has been desecrated, and my pavilion is now in disarray.”

Ninomiya makes a knowing expression. “What can I do for you then, Sakurai-sama?” The emphasis he puts on the honorific isn’t lost on Sho; Ninomiya sounds like he’s speaking to a customer right now and not a fellow deity.

Sho can’t figure out Ninomiya yet. It irks him, but he doesn’t let it show.

“I want to know what I can do to fix it,” he says.

“The pavilion?” Ninomiya asks, despite the both of them knowing he’s not pertaining to that. He’s being obtuse on purpose, Sho realizes. Ninomiya wants to hear him say it.

“Or perhaps you’re pertaining to one of your shrines down there?” Ninomiya smiles, but Sho can read nothing out of it. “We’re not monks or priests. Whatever damage has been done to your shrine in the Manifested World, it’s likely being fixed now. The damage to your pavilion, however, can’t be fixed just as easily.”

“The Heavenly Sovereign told me to come here when I’m ready,” Sho says, beginning to lose his patience. He lost what little spiritual energy he had, and he somehow feels exhausted because of it. “I don’t know what for, but now that this has happened, I think I have to know exactly what’s going on here for me to know how to fix it. And I’m hoping you can help me with that.”

Ninomiya eyes the jade cup and clicks his tongue.

“How do you feel?” he suddenly asks Sho, who frowns.

Ninomiya lets out a breath. “I gave you rejuvenating tea,” he explains. “It’s supposed to help balance your spiritual energy. If it hasn’t helped even a little bit, then the problem is bigger than what we both originally thought.”

Sho can only stare at the now empty cup. “I don’t feel any different.”

Ninomiya extends one of his arms abruptly, his forefinger touching Sho’s forehead. The point of contact somehow soothes Sho, calming his fraying nerves and easing out the fatigue that seemed to slowly eat at him since the destruction of one of his shrines.

When Ninomiya withdraws, Sho somehow feels better.

“It won’t last,” Ninomiya informs him apologetically. “I gave you a bit of spiritual energy to help you; otherwise, the next step you take here in the High Heaven will drain you and send you to your knees. The destruction of one of your shrines is just the beginning. Whoever is influencing these mortals to do so will do it again, and if they manage to desecrate all of your shrines in the Manifested World, you will simply cease to exist.”

“Because they’re attacking me,” Sho says in understanding. “I inhabit the shrines. Any attack on them is an attack on me.”

“Fuma,” Ninomiya calls out, and they both hear an affirming response, “fetch the Deity of Medicine and Healing. If they’re not in their pavilion, they’re probably in the Butterfly Koi Pavilion and gambling.”

Sho hears footsteps signalling Fuma’s departure, and he turns back to Ninomiya. “Gambling?” he repeats, curiosity piqued.

“The Emerald Snake Pavilion is the Deity of Medicine and Healing’s pavilion,” Ninomiya explains. “It also happens to be adjacent to the Butterfly Koi Pavilion, which belongs to the Deity of Good Fortune. Everyone in the High Heaven knows that in reality, it’s the heavenly version of a gambling den.”

Gods gambling isn’t exactly in line with Sho’s expectations.

“What do deities gamble with?” Sho asks. As far as he knows, they have no currency to trade with.

Ninomiya waves a hand. “Merits. Say I wager a thousand of my merits and I lose to the Deity of Good Fortune, I must surrender the merits to them as per agreement. That will result in a portion of those who prayed to me—equivalent to a thousand merits in this case—attributing their recent success to the Deity of Good Fortune instead of me.” Ninomiya makes a face. “It’s rather troublesome. It’s also why I don’t gamble.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sho says. Not that he’s got anything to gamble with, but if he ever gets invited, he now knows he must refuse. He’s already short on the number of believers. He can’t lose what little of them he has because he’s gambling.

“While we’re waiting for Fuma, tell me what else has happened,” Ninomiya prompts. “How bad was the damage to your pavilion?”

Now that Sho feels better, he’s able to outline the extent of the damage in his place. Ninomiya nods to his narration, and when he’s done, Ninomiya looks thoughtful.

“This is related to my predecessor, isn’t it?” Sho asks, opening the topic.

“What exactly did the Heavenly Sovereign and Fuma tell you about this?” Ninomiya asks back. “I need to know so I can tell you what else you need to know.”

“I know that they transgressed before the High Heaven by directly contacting mortals,” Sho says. “And that the Heavenly Sovereign banished them for it, but instead of heading to the Netherworld, they disappeared.”

“Did Fuma tell you how they managed to escape with their divinity intact?” Ninomiya asks. “When a god is banished, they are sent to the torii. And once they cross, the divinity is taken from them and they get sent to the Netherworld.”

“My predecessor somehow escaped that,” Sho says. He understood that much. “I don’t know how exactly, but they managed. That’s all I know.”

“They deceived the Heavenly Sovereign,” Ninomiya tells him. Sho is certain his surprise must be palpable in his expression, but Ninomiya doesn’t comment on it. “After the banishment, the Heavenly Sovereign gave them a chance to repent. A final chance. They agreed. The day they were sent to the Heavenly Spiritual Pavilion for their repentance, they escaped via the Lower Heaven and to the Manifested World, and have been undetected ever since.”

Sho thinks the security in the Plain of High Heaven must be terrible for someone to manage that. He tells Ninomiya as much. “No offense,” he adds hastily.

“You’re forgetting that this was the marriage deity at the height of their power and influence,” Ninomiya reminds him. “The Red-crowned Crane Pavilion didn’t always look like that, you know. Once, it was as grand and as glorious as the other pavilions here. Once, it was prospering and flowing with abundant spiritual energy. You would perhaps remember a time where marriages happened in abundance in the Manifested World.”

Sho did. It was why he became the marriage shrine at work. Weddings were happening left and right. He could only imagine how it was like for the rest of the world at the time.

Ninomiya offers him a smile. “I wasn’t always the second most influential deity here.”

The kind of enemy he’s facing only hits Sho then.

He likely stands a little chance against his predecessor given his current state. If they’ve gone rogue and somehow kept their abilities and divinity intact, he won’t win. He’s got nothing because whoever he’s facing is already acting against him and tainting his reputation.

“What can I do?” he asks.

“The former marriage deity is crossing between realms using the rifts,” Ninomiya explains. “They’re unstable and therefore not the means we use, but they’re undetectable and thus gives them advantage. It’s why we haven’t found them all this time. We know they’re in the Manifested World, but we don’t know where.” Ninomiya meets his gaze. “Fortunately, we now have you.”

Sho blinks at him in question and says nothing.

“You’re the current marriage deity, Sakurai Sho,” Ninomiya tells him. “Your predecessor is still living off their influence as the marriage deity while also destroying you in the process, but what they’re doing goes both ways. If they can damage you, you can damage them as well.”

“I can’t destroy the shrines,” Sho says. “I inhabit those now. If I do that, I will self-destruct.”

“That’s not what I’m saying you’ll do,” Ninomiya tells him.

“Who are they?” Sho asks, needing answers. He has no face or no name to put to his enemy, and he’s getting sick of the anonymity everyone seems to give them despite Sho being the victim and the one at a disadvantage in the situation.

Ninomiya seems to understand this; he’s been nothing but perceptive to Sho’s body language since Sho arrived here.

“If anyone asks, you didn’t hear it from me,” Ninomiya says before leaning across the table and dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The former marriage deity is the Heavenly Sovereign’s sister.”

Sho lets out a breath, grabbing one of the edges of the table for support.

It all makes sense now. Ohno’s forgiveness, his leniency, his lack of action, his regret, his inability to tell Sho more despite the occasion calling for it.

Ohno must’ve given their sibling countless chances until he could no longer do so. And just recently, he has to appoint a stranger to their position, turning the familiar face to a wholly unfamiliar one.

“Do you see now?” Ninomiya asks, voice still quiet. “This problem wasn’t created by a single individual only. In a way, the entirety of the High Heaven and even the Lower Heaven has a hand in it. We all turned a blind eye to what they were doing because of their relation to the Heavenly Sovereign. And in doing so, we turned our backs on the mortals who believed in us.”

“Ah,” Sho says knowingly, narrowing his eyes at Ninomiya. “The fewer people get married, the lower the population is.”

“The lower the population, the fewer the believers,” Ninomiya says with a shake of his head. “Your problem has become the High Heaven’s problem now; it just so happens to directly affect you more than the rest of us.”

“How bad was their transgression?” Sho asks.

“As ourselves, we’re not allowed to visit mortals in any way,” Ninomiya says. “Not in apparitions or dreams or visions. The former marriage deity did none of these, but the transgression itself went undetected for a time because they weren’t in their divine form whenever they did it.”

“You mean they put on a disguise,” Sho concludes.

“As a mortal,” Ninomiya affirms. “As far as transgressions go, it doesn’t even count as one. We can descend, you know. If we’ve managed to ascend here to the Plain of High Heaven, we can also descend to the Manifested World. It’s not forbidden. We do that from time to time, but always during festivals dedicated to us. Your predecessor took advantage of that ability and that tradition.”

“What did they do while they were in disguise?” Sho asks. He was only recently deceased and he thinks if it comes to it, he can pull off a disguise like that fairly easily.

“What would you do if you were the marriage deity at the height of your power living among mortals?” Ninomiya asks back. “Mortals you have power over and can easily influence, given your abilities?”

Sho tries putting himself in the shoes of his predecessor. If he can understand their motives, perhaps he can figure out a way to stop them. “I’d marry off people?”

Ninomiya is staring at him now. “And if their intended has passed on and left the Manifested World?”

Sho shakes his head. “Then nothing can be done. Their intended’s soul has passed on to the Netherworld and has already forgotten their life in the Mortal Realm.”

There’s no bringing the dead back. Even for gods, attempting such is insanity.

“That’s what you know—what we all know to be true,” Ninomiya affirms with a nod. “But the mortals don’t know that. If you can influence their thinking and make them do things, have them offer you countless prayers and shower you with merits, thereby increasing your abilities...what would you do?”

Sho shuts his eyes when he answers. “I’d tell them they can still marry their intended even if they passed on and I can make it happen.”

It’s cruelty. Preying on the vulnerability and the innocence of mortals and using it to gain power is the kind of evil Sho only realized now.

“In the Manifested World, the promises of a god are absolute,” Ninomiya tells him. “If they promised the mortals they would make it happen, it must transpire as promised, or else the divinity will be taken from them. It is the curse of divinity. But what do you do when you can’t find the soul that you promised to the mortal since they’ve already passed on to a different realm and can no longer remember their previous life?”

The longer Sho thinks about it, the more he realizes he doesn’t like the answer that’s occurring to him. Glancing at Ninomiya’s face is confirmation enough that he’s correct in his assumption, and he lets out a breath.

The hairs on Sho’s nape stand as he replies, “I’d find whatever soul is available to make the wedding happen no matter what. Without caring whose soul it is I’m binding to the mortal.”

If a god’s word is absolute, then the marriage can never be dissolved. The binding will last even into the afterlife, and the poor mortal soul that bound itself to an unknown spirit will never find happiness or peace, being trapped in a marriage that was far from what was promised.

Ninomiya tilts his head, as if acknowledging him. “It was unheard of. The gravity of that transgression, the elaborate manipulation they did for their personal gain—no matter how twisted, you have to admire the kind of mind that comes up with something like that.”

To Sho, the depth of cruelty is indeed appalling but horrifying.

“Mortals aren’t playthings,” Sho says, feeling rage bubble inside him. “They’re not our pawns. They’re not chess pieces. They have their own free will.”

“Not every god thinks the way you do,” Ninomiya tells him sadly, sympathetically. He presses a hand to his back, and Sho finally understands. “It’s why I keep the back pain no matter how uncomfortable it can be. It grounds me. Being a god can fuel your ego and make you forget sometimes.” He gestures around them, at all the gold. “I may have forgotten myself more than once.”

More than ever, Sho wants to put an end to his predecessor’s cruelty. Now that he knows how they abused their position and power, he’s driven by the desire to do what’s right and to perhaps do what he can for everyone who fell victim to his predecessor’s machinations.

“How are they influencing the divorce rates?” he asks.

“Their banishment influenced that,” Ninomiya says. “There was no marriage deity for a time and prayers asking for blessing and harmony went unanswered for a long time. That led to dissent and eventual disbelief, which manifested as an increase in the rates of dissolution. The dissatisfaction stemmed from the absence.”

“If the Heavenly Sovereign banished them, the vacancy should have been filled as soon as possible,” Sho says. But then he remembers Ohno’s words to him, Ohno’s admission of guilt. “How many chances did he give?”

“Plenty,” is all Ninomiya says. “And they were not worthy of a single one, but that’s family for you.”

Sho sighs, running a hand over his face. He feels overwhelmed, the tendrils of exhaustion creeping up on him. The spiritual energy Ninomiya has recently transferred to him is beginning to deplete, and it’s something he feels a little too keenly. “And now they’re attacking me.”

“They don’t hate you; they hate what you stand for,” Ninomiya clarifies. “I don’t claim to understand why the Heavenly Sovereign appointed you as their replacement, but I will not question it.”

Sho leans against the table before propping his elbow on its surface so he could rest his head on his palm. “What can I do?”

“Perhaps this problem requires a more direct approach than what I initially thought,” Ninomiya says. He stands and rounds the table, assisting Sho to a more comfortable position. “But first, rest. Fuma has returned. I sense him, and he has the Deity of Medicine and Healing with him. We’ll formulate a plan once you wake up.”

“You can’t be helping me just because you’ll lose believers in the future,” Sho says. He’s now on his back, a cushion slipped under his head for support. “Why are you really helping me?”

Ninomiya is no longer looking at him, his gaze on the doors as he waits for the arrival of his additional visitors. “Did you think bookkeeping is all about accounts when there’s no currency to speak of here? It’s up to me to record and address the affairs of the High Heaven’s Imperial Court, and this is the most pressing one because it can affect me in the future.” He runs a hand over Sho’s eyes, and Sho suddenly feels drowsy. “As long as you’re in my pavilion, I can influence you to rest even if you don’t want to.”

The last thing Sho remembers seeing is the set of doors sliding open, and he knows no more.

--

The dreamless sleep Ninomiya induced upon him wears off eventually, though Sho has no idea how long exactly. He opens his eyes to voices that cease speaking once he makes a noise from the back of his throat, and soon, he senses Fuma helping him sit up.

The vertigo that he is expecting doesn’t come. His head feels lighter, and he no longer finds himself struggling to remain upright.

“It won’t last,” a female voice says.

Sho turns to the direction of the voice and finds an elegantly dressed woman, her hair adorned with flowers secured with golden hairpins. The flowers, Sho notices, are gradually shedding off petals that fade to nothingness as soon as they fall past the person’s shoulders. Her kimono is dyed in deep emerald with patterns resembling that of a purple peacock, and the longer Sho stares, the more the feathers flutter in movement.

He can feel power radiating from within and has no doubt over the influence this person must have.

“Sakurai Sho, this is the Deity of Medicine and Healing, Yonekura Ryoko,” Ninomiya introduces. He’s back to his usual spot behind the small polished table, fingers cradling a jade cup. He then turns to the woman, inclining his head. “Ryoko-san, the new marriage deity. You’d rather meet him under different circumstances, I presume?”

“He’s taking it far better than I expected,” Yonekura says. She reaches out, and Sho tries not to flinch when her fingers hold his jaw in place. “Do you feel anything different?”

Sho blinks in assessment. Fuma has withdrawn from him and remains kneeling beside the doors, and without him holding Sho in place, Sho is left to remain upright using his own strength. It doesn’t falter, for now.

“Better,” he answers. “Compared to before I was forced to take a rest, I mean.”

“Forced, he says,” Ninomiya tuts, shaking his head. “He makes me sound imposing.”

“When you sent that attendant to fetch me it sounded like an emergency,” Yonekura remarks, her eyes still on Sho despite her words directed to Ninomiya.

“You’ve seen him when you arrived here, Ryoko-san,” Ninomiya points out. “That deathly pallor is reserved for souls on their way to the depths of the Netherworld, don’t you think so?”

At that, Sho can feel himself color. “It wasn’t that bad.”

He earns an eyebrow quirk from Yonekura and a snort from Ninomiya.

The fingers from his face withdraw, and Yonekura assumes a more relaxed position now, leaning against a cushion. “It will not last,” she repeats.

Sho tilts his head, not quite comprehending.

“I’ve locked whatever remains of your spiritual energy for now,” Yonekura explains. “It was an emergency procedure—I’ve only done it for a handful of deities here, and most of those involved stories of war and incessant involvement on matters concerning mortals.” She waves a hand in dismissal. “But you—yours had to be done or else you’d find it increasingly difficult to remain here. The very air of the High Heaven will begin to suffocate you as your energy withers away, and to prevent that, I locked whatever’s left of it. You can’t use it, but as long as it isn’t depleted, whoever’s harming you can’t do any damage from where they are.”

“For now,” Ninomiya adds, earning a nod from Yonekura.

“For now,” she echoes, eyes on Sho. “Sealed spiritual energy is useless. It will keep you alive, but that’s it. You’ll appear as a mortal amongst gods here in the Plain of High Heaven while you remain in that state. And it won’t last. I’ll give it a week and my seal will begin to wear off.”

“Can’t you seal it again by then?” Sho asks, and he offers a small smile when both of Yonekura’s eyebrows lift in response.

“You might as well ask me to send you to the Netherworld myself,” Yonekura says. She turns to Ninomiya. “Is he serious with that question?”

Ninomiya grins, then bows apologetically on Sho’s behalf. “He’s new, Ryoko-san.”

Yonekura shuts her eyes for the briefest moment, as if she’s asking for strength from some unknown, higher power. When she looks at Sho once more, Sho feels smaller. “No, I can’t seal it again. I can, but I don’t want to kill you.”

“‘Kill’ here means sending you straight to the Netherworld,” Ninomiya supplies. Quite unhelpfully, Sho thinks, as he does know what will happen should his spiritual energy run out.

“If he still has any spirit to speak of by then,” Yonekura says. “The worst outcome for you is simply fading to oblivion as you cease to exist entirely.”

He sees Ninomiya and Yonekura exchange a look as Ninomiya adds, “No afterlife even for the divine.”

Sho lets out a breath, squaring his shoulders. “So either way, the clock is ticking for me.”

“As the healer in this realm, I will supplement your treatment with the occasional transfers of spiritual energy,” Yonekura says. She gives him a stern look. “What are you planning to do about your current predicament, if I may ask?” She gestures to him with another casual wave of her hand. “You can’t remain like this. You will eventually wither.”

Sho turns to Ninomiya then, who has a thoughtful look on his youthful face. One of his thumbs is casually stroking his chin, drawing emphasis to the tiny mark he has there.

“I told him it requires a more direct approach,” Ninomiya answers for him, weathering Yonekura’s steely gaze far better than Sho did. “Do the energy transfers require you specifically, Ryoko-san, or will any deity suffice?”

Yonekura shrugs, the adornments in her hair jingling with the movement. “Anyone with sufficient enough influence and spiritual energy can do the transfers from time to time. Given his state, even a little will feel good enough for him. You’re not offering yourself, are you?” She quirks an eyebrow at Ninomiya now. “You’re far too busy to volunteer your own services despite your overwhelming influence.”

Ninomiya waves her off with a flick of his hand. “It’s definitely not me. But it’s good that we’ve settled that.” He faces Sho once more. “What are you planning to do now, Sho-chan?”

The sudden familiarity makes Sho blink, something Ninomiya notices but brazenly ignores.

Sho clears his throat, refusing to be rattled even further. “What are my options?” Before Ninomiya can open his mouth, he adds, “Aside from just waiting until I die again, I mean.”

“You can find them,” Ninomiya tells him. “Find whoever is doing this to you and put an end to all this. Restore people’s beliefs and hopes, grant prayers, gain merits, and increase your influence.” He smiles when Sho gives him an unimpressed look. “I know that look. The oversimplification and disregard for the gravity of the situation is making you a little cross with me right now.”

“You make it sound easy,” Sho says, accusatory. As if it is. As if it will be, he doesn’t say.

“You will have to forgive the bookkeeper’s tendency to make light of things that don’t directly concern him,” Yonekura remarks, her eyes fixed on her nails as she examines them.

“But that doesn’t mean I lack empathy,” Ninomiya says. “I have a couple of ideas, but before I lay them out, I must know first: how do you feel about descending to the Manifested World?”

Considering his recently deceased status and his inability to adjust to the circumstances here in the Plain of High Heaven, Sho thinks he’ll be fine. “If I descend, how much spiritual energy will I need? Will I make it?”

“You need a functioning one to make that plan work,” Yonekura interjects. She faces Ninomiya, frowning at him. “Conjuring a glamor to make himself appear mortal will take too much from him. It can kill him.”

“Not if someone else conjures the glamor to make it work and not if this hypothetical someone ensures he also gets spiritual energy during their stay by doing the transfers themselves,” Ninomiya points out. At the frowns directed at him, he laughs. “Why, Sho-chan, did you think you would make the trip alone? Ryoko-san said it just now: it will kill you. And we can’t let that happen, not when there’s no heaven to ascend to once you do this time.”

The crease between Sho’s eyebrows is yet to disappear. “No one will volunteer to come with me.” He pauses then, looking at Fuma, who barely meets his gaze. “And I’m assuming I’m not allowed to take Fuma on this trip.”

“His duties are bound to the Plain of High Heaven and the Lower Heaven,” Ninomiya says, “and so he cannot descend. He will, however, keep tabs on you while you’re down there. The attendants from the Lower Heaven serve as messengers, and it will be his duty to report on your progress should you make the trip. As for the suitable companion...”

He trails off, and Sho hears Yonekura snort in amusement.

“What kind of ruse has been concocted in your infernal mind, Nino?” Yonekura asks knowingly, her eyes shrewd. “I came here to prevent this new god from dying and now I’m staying because I’m sufficiently intrigued.”

“I was going to apologize for taking you away from the gambling den, but I’m pleased that you’re suitably entertained for now,” Ninomiya says, tilting his head at Yonekura. To Sho: “We must head to the Great Hall of the Heavenly Spiritual Pavilion.”

When Ninomiya stands abruptly as he fixes his robes, Sho is compelled to do the same. Fuma is there immediately, helping him up, something Sho thanks him for with a quiet, almost inaudible mumble of gratitude.

Ninomiya heads out, opening the doors with a flick of his wrist and surprising his attendants milling about in the halls of the pavilion. He doesn’t heed their shock, instead waves one over and says, “Send word to every available deity that there is an emergency meeting in the Great Hall regarding the recent predicament. If they inquire further, tell them it’s sanctioned by the Heavenly Sovereign himself.”

The attendant nods and bows before stepping back, and Ninomiya continues to lead them out of his pavilion.

Once outside the courtyard, Sho finally voices out what’s been bothering him. “This meeting wasn’t sanctioned by the Heavenly Sovereign.”

“He will once he receives the message,” Ninomiya says confidently. Walking a few paces in front of him, Sho realizes the man is shorter than he expected. The gold on his person is what draws the attention at first.

Yonekura runs an assessing look over Sho’s person. “You will tell me at once if you feel that something’s amiss.”

Sho nods; he’s already intimidated enough by her presence to put up a front.

They quickly reach the Heavenly Spiritual Pavilion since Ninomiya’s own is closer to it than Sho’s, and entering its Great Hall already reveals an assembly of deities that leads to Sho’s surprise. He wasn’t expecting any of them to show up at all.

Atop the dais sat Ohno in his imperial garb, the very picture of the Heavenly Sovereign that Sho remembers meeting for the first time.

Ninomiya stops at the center of the hall and gestures for Sho to follow him. Yonekura, Sho realizes, has long stepped aside, favoring a corner in the hall where she can see how everything will transpire.

Every deity gathered here has their own power on display, their clothes in the grandest of fabrics, the illusions so intricately weaved in them that Sho feels a bit underdressed in his simple yukata dyed in red.

“I’ll do the talking,” Ninomiya says from the corner of his mouth. “And if you don’t like what I’m saying, keep the displeasure off your face. We don’t want them to see that.”

Sho simply nods in affirmation, and Ninomiya directs his attention to the throne, bowing low. Sho and Fuma mimic him, and the rest of the deities in the hall follow suit.

“Greetings to you, Heavenly Sovereign,” Ninomiya says once he straightens, “and to you, my fellow deities. I must thank you all for coming and sparing the time. I dislike keeping you from your duties, as you know. I will speak plainly, and on behalf of the newly appointed Deity of Matrimony, Sakurai Sho.”

“Are you his messenger now?” one asks, and Sho directs a questioning gaze at Fuma, who keeps his head bowed. “I thought the messenger is the attendant beside him.”

“That’s the Deity of Agriculture,” Fuma supplies.

Sho makes a mental note to avoid any possible interaction with that one; he can already tell it will not go well should it occur.

“Please,” Ninomiya says, a hand over his heart, “I speak only out of concern. Surely the recent predicament has been a cause of worry for most of us here? Much as the farmers keep your temples abundant with offerings, if they cease to procreate, then who will sow the fields in the years to come?”

The specific corner of the hall is silent after that, something Sho attempts to not smile at. Ninomiya has a way of driving the point home—he does come off as annoying if one stands against him, but with him on the same side, Sho can’t help admiring how quickly he shot down the unnecessary comment.

“There’s a solution to all this,” Ninomiya says, and Sho sees him looking at Ohno directly. “We must let the trial commence.”

“There’s no one to stand for it,” one points out, echoed by another, then another. “They long fled.”

“Then they must be found,” Ninomiya says simply. “Even in the Plain of High Heaven, justice must be served. Who will the mortals look to if we abandon them? We’ve already abandoned countless souls in the Netherworld the longer we allowed this to go on. And if we let it continue, eventually, every deity here will lose whatever influence they have. The mortals we’ve abandoned will eventually abandon us in turn, and unlike them who can pass on to the Netherworld, all of us will simply wither away out of existence.”

Sho watches how the expressions of the deities turn grim. The divinity they’ve been given can be taken away, and it’s the mortals themselves who can make that happen.

The irony of their reality draws a smile on Sho’s face; perhaps a deity or two in this hall is so assured of their status that they might have forgotten how dependent they are on the mortals’ existence.

And now Ninomiya has reminded them, and not in the most pleasant of ways.

“What do you propose we do?” Ohno suddenly says, his soft voice piercing the sudden, suffocating silence.

“I’ll find them,” Sho says before Ninomiya can even open his mouth, his eyes fixed on Ohno’s. “I’ll find them and bring them here to stand trial.”

Around him, the murmurs start. He faintly hears of deities voicing out their concerns over his abilities, their curiosity on where his confidence comes from. That he’s new and he doesn’t know how these things work, and even if he does, he has very little power to make it happen. He sees the glances thrown his way, laced with skepticism, some with their heads shaking at his appearance.

“But I need help,” Sho adds, finally understanding what Ninomiya was implying in his pavilion a while ago. “I was recently attacked by the former marriage deity; one of my temples was desecrated and it took the Deity of Medicine and Healing’s intervention to make me stand upright once more. I know I will not survive in the Manifested World if I make the trip alone.” The corner of his lips lifts in a small smile. “Whatever little spiritual energy I have left isn’t lost to anyone here, so everyone can attest to that claim for themselves.”

The murmurs cease at that, and Sho feels Ninomiya’s reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“On behalf of the Deity of Matrimony, I must ask the Heavenly Sovereign to allow this descent to the Manifested World,” Ninomiya says, addressing Ohno directly. “We’ve been silent long enough. The dissatisfaction of mortals has created ripples and it’s time we intervene.”

“How many companions do you intend to take with you?” Ohno asks, directing it at Sho.

Sho doesn’t exactly know. He shares a glance with Ninomiya, who only smiles at him.

“I will need someone of sufficient influence and spiritual energy to accompany me,” Sho begins, remembering Yonekura’s words.

At that, Yonekura suddenly speaks up to supplement his words, her voice echoing in the vastness of the hall. What compelled her to do so is something Sho doesn’t know, but perhaps she has been suitably entertained by the development of things once more.

“He cannot sustain himself. The desecration of his temple has damaged his spiritual energy reserve, and I had to seal it in order to keep him from withering away entirely. There is very little energy to speak of in him. He needs occasional transfers of spiritual energy in order to survive, at least during his entire stay in the Manifested World.”

It doesn’t escape Sho’s notice that there’s a distinct lack of objection or varying opinion after Yonekura spoke. He appreciates her suddenly standing up for him despite not being asked to, though he’s not so deluded to not think that she has her own reasons.

“I believe, Heavenly Sovereign,” Ninomiya interjects, “that one companion will suffice provided they’re influential and powerful enough.”

Ohno’s gaze sweeps across the hall, at the deities gathered around. “I don’t see your companion, Sakurai Sho, unless you mean the Deity of Prosperity after all.”

Ninomiya shakes his head at Sho and answers for him. “I would accompany him, Heavenly Sovereign, if you can find another bookkeeper at this moment.”

Around them erupts a series of groans, some of the deities shaking their heads and avoiding the gaze of the Heavenly Sovereign. Despite Ninomiya’s status in the High Heaven, it’s apparent that no one envies him for his job. The state and political affairs of the High Heaven entrusted to him is burdensome and unappealing that the mere thought of shouldering it for a while is making the other deities look away.

Sho is beginning to feel antsy. Ninomiya’s plan will only work if he has someone with him, someone who can constantly do the transfers without taking ill and help him find his predecessor. But with the continued silence, something like disappointment settles at the pit of his gut.

He supposes it’s only expected. No one would side with him for now; among the countless deities in this hall, no one knows him aside from Ohno, Ninomiya, and Yonekura. Ohno is out of the question, being the Emperor, and Ninomiya is important enough that he’s needed in the Plain of High Heaven at all times.

Yonekura, from Sho’s assessment of her demeanor, will likely only feel compelled to descend from the High Heaven if the very idea of it is appealing to her. And Sho thinks it isn’t; the manhunt for a fugitive god isn’t exactly a pastime as enjoyable as gambling.

He looks at Fuma, who offers him a small smile. If only Fuma isn’t bound by the laws of the Lower Heaven, he’ll be the perfect companion. He’s knowledgeable enough, even more than Sho is regarding the inner workings of divinity, and his willingness to help Sho is sincere.

The silence stretches long enough for Sho to accept the futility in his situation.

“If there’s no one else volunteering,” a voice cuts in, unfamiliar to Sho’s ears, “I will accompany him, Heavenly Sovereign.”

Sho turns to the direction of the voice at the same time the entire hall does. When he sees who just spoke, he takes a moment.

The man steps forward, his brightly hued kimono of dark purples creating a sheen that’s almost unnatural. Sho notices the patterns resembling a fox adorning one of the sleeves. His features lend a regality Sho hasn’t seen in the hall despite Ohno’s presence as the Emperor—if anything, this man’s features make him more befitting of royalty, with the sharp cut of his cheekbones and the angle of his jaw.

It’s perhaps treason to think of such things when the Heavenly Sovereign himself is present, but Sho can’t help himself. He has eyes. And he’s quite taken aback at what he sees.

Sho finds himself staring and catches himself, turning quickly to Fuma with a questioning look.

“The Deity of Fertility,” Fuma says, just as Ninomiya lets out a small, thoughtful noise.

“I would ask what’s in it for you,” Ninomiya tells the man, “but I just realized that this does affect you as well. More than the rest of us here.”

“The lack of marriage among the mortals has contributed to the declining fertility rate,” the fertility deity says, his stark features making his displeasure palpable. Sho is a little intimidated the longer he looks at him. The eyebrows add to the sharpness of his features. “It hasn’t affected me as much as the Deity of Matrimony, but it will soon, I think.”

“Sooner than the rest of us, I believe,” Ninomiya concurs. He faces Ohno once more. “Heavenly Sovereign, if you will permit them to descend to the Manifested World, then? Unless you have some concerns over the Deity of Fertility’s involvement.”

Ohno’s gaze meets Sho’s. “I have one concern.”

All the attention in the hall shifts to where the throne is.

“In the event that it does affect you as much as the marriage deity,” Ohno begins, “neither of you will be able to maintain the glamor amongst mortals.”

“In that event, Heavenly Sovereign,” the man says evenly, “we will promptly return to the Plain of High Heaven. We will not transgress by assuming divine form in front of them, if that is your concern. I have my attendants who will serve as my messengers, and the marriage deity has his own as well. They will promptly announce our arrival.”

Ohno leans back against the throne, looking thoughtful.

“I will maintain communication with both of them, Heavenly Sovereign,” Yonekura says suddenly, diverting Sho’s attention to her person. “This does alleviate any concerns you might have, I believe. Sakurai Sho has become one of my patients now, and I will be remiss on my duties if I do not keep tabs on how he’s faring while he’s down there.”

“And if it requires your personal intervention?” Ohno asks. “If they need a healer of your skill, what will you do?”

“If it comes to that, I will descend to the Manifested World,” Yonekura says with conviction. It doesn’t escape Sho’s attention how this declaration earns the awe and subsequent murmurs of the entire hall. “No matter how enticing the gambling den is, I am the Deity of Medicine and Healing. In saving someone, I will not fail.”

Ohno lets out a breath, his eyes meeting Sho’s once more. “Very well. On my authority as Emperor of the Plain of High Heaven, I will permit this. Until the former marriage deity is tried in these very halls and brought to justice.”

Ninomiya is the first to bow, and Sho follows along with the rest of the deities in the hall. “By your grace. We thank the Heavenly Sovereign for his understanding and time.”

“At ease,” Ohno says. Before Sho can turn away, he adds, “I’d like a word with you, Sakurai Sho. Before you go.”

Ninomiya taps his shoulder reassuringly, squeezing once. “I’ll meet you in your pavilion for a change so we can plan this further.”

Sho nods, and he watches everyone depart the hall save for him. As soon as the massive doors swing shut, Ohno descends from the dais and approaches him.

Sho inclines his head upon his approach, but Ohno waves it off with his hand.

“If you are angry with me for making you do this, I will understand,” Ohno begins, voice patient. The fish on his sleeve is swimming north now. “I apologize. It should never have come to this.”

Sho doesn’t know how to answer that, so he maintains his silence. He can sense how Ohno assesses him.

“Ryoko-san never intervenes unless it’s serious,” Ohno notes. “I take it it was Nino who put her in your path as well? It doesn’t sound like you personally asked for her help the moment your spiritual energy suffered.”

“It was Ninomiya,” Sho affirms.

“Nino has the mind to think of these things,” Ohno acknowledges. “He knows I wouldn’t have agreed unless it was urgent or it was supported by someone even the Heavenly Sovereign has to defer to.”

“Or both,” Sho adds.

Ohno nods in agreement. “Or both.”

“So if I volunteered earlier, you would’ve refused,” Sho concludes.

Ohno gestures for them to start walking, and Sho follows.

“More than anyone, I know what they’re capable of,” Ohno tells him. Sho chooses to simply listen this time; this might be the only time Ohno will openly talk of his sister. “I know how stubborn they can be; I share the same trait. I know how ambition has blinded them and turned them against the heavens itself, but that took time for me to accept. I should be the one hunting them down. I should be the one whose spiritual energy is beginning to deplete. It is only atonement for my lack of action.”

Ohno sighs. It takes a moment before he speaks again, and when he does, his voice is even. “It is the tradition of the High Heaven’s deities to bestow a blessing to anyone descending to the Manifested World.”

Sho looks at him. “A blessing?” he repeats.

“An insurance, of sorts,” Ohno clarifies. “You may ask for one blessing from any of the deities to help you should things not proceed according to plan. It is advised to do so especially in missions involving the welfare of the High Heaven.”

“Such as mine,” Sho says.

Ohno nods. “You may ask for one blessing only. Choose carefully, is what I’d like to say. As the Deity of Oceans and Seafaring, I could bestow you mine, but I don’t think you’ll be navigating the seas as you search the realm below.”

Sho thinks about it now, trying his best to recall the scrolls he’s recently read regarding the deities of the High Heaven and what their abilities are.

“I don’t suppose I’ll need prosperity for this to go smoothly either,” he says after a moment, when they finally reach the doors leading outside.

“I’ve left you to your own devices from the moment we met, Sho-kun,” Ohno tells him. “But it’s long overdue for me to intervene, and so I will before you go. Find the Deity of Good Fortune. Ask for his blessing. It is my wish that it helps you on the journey itself.”

Sho stills, facing Ohno and studying his face.

“If good fortune favors me, I will succeed,” he says. “And they—your sibling—will be brought to justice.”

“Yes,” Ohno affirms with a nod. He doesn’t seem surprised that Sho knows the identity of the one he’s about to hunt down.

“Do you want me to succeed?” he asks.

“A part of me wishes you to, and that is the truth,” Ohno says.

“And the other?”

Ohno turns away from him, waving his hand to open the doors. He doesn’t look at Sho anymore, his gaze faraway and somewhat lost.

When he speaks, Sho realizes he will need all the help that he can get.

“The other knows exactly what they’re capable of.”

--

When Sho returns to the Red-crowned Crane Pavilion, he finds Ninomiya in all his golden splendor examining the shelf of tiny bells he has by the courtyard. Sho supposes the curiosity stems from Ninomiya not seeing bells of this size and this number—his are greater in number and as golden as him, filed in numerous shelves that cover most of his courtyard.

“Which one of these rang on your first day here?” Ninomiya asks without looking at him.

“The one at the bottom left,” Sho says.

Ninomiya makes a thoughtful noise and taps on that particular bell before he straightens up and faces Sho. “I failed to introduce you to the Deity of Fertility.”

Sho then sees the said deity descending from the steps of his pavilion, Fuma right on his heels.

“Fuma showed him the extent of the damage,” Ninomiya supplies before Fuma can explain himself. “Your description of it to me left much to be desired, Sho-chan. Seeing it for myself really puts this entire mission of yours to the top priority list.”

“I’ve never experienced something like that before so I may have downplayed it a bit,” Sho admits.

Ninomiya wraps a hand around the fertility deity’s arm, ushering him forward. “You haven’t met before the meeting earlier, and if circumstances were better, we could’ve had tea in my pavilion for a little get-together. Anyway. Sho-chan, this is the Deity of Fertility, Matsumoto Jun.”

Sho inclines his head in acknowledgement. He finally has a name to put on the rather handsome face. “A pleasure.”

“And J, don’t make that face,” Ninomiya admonishes with a grin. “Sakurai Sho, you know him, yes? The newly appointed Deity of Matrimony.”

“I volunteered, Nino,” Matsumoto reminds him. “I know who he is.” To Sho, he nods back. “How long has it been since your pavilion has suffered damage?”

“A few hours?” Sho says. He’s not entirely certain. “I was placed in an induced moment of respite earlier, courtesy of Ninomiya-san here.”

“Please, call me Nino,” Ninomiya tells him. “Everyone does. Even Fuma does when it’s just us and I can’t write him off for insubordination since he no longer works for me.” To Matsumoto: “He was dying. Ask Ryoko-san if you don’t believe me. He looked three steps away from the Netherworld. I don’t force people to sleep in my pavilion unless they need it.”

Matsumoto only sighs, focusing on Ninomiya. “Fuma tells me you have a plan.”

“I always have one,” Ninomiya acknowledges. “But for starters: you must brief all your attendants regarding this trip of yours. Now that the Heavenly Sovereign has approved of this mission, that makes it an official one. And given my position, I must know everything that happens while you’re in the Manifested World.”

“My attendants know what to do,” Matsumoto assures him.

Sho looks at Fuma, who nods resolutely. “Mine as well,” he adds.

“Include Ryoko-san in your list of people to report to,” Ninomiya tells Fuma. “She will not like having J’s multiple attendants communicating with her; she’d rather have just one and that might as well be you.”

Fuma nods once more, bowing his head. Sho notices that he has a scroll in hand, and that he looks ready to note down anything of import that this meeting will produce.

“Now that’s settled,” Ninomiya begins before grabbing both of Sho’s and Matsumoto’s sleeves to have them closer as his voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, “I can tell you about how it will work.”

“Do you need Fuma to leave?” Sho asks first.

“I need Fuma to stay because he’s the one who will explain everything to J’s attendants,” Ninomiya says. “Listen now. The Heavenly Sovereign’s sister is still using their former status and riding off the influence they’ve amassed over the years to continue binding the souls of unsuspecting mortals to hungry souls. I have long suspected they might have a deal with someone from the Netherworld, someone that can help absolve them should they be banished from the heavens, but no one comes to mind for now.”

“If we find who they’re in league with, the easier it will be to prove their repeated transgressions,” Matsumoto says.

Ninomiya nods. “But that’s not the priority, of course. It is finding them—the former marriage deity, that is. And if they’re still continuing with their scheme, we must come up with a way to divert their attention to you.” To Sho: “I said before it goes both ways. If you’re looking for them, Sho-chan, they will also start looking for you. You’re in their way now.”

“You think they have spies in the High Heaven,” Sho says.

“Or in the Lower Heaven—what does it matter? They will soon find out; when a deity descends, any other deity on the Manifested World can sense it. Divinity projects in the same manner,” Ninomiya explains. “Once you descend, they will know. And they will find you.”

“What you’re suggesting, Nino, is laying out a trap for them,” Matsumoto concludes, something Ninomiya nods at. “If they know we’re coming, we might as well make it worth their while.”

Ninomiya flashes a smile, directing it towards Matsumoto. “It baffles me how come I never thought of you when I was thinking on how to make this work. Now that you’re here, there’s really no one else perfect for the job.”

“You focused too much on the aspect of the Heavenly Sovereign refusing that you thought of Ryoko-san first,” Matsumoto says. “That’s understandable; had I been in your position, I would want the deity that even the Heavenly Sovereign himself won’t stand up against on my side.”

“I accept your praise for my ingenuity,” Ninomiya says. He turns to Sho now, directing that dazzling smile on him. “Do you understand now, Sho-chan? Once you’re on the Manifested World, you shouldn’t hide from them. That’s what they will expect you to do. So you do the opposite: you get their attention.”

“I understand,” Sho says, “except the part on how I’m supposed to do that.”

At that, Ninomiya looks incredulous, his surprise palpable on his features.

When he recovers, the impish grin on his face makes Sho wary.

“Why, Sho-chan,” Ninomiya says casually, as if he’s merely talking about the weather, “you’re getting married.”

--

Ninomiya’s—Nino’s, as he insisted—plan to get the attention of the former marriage deity is simple: Sho will descend to the Mortal Realm, put on a glamor that will disguise him as a mortal, and convince the mortals around them that he is happily married to the Deity of Fertility.

Who will descend with him and take on a glamor as well, and has to act as if they’ve long been married.

It’s preposterous.

The longer Sho listens to Nino speak, the more the words start to lose sense. It’s a testament to how absurd the entire idea is that he and Matsumoto still haven’t found the words to speak by the time Nino is done explaining.

Sho opens his mouth, only to close it again, unable to entirely process what will happen. It’s a sham. A faux marriage designed to entrap a rogue, wayward deity who has repeatedly transgressed the High Heaven and eluded justice for perhaps years.

Dealing with trickery with another trickery, however original, is still trickery, and Sho has certain misgivings about doing such a thing.

He lifts a finger to stop Nino from speaking, and it works. Nino patiently looks at him, looking like every bit of comfort Sho hardly feels on his person.

“If we’re married,” he begins, deliberately not looking at Matsumoto’s direction, “how will that get their attention? They’re marrying off mortals to forsaken, hungry souls. Unless one of us comes to them in lieu of asking for their aid, then they will likely not notice at all.”

“On the contrary, Sho-chan, they will notice,” Nino says. “To mortals, you will simply appear as two married men. But they’re not mortal.”

For a moment, no one says anything.

Until Matsumoto does. “To them, the influence of us combined is practically a beacon.”

“We know they’re organizing soul bindings,” Nino tells him patiently. “But that’s all we know, Sho-chan. They could be doing something else right now. For all we know, each recent dissolution of marriage could’ve been their doing as well, convincing mortals that you’re still absent despite the Lower Heaven ascertaining that mortals know that a marriage deity exists. If it is as I suspect, then having two deities bound to one another is something they can never resist to break.”

“This glamor,” Sho starts, wondering, “it’s sufficient enough to trick mortals, right?”

He earns Nino’s affirmative nod.

“But since I’m a deity on disguise, I still have influence over them,” Sho says.

“Which is why your marriage to another deity will directly turn the tables against your predecessor,” Nino says. “It doesn’t count as a transgression since you’re not appearing to mortals as yourself. But your divinity does lend you a bit of influence over them still, and if your predecessor has made that work for them for years, I don’t see why you shouldn’t.”

Sho has to admit, the initially preposterous idea is looking inherently ingenious right now.

Not that he’ll admit that to Nino’s already self-satisfied face.

“But it’s a fake marriage,” he says, remembering. “How will that influence the people around us if it’s not even real?”

“You’re the Deity of Matrimony, Sho-chan,” Nino reminds him with a smile. “Doesn’t really matter if it’s fake or not. I’m telling you: it comes with the job.”

Sho darts a glance towards Matsumoto then, just as the man glances at him in turn. “Are you all right with this? I will understand if you’ve changed your mind now that you’ve heard the entirety of the plan.”

“Sooner or later they will come for me,” Matsumoto says after a moment of contemplative silence. “If I don’t do something about it now, I’m just giving them the chance to target me next.” He gives Sho a reassuring nod. “If that’s what it’ll take for this to work, then so be it.”

Oh. Sho didn’t expect him to be that readily agreeable, but he can’t deny being grateful for it. He doesn’t know what he feels exactly; on the one hand, Nino’s plan is absurd.

But on the other, it’s all they have.

“Wait,” he says before Nino can open his mouth once more, “I don’t quite understand how the glamor works exactly. So we descend to the Mortal Realm, tell everyone we’re married and are moving into a new apartment—is that it?”

“The glamor is how mortals will see you,” Nino explains patiently. “Whatever you want to project there will appear as such, so it’s all a matter of your intent. You have to mean it, Sho-chan. When you make it, you have to mean every thought you put in it. If you want the mortals to never find out that you’re a god, you have to make sure they don’t.”

“By the time we descend, the glamor must work in such a way that when we get there, they will have no question regarding our union,” Matsumoto says.

“Ah, I forgot. You’re the one making the glamor,” Nino says with a laugh as he faces Matsumoto once more. “I take it that’s not beyond your spiritual abilities, then, J?”

Matsumoto makes a face at him. “Don’t insult me, Nino. I may not be as influential and as powerful as you, but I can maintain a glamor or two for as long as I have to.”

“So you will not need my blessing then?” Nino teases with a laugh that only grows louder when Matsumoto vehemently refuses, his strong brows now furrowed. “That’s a shame.”

“Keep your blessings to yourself,” Matsumoto tells him. “My shrines will suffice and can support us.”

“Always the independent god,” Nino says with a shake of his head. “Fine. Have it your way.” He faces Sho once more. “You worry too much, Sho-chan. J here has enough spiritual energy to sustain your journey—you best leave the inner workings of the glamor to him. Just tell him exactly how you want the mortals to see you, and that’s how he’ll make it happen. He’s an expert at making things happen.”

Sho can tell that the two of them go way back, considering how Nino’s incessant teasing lets him get away unscathed despite the intimidating features Matsumoto possesses. He’s handsome—perhaps outrageously so—but in a way that will make anyone hesitate to flirt with him.

Sho can’t imagine himself doing so. He can’t imagine having someone who looks like Matsumoto Jun as his companion, but because of some twisted turn of fate, that will soon become his reality.

“One last thing,” Sho says to Nino. “Do we have to get married with a witness or?”

He trails off, unsure of how to continue. The silence that follows his question is almost deafening, and Sho is tempted to take his words back.

The look Ninomiya gives him is almost fond, the traces of amusement still evident in his eyes.

“Sho-chan, we’re gods,” he says after a moment. “You’re the god of marriage. If you say you’re married, you’re married. No need for witnesses, though I’d be honored if you two make me yours.”

He remembers Nino’s words earlier about intention, and thinks that might be all there is to this. Regardless of how little spiritual power he has, he’s still the marriage deity.

He’s still a god.

And in the Manifested World, a god’s words are absolute.

Sho looks at Matsumoto, taking in all his features that he will likely memorize in the weeks to come. His eyes catch on the constellation of beauty marks adorning the man’s mouth, and he wonders how these imperfections only seem to add to the overall attractiveness he sees.

“We’re married,” he says before he can catch himself.

Matsumoto turns to him and nods once, and any refusal that Sho might have been expecting doesn’t come.

“We are,” he affirms.

--

Before their descent to the Manifested World, Sho asks Fuma to take him to the Butterfly Koi Pavilion, as per Ohno’s urging.

Fuma leads him there, but unlike the Golden Turtle Pavilion, Fuma doesn’t declare his presence at the doorway. He guides Sho inside, past the throngs of deities in the main hall where most of the gambling is taking place. Sho sees rows upon rows of board and card games, supplemented with alcohol arriving in multitudes, placed in porcelain bottles of sake that nearly every deity he’s seen has been cradling.

“Does simply being here earn you the favor of good fortune?” Sho asks when they’re far enough from the noises and Fuma can undoubtedly hear him.

“Not necessarily,” Fuma says. “But it does keep everyone in lighter, happier spirits.”

Sho did sense something like reckless bravado emanating from this place; as if the longer he stays here, the more impossible things he can accomplish.

Fuma leads him to the inner chambers of the pavilion, nothing too different from the room where Ninomiya was staying the first time Sho met him. Fuma kneels before the doors and lowers his head to a bow.

“Excellency,” he says with reverence, “I come bearing greetings from the Deity of Matrimony, who wishes to have a word with you before he departs for the Manifested World as per the Heavenly Sovereign’s decree.”

“So formal!” is the response Sho hears from behind the doors, the voice jovial and light. “Come now, Fuma, no need for that! You’re one of the very few who insists on being that formal with me; even my own attendants don’t address me in the same manner.”

The doors swing open then, revealing a man dressed in fabric dyed in green—almost identical to Yonekura except instead of peacock feathers, there are dragon carps in various iridescent hues adorning his sleeves and the edges of his kimono. He’s assuming what must be a relaxed posture: feet on one side, elbow bearing most of his weight as he lies on his side, his free hand holding a cigarette holder carved out from jade.

The man is almost staggering in his handsomeness, the refreshing and friendly vibe of his expression a welcome change from everything Sho has experienced so far.

The wisps of smoke surrounding him quickly disperse as Sho enters.

“Sakurai Sho,” he says, inclining his head in greeting.

“Yes, of course, everyone knows of you by now,” the man says, his grin almost blinding. “Aiba Masaki, Deity of Good Fortune. I hope you don’t simply remember me as someone running a gambling den—Nino likes introducing me in such a manner that I feel it’s because he’s a little threatened by my growing influence.”

Aiba gestures for him to sit, and Sho does. Fuma remains a few paces behind him, diligently attending to the doors.

“Given your nature, don’t the lines sometimes blur between you and Nino?” Sho asks. “When it comes to whom the mortals pray to, I mean.”

“You have prayed to me before, haven’t you?” Aiba asks back, causing Sho to redden slightly. Aiba smiles. “I know when someone has. Doesn’t matter how many times—I know if someone has believed in me back when they were still down there. I hope I made your wish come true. What was it?”

Before Sho can respond, Aiba holds up a finger.

“Wait, don’t tell me,” he says, looking thoughtful now. “Despite the number of prayers I get, I’m not as scatterbrained about it as Nino likes to make everyone believe.” He blows off a puff of smoke that disappears to nothingness before it even reaches Sho’s person. “A job promotion. And before that, for a job interview. You aced the interview, earned the job, and eventually got promoted. Correct?”

“Accurate,” is all Sho can say. He’s still in awe at how Aiba knew, but he supposes that a confident, dashing god such as this has no shortage of tricks up his sleeve.

Aiba makes a triumphant noise, his elation coming off in infectious waves. It’s hard not to be simply happy around him, it seems. Perhaps, it’s his influence or his demeanor as a god—Sho can’t quite tell, but he welcomes it nonetheless. It’s somewhat comforting.

“It takes a while for me to remember, but I eventually get there,” Aiba explains. “I will not keep you longer if you need to hurry along since this is all official business. You’re here for my blessing?”

Sho appreciates the direct approach; he wasn’t exactly confident on how he was planning to phrase it. “I’m not the first one asking for it, am I?”

“No, but you’re the first one in a while,” Aiba informs him. “We haven’t had missions sanctioned by the Heavenly Sovereign for a long time. I think that’s why everyone is now anticipating what will happen this time.” He straightens then, reaching over to his side to pop open a bottle of sake before pouring some of it to a golden cup.

He offers it to Sho then, pushing the cup forward and in between them.

“I’m new to this,” Sho admits, because somehow Aiba Masaki makes him feel as if he can talk about anything. “So you’ll have to forgive my ignorance and my questions.”

“I like your honesty,” Aiba tells him. “Ask away.”

“For how long does the blessing last? And how does it work?”

Aiba makes a thoughtful hum, the tip of his cigarette holder resting against his lips. “It lasts as long as you’re down there on official business. Should you cut the trip short and return here unprecedentedly, I’m afraid it will wear off. You have no use for a divine blessing once you’ve assumed divinity once more. And as the Deity of Good Fortune, it works just as advertised: it gives you good fortune.”

“So, if I were to take a shot at the lottery once I get to the Mortal Realm,” Sho begins, earning Aiba’s grin, “I will win?”

“Slim chances for the jackpot because that depends on my mood entirely, but you will win something, all right,” Aiba affirms with a laugh. “If you visit a fairground, you will definitely come home with a prize, too. But that’s not what you need it for.”

“No,” Sho says. “I didn’t think so. The Deity of Fertility has rejected the Deity of Prosperity’s offer for a blessing.”

Aiba laughs, shoulders shaking in delight. “Of course he did. Matsujun has no need for prosperity—his temples down there are overflowing with offerings. He’s humble about it, but I know the truth. You two have no need for prosperity when you can simply visit one of his shrines and get what you need.”

At that, Sho blinks. He didn’t think of it that way.

Aiba notices his realization and nods. “That’s how gods obtain money in the Manifested World. They take what’s offered to them in their shrines. Matsujun has perhaps mapped out where all his shrines must be if he refused Nino’s offer right then and there.”

Somehow, Sho feels bad about being unable to contribute something. He will likely depend on Matsumoto a lot for this trip, considering his status as a lesser known, almost minor god.

He looks at the cup between them, and Aiba pushes it closer to him.

“Hurry now,” Aiba says. “I can only bless one deity at a time. We both know Matsujun won’t go to me either; if he rejected Nino’s, he probably thinks he can go without. With how he acts sometimes, some of the deities here think it’s arrogance.”

“And you?” Sho asks as he lifts the cup to his lips, finding the sake to be one of the best he’s tasted in a while. “What do you think?”

If Aiba has discerned that he’s gathering last-minute but perhaps valuable information about his companion just before departing the High Heaven, he thankfully doesn't comment on it. Instead he looks thoughtful, like he’s truly pondering the answer to Sho’s query.

“I think he’s just shy,” Aiba says with a lopsided grin. “He’s the type to never ask for help if he can do it himself. He thinks it will inconvenience people if he involves them in his personal matters. That doesn’t mean he’s not willing to help when asked—he is, as you now know. He’s simply not the type who asks for help as often as he should.” Aiba nods in his direction. “Maybe you can knock some sense into him. You seem to be a sensible type.”

Sho can only shrug. “I hope so. He doesn’t look like he will take my suggestions into account. It’s a mystery to me why he agreed to help, but I’m grateful for it.” He stares at his hands now, wondering. “I don’t feel any different.”

“I hope not; you’re still here,” Aiba notes. “Once you’re down there, though, it might manifest as feeling as if you can do anything. Increased confidence that is somewhat akin to being tipsy after a good drink, if you’re following me?”

Sho nods.

Aiba grins. “Good. That's how it’ll feel. If you have no impulse control, you might have a problem. But you’ve got Matsujun around, so if you’re about to do something foolish, I’m sure he’ll make certain that you don’t.” Aiba gestures for Fuma’s attention, who bows before him. “I won’t be keeping you. You have places to be.”

“Thank you,” Sho says, rising to his feet. “If I do manage to come back feeling better and somewhat stronger, I think I’ll drop a visit to your gambling den.”

“Given the nature of your mission, if you return here with enough merits to waste, your first dice throw is free,” Aiba tells him. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you. Good fortune to you out there, Sakurai Sho.”

The last thing Sho sees before he turns on his heel is one of the dragon carps on Aiba’s kimono changing color, and with that, he leaves.

--

The torii looks more imposing up close, now that Sho is standing close to it in the central courtyard of the city fortress.

He thought the torii can only be used for rejecting divinity for good and for entering the Netherworld, but Matsumoto made him understand that descending to the Mortal Realm itself is an act of rejecting divinity, hence allowing their use of the official gateway.

Sho brought very little with him, having only a few possessions. Apparently, the glamor can provide most of what he will need—clothing and shelter—and their need for money can be addressed by frequent trips to any of Matsumoto’s shrines in the Manifested World.

He’s trying to commit the appearance of the High Heaven to memory when he senses Matsumoto’s approach. Like Sho, he’s brought little else, save for an omamori in rich, emerald green that he hands to Sho.

“From Ryoko-san,” Matsumoto explains.

“What does this do?” Sho asks, thumb stroking the texture of the finely-weaved omamori.

“Something about amplifying the effects of the seal she put on you,” Matsumoto says, “and making it last longer. She cannot bless you, so she wanted you to have that. In a way, it’s like having her blessing.”

“But not its full potential,” Sho says with a smile. He’s grateful for her assistance, though he somehow feels to have cheated one of the heavens’ traditional systems regarding a deity’s descent. “You went to her, then?”

“She taught me how to do the transfers efficiently,” Matsumoto explains. He walks up to the torii, eyeing it with a certain curiosity. From this angle, Sho is once again greeted with the arresting features of his profile.

“Have you ever passed through it before?” Sho asks, willing himself to focus on the imposing gateway before them.

Matsumoto hums. “A few times. During festivals dedicated in my honor.”

“Ah,” Sho says, remembering. He laughs now, feeling a little stupid for having asked that question. Of course every deity here except for him has passed through the gateway before. They all do during their respective festivals, as per the High Heaven’s traditions. “It won’t hurt, will it?”

“It’s like shedding skin,” Matsumoto tells him. “You’ll understand once it happens. It won’t hurt. But as soon as we cross over to the Manifested World, the glamor will take effect. Any mortal who looks at us will see us as mortals, and that includes the relationship we want them to see. There will be people who will act as if they know us, and that’s the glamor taking effect. We’re assimilating ourselves into their lives, and the glamor makes that process much easier.”

“So, if a stranger walks up to me and acts with familiarity, I shouldn’t be surprised,” Sho says.

Matsumoto nods. “It is expected. At least within the confines of the place we’ll be staying in. They could be our new neighbors, for all you know. Nino has helped a bit with setting up the glamor, so you might have to thank him for his foresight regarding things I didn’t take into account.”

“Like?”

Matsumoto won’t look at him now, his gaze fixed on the torii. When he speaks, his voice is quiet. “Years of marriage, and the like.”

“Oh,” Sho says, finally understanding. “And how many years did Nino think of?”

“Three, give or take,” Matsumoto answers. “He said it was sufficiently believable, though I still don’t understand what he meant by it.”

Sho doesn’t, either. Matsumoto steps forward, but then Sho remembers.

He acts on instinct, grabbing Matsumoto’s arm to halt his movements.

“Before we leave, did you receive a blessing from another deity?” Sho asks.

Matsumoto is frowning now. “No. I know you went to Aiba-kun, and knowing his power, I know that’s enough.”

“Not even Yonekura-san has blessed you?” Sho asks, incredulous.

“I didn’t ask for it because I have no need for it,” Matsumoto points out. “And besides, I went there to learn from her. Which happened. I didn’t go there to ask for a blessing.”

“But what if you need it?” Sho asks him. “What if something happens once we find who we’re looking for? What if we run into problems the longer the mortals around us remain in our presence? It’s insurance.”

“I know how it works,” Matsumoto assures him. Then he sighs, his eyes on Sho’s grip on his sleeve. “If you’re so concerned about it, bless me then.”

Sho balks; he wasn’t expecting that.

Matsumoto takes in his expression, eyes narrowing in understanding. “You’ve never blessed anyone before, have you?”

“No,” Sho admits, not even embarrassed about it. He’s bound to have not done things that other gods already consider as part of their normal lives in the High Heaven. He’s new. “I don’t know how. And no one’s ever asked before.”

“Well, I’m asking now,” Matsumoto says. “How did Aiba-kun bless you?”

“He made me drink sake from one of his golden cups,” Sho recalls.

Matsumoto snorts in amusement, eyes crinkling at the sides. The momentary expression of mirth on his face made Sho stare; he looks a lot less intimidating when he smiles. “That’s how he does it now, huh. Each god does it differently. Nino likes giving what he calls a lucky coin when he does it.”

“And you?” Sho asks, curiosity piqued. This is the Deity of Fertility they’re talking about here. “How do you do it?”

He’s the expert at making things happen, Sho recalls Nino say.

He doesn’t expect the way the tips of Matsumoto’s ears turn pink, and he finds himself smiling at the sight as Matsumoto deliberately refuses to look at him.

“I don’t sleep with them, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Matsumoto tells him.

“That’s not what I was thinking,” Sho replies with a grin.

Matsumoto sighs. “I give them a slice of peach to eat. That’s what I do; I don’t take any of the other gods to bed when they ask for my blessing.”

His embarrassment makes him look cuter in Sho’s eyes, and Sho can only chuckle.

“I believe you,” he says. Then he thinks about it. “Does it have to be symbolic?”

“It has to be intended,” Matsumoto explains. “Ryoko-san may have sealed your spiritual energy, but you’re still the Deity of Matrimony. If you bless someone with intent, it will happen.”

Sho reaches in between the folds of his yukata, fishing out the bell that fell out from the shelf when his pavilion suffered damage. Before he went to the torii, he asked for Fuma’s help to put the pieces back together, despite Fuma’s reassurance that he doesn’t have to, that in time, once the desecrated temple has returned to its previous state, the bell will be replaced.

But like Nino who has kept his back problems, Sho wants something to remind him of the experience.

He hands it over to Matsumoto, who eyes it with interest.

“It’s the one that fell off,” he explains with a sheepish smile. “You’re probably the only one who has asked and will ask for my blessing, so I think this is an appropriate token to mark the occasion. I’d get you another bell—something shinier and not recently mended—but I wasn’t exactly prepared. You’ll have to forgive me.”

Matsumoto takes the bell from him, his fingers carefully holding it between them. “There’s nothing to apologize for. I have your blessing, then?”

“Whatever it amounts to, if it even amounts to anything,” Sho says. He doesn’t know if it has worked; he doesn’t feel anything different. He doesn’t even know what his blessing entails—something about marriage, of course, but the specifics are a little difficult for him to figure out given how everything that has happened so far is his first time.

“All right.” Matsumoto tucks the bell in between the folds of his kimono and faces forward. “Shall we?”

Sho holds his breath, closing his eyes before finally taking a step forward and crossing over.


Part II