Archive of Our Own

The crunch of gravel under her sandal-clad feet sounds obnoxiously loud in the early morning quiet that settles over the forest like thin mist. Even the birds haven’t risen yet, so the only other sound is the merry tinkling of the river as it winds through lush greenery in a stretch of shimmering cerulean, gaily skipping over smoothened, time-worn stone.


A shiver runs down her body as she hikes up the hem of her robes and wades into the clear shallows, bending down to submerge a clay pot into the river until only its mouth is visible above the surface. Water laps around her bare calves, chilly and in stark contrast to the early summer stickiness that hangs in the air and sticks to her skin.


After this, she’ll head back to the local shrine to wash their deities’ granite statues with the freshwater she’s collected and complete her daily chores following that. It’s a ritual all shrine maidens are intimately familiar with and in her case, a routine she’s been instructed to follow one morning out of seven.


The other remaining days have been entrusted to other girls her age. On those days, she’ll get either sweeping or dusting duties. Every day is just one task after the other, a continuous cycle of action and repetition, a pattern that blurs seamlessly into weeks and months and years, right up until they’re standing on the precipice of womanhood. After that starts an entirely different pattern altogether.


This is the way it’s supposed to be—in theory, at least.


But unbeknownst to her, this morning onwards, her carefully constructed sequence would be shattered into nothingness and dissipate like ashes in the wind.


Peering out at her from the low-lying shrubbery growing by the riverside are two shining orbs of viridian set in a face tinted a similar hue, just more subdued. She doesn’t know if it’s because of the soft light reflecting off of the surrounding leaves or the effect of some disease. She doesn’t dare to question, fearful of offending the stranger.


She bows to them, bending at the waist with her hands clasped together in front of her thighs. Respect is always important and the first rule of being a proper human being according to Kannushi .


An involuntary gasp exits her lips as this person—no, creature, because there’s no way that’s a person—stands up with a hunched back, arms dangling in front of them in a seemingly useless manner as if they don’t have much use for them. Unkempt strands of dark green fall down their shoulders, trailing down to their waist in dirty clumps. They’re completely naked other than an object that looks like a turtle shell they’re carrying on their back.


But the weirdest thing about them is the depression in the middle of their head that looks like their skull has been bashed in by a rock. And in the dappled light emerging through the overhanging Sakaki trees, Ochako thinks she sees the shine of water in that crater. She’s scared, and she has every right to be. After all, this ‘stranger’ isn’t human .


She gives another quick bow and leaves immediately. She mustn’t let the fear show on her face. It’s impolite, and she might anger the creature. She wracks her head, trying to figure out what it could be, but she hasn’t studied anything about this sort of thing yet.


“Hey, d’you know of a creature that has a hole in its head?” Ochako asks Yaomomo as soon as she steps inside the main hall, handing over the water-filled pot to the other girl.


Yaomomo’s family had recently shifted from Tokyo to the village, brought here by her dad’s research. She likes studying as well and, as a result, she knows much more than the rest of the girls their age.


She blinks at Ochako’s question, head tilting to the side in confusion, and blinks again. “Ah well, there are a variety of creatures like that, but the first one to come to mind would be the Kappa.”


Yaomomo speaks softly, a pleasant lilt to her words that reduce the sharpness of her accent. It has a soothing quality to it that instantly calms the fear raging throughout Ochako’s system and settles the smoking embers jumping across her veins.


“Kappas are amphibious yokai, green in colour, and typically look like humans but have webbed hands and feet, along with a turtle-like carapace on its back. They also have a depression on their heads containing water, and if this water is lost, they will be severely weakened,”


It sounds as if she’s reciting this straight from a textbook until she excitedly mentions that her father had supposedly met one before and that they’re actually quite friendly creatures, nothing to be scared of at all.


“Tell me more!” Ochako exclaims, an emotion simultaneously familiar and foreign simmering under her skin at all the matching characteristics between Kappas and the creature she had seen today.


It’s anticipation, she realizes with a start. She’s exhilarated to learn more.

A week later, when it’s her turn to fill water again, she subconsciously searches for the strange creature she’d met that day. She still isn’t sure whether she wants to meet them or not, but the slight twinge of disappointment in her chest when she doesn’t see them anywhere says a lot about that particular issue.


She lets out a small sigh, blinking away the stubborn remnants of sleep that clung to her like honey, sweet and syrupy, dripping down her body and sinking into her pores, keeping her trapped within.


This year’s summer is hotter than ever and the heat makes drowsiness swirl in her mind and behind her eyes, a single blink threatening to make her fall asleep right then and there.


She’s so busy trying not to give in to her desires for a nap that she doesn’t even notice when she’s joined by another presence — until the moment she turns around, a shrill scream erupting from her lips and jumping what feels like ten feet in the air in shock.


Because, standing in front of her, is none other than the one she was searching for.


The alleged Kappa.


Maybe not so alleged now that she’s gotten a proper look at them. She’s learnt a lot from Yaomomo and studied up on the creature herself. The creature in front of her is no doubt a Kappa, but at the same time, they look more human than she’d expected.


She bows to them this time as well. “I’m Uraraka Ochako, ‘s nice to meet you.”


Ochako has read stories of Kappas murdering people, robbing people and being a general nuisance to people but Yaomomo insisted that her father had said they’re friendly. And Yaomomo can’t be wrong. So, she takes a chance.


The Kappa bows to her in return, water dripping from their cranial depression as they lower their head towards her. That water is a Kappa’s life source and, dangerous or not, Ochako can’t afford to see anyone die. Not when she can prevent it.


She lifts up their head and pours the water in her clay pot into the crater, only stopping when water starts overflowing. When she looks at the Kappa’s face, she’s met by large doe eyes shining bright green. She notices they aren’t framed by eyelashes and that the Kappa hasn’t blinked yet, and she stores that somewhere inside her brain.


“Tsu,” A sound that can only be described as a throaty croak breaks the stillness of the air, vibrating between them with a varying frequency.


It takes her a moment before she asks, “That yer name?

When the Kappa— Tsu —nods in affirmation, she smiles. “Tsu-chan. ‘S a nice name.” 

Two weeks later, she gives Tsu-chan a bath, scrubbing away all the impurities that coated them like a second skin and dressing them up in some of her older dresses that don’t fit her anymore. She gently trims and cleans their nails, grimacing at the amount of dirt layering them.


Three weeks later she takes a comb to Tsu-chan’s hair, matted with mud and grime and full of tangles that refuse to budge. She’s been meeting with Tsu-chan on her lunch breaks as well now. The heat is stifling, still air broken only by the short drafts of cool wind flowing from over the river, as the afternoon sun beats down on them, a bead of sweat dripping down her forehead as she works on Tsu-chan’s bottle green locks.


A month later, when the heat finally starts to recede, she starts teaching Tsu-chan hiragana and simple kanji, bringing her own writing tools to the riverside, and taking extra care to correct their hand movements and the way they hold the brush.


Another month and a half later, Tsu-chan takes her first step, standing straight on only her hind legs, instead of crawling or hopping around on all fours. The ginkgo fans slowly lose their green pigment, revealing vibrant reds and oranges that burn against the bleak skies. And Tsu-chan seems greener than ever, a healthy glow to their skin, no doubt from Ochako’s ceaseless preening.


Three months later, on New Year’s, with the chilly winter air biting at exposed skin and leaving them with goosebumps in its wake, despite being bundled up in layers, Ochako places a wide-brimmed hat on Tsu-chan’s head and takes them to the shrine she lives in. She’s been telling her other friends about Tsu-chan and today, she finally gets to introduce them to each other. She can’t wait to see their reactions when they finally meet Tsu-chan!


Four months later, all of them—both Tsu-chan and her fellow human friends—sit on the blanket they’ve spread out under the cherry trees, branches heavy with pink blossoms that flutter in the wind as they fall, dotting the entire sky with pink.


By the end of the year, Tsu-chan has seamlessly integrated into human society. It’s a bit jarring seeing how much they’ve grown, knowing that it was her who helped them come this far. And it suddenly hits her that this is what she wants to do!


She wants to keep helping others, humans, creatures, whatever. She doesn’t care who, she just cares how.


Two years later, she’s one of the researchers working under Yaomomo’s father, helping a wide variety of species, and spreading their human-creature interaction and development propaganda amongst humankind.


And Tsu-chan’s right there by her side, her research partner and best friend all wrapped into one.