Archive of Our Own

Saki and her sister were supposed to become doctors together. They’d applied and been accepted into the same course, had worked hard to finish their first year, and were looking forward to their second year when Miki stumbled upon a box of personal items belonging to one of their ancestors.

That in itself would not have been able to derail Miki so thoroughly. While Miki had always had a slight fascination with the way everything was so densely connected that “a butterfly flapping its wings could cause a typhoon across the world,” the fact that she had chosen to pursue medicine instead of history in the first place was telling about where her interests lay.

No, what really caught her attention was a letter addressed to an unnamed doctor and the impossibility that was finding him in any historical records.

Surely a man whose medical skills left such a lasting impression on Saki’s namesake, the sister of their many times great-grandfather and the founder of their family’s medical school, must also have left his mark in history. The letter had left Miki with the impression that this doctor had been integral to Jinyuu-Dou’s success, possibly even its existence. The absence of any trace of him in historical records suggested that someone really didn’t want him to receive the recognition he deserved, or that there was something supernatural about his presence in the nineteenth century.

Miki, who had a surprisingly romantic view of the world and everyone’s place in it for someone who was otherwise so practical, wanted so badly to know which it was that she’d missed the first day of their next semester to bury herself in research, and continued missing them until she was threatened with expulsion from the programme. And then she proceeded to quit medical school to focus on medical history.

While Miki continued to call the unknown doctor ‘Marumaru-sensei’ ¹ because they “really didn’t know what his name was,” Saki called him ‘Jin-sensei’ because Jinyuu-Dou ² had to have gotten its name from somewhere and none of the people known to be associated with the clinic had ‘Jin’ in their name. And besides, even though ‘Jin-sensei’ didn’t quite roll off her tongue, it was easier to say than ‘Marumaru-sensei.’

(And she needed to be able to say his name because Miki talked about him so much. Even as she uncovered more about the history of medicine in Japan, Jin-sensei never left her mind, and she managed to link every event back to him in some way. Nobody from Jinyuu-Dou had been credited with the development of penicillin, for example, even though it had clearly been the work of one of its doctors. There was an entry in Jinyuu-Dou’s finance books about a kimono purchased for 1 ryo, but who it was for had not been indicated even though Tachibana Saki had been meticulous in recording every other purchase.)

And while Saki graduated from medical school and pursued neurosurgery (to the surprise of both Miki and herself, who’d always assumed that her love for children would lead her to pediatrics or obstetrics), Miki uncovered more and more discrepancies in historical records that led her to believe that the unknown doctor would one day come knocking on their door to seek his own answers.

Neurosurgery is a delicate field, but Saki is good with patients and even better with her hands, and, whether by skill or luck, she has never lost a patient on the operating table.

A few years after, Saki wrote a paper on extracting intrinsic tumours in the brain stem.

She didn’t mean to specialise in neurosurgery or research into this disease. In fact, she had all but decided on pediatrics, but found herself opting for neurosurgery when she sat down with the paperwork. All she did was blink, and suddenly she was propelled down a different path from the one she’d intended to take, as if a hand was on her shoulder steering her towards a goal she couldn’t see. All she knew was that it was important that she enter neurosurgery, that she look for a way to treat this tumour.

It felt like she used to know somebody who wanted so badly to find a cure for such a tumour but couldn’t, so she wished to do so on their behalf.

It was a silly idea. There was nobody like this in her life—surely she’d have spoken about such an important person to Miki and their brother even if she no longer remembers this person, but both said they didn’t know anyone like that.

It doesn’t matter in the end. Saki loves what she does, even if she didn’t anticipate this for herself.

---

“You were right,” Miki tells her the moment she steps through their door. She’s smiling like her wildest dreams have come true. “His name was Jin. Minakata Jin.”

Saki stares at her.

“I met him today,” Miki continues as if it’s some sort of clarification, still grinning with the euphoria of having her suspicions confirmed. “I gave him the letter.”

Saki doesn’t know how to react except to look abruptly away from Miki so that her sister wouldn’t see the blush rising up her cheeks or the way her brows furrow as images and sounds and feelings come rushing to the front of her mind. The face that has eluded her for what she knows now to be not just one but two lifetimes, his voice and her adoration, they’re coming back to her now.

Jin-sensei was here.

Jin-sensei was here, and suddenly Saki can see him, his too-wide smile, his too-soft heart, his too-warm hands.

Minakata-sensei.

That’s who he was. That’s what she used to call him in Edo, when he lived with them at the Tachibana estate, and when she lived with him at Jinyuu-Dou.

His name was Minakata-sensei. Not Jin-sensei. That’s why it didn’t feel right because she’s never once called him Jin-sensei except when talking to her mother—who, it seems, was also the great-great-grandmother of this body.

She wants to see him.

She wants to know that he’s okay. She wants to know if his tumour has been removed. She needs to know. She remembers that he said he’d need a bipolar, which she knows with certainty exists in this day and age.

“Did he...was he wearing a hat?” she asks.

Miki tilts her head. “Yes. Why do you ask?” she answers, even if she clearly doesn’t see how a hat may be relevant.

“Did he say where he was going after this?”

“No. But from the way he was talking about our ancestor Saki, I think he planned to visit her grave afterwards.”

Saki turns on her heels and heads right back out. She doesn’t hear Miki calling her name.

---

Minakata-sensei wasn’t what Tachibana Saki, daughter of a samurai family, had in mind when she imagined a man she would dedicate her life to.

It wasn’t possible for the person she was years ago to imagine herself working day and night to make ends meet at a clinic run by a man from the future, to imagine herself using tools that hadn’t been invented yet to treat illnesses that couldn’t have been treated, to imagine herself doing something that has come to be more important to her than the duty of bearing children for the Tachibana family.

She never could have imagined that she would be wiping sweat off the brows of someone like Minakata-sensei as he cut out a tumour from a ransomed prostitute whom she genuinely liked despite being her rival in love. She never imagined that she could love a man so much yet withhold herself from him, that she would see the sun in his smiles and the unending depths of the sky in his wisdom, that she would look at a man like this who is all at once more than human and yet so, so terrifyingly, fragilely, painfully human and find the strength in herself to stay away.

He didn't belong here in Edo and she knew that he’d have to leave but she couldn’t stop herself from surrendering herself into his pull anyway. It started with a morbid fascination with a man and the shocking methods he used to save her brother’s life, and now her life has spiralled into so much more.

Jinyuu-Dou has become her life. Being at Minakata-sensei’s side, supporting this man who is larger than life, whose heart is kind and gentle and too soft for the cruelty of ambitions of others, in whom she sees Miki-san and Nokaze-san’s shadows clinging to his every thought, this is her life now. The life she has willingly chosen because now it’s not just about Minakata-sensei, it’s about his dream for the future of Japan, for Jinyuu-Dou and medicine, for herself because she wants to leave behind something worthy of being called a legacy.

She wants to adopt Minakata-sensei’s dream as her own and realise it for him where he could not. 

The pull of his smile, wide and large and full of teeth, unfailingly warm and gentle. The creases at the corners of his eyes when he’s happy, the way shadows cling to his cheeks when he’s worried, the angles of his jaw when he has a scalpel in his hand, the odd hairstyle that should look ridiculous but that Saki loves because it helps her find him easily in a crowd, because it is a part of him that he is fond enough of to preserve over the years even though he’s given up his garments for kimono, his effective tools for their primitive imitations. It’s an odd hairstyle, but it fits him because Minakata-sensei is odd and that oddness, that not knowing, that unyielding kindness despite the harshness of this era, has stolen Saki’s heart little by little until it’s been thoroughly replaced with Minakata-sensei’s image.

An image that...Saki is seeing on the street.

That’s right. It’s Heisei 22. The coin.

“Minakata-sensei,” she whispers to herself, blinking and pinching her arm to check that she’s not dreaming.

“Minakata-sensei!” she shouts. “Minakata-sensei!”

He stops no more than a few paces in front of her, freezing in his step. He’s wearing a hat so she can’t see that hairstyle that she misses so much, but she knows that gait. She knows that build. She knows from the way he startles that he’s who she’s been searching for.

“Minakata-sensei,” she says, drawing near, holding her breath.

He turns, and oh, it’s so slow, so slow, and suddenly, time stops.

He’s staring at her with wide eyes, his lips are parted, his cheeks are...wet?

“Minakata-sensei?” Saki says, and pulls out her handkerchief to wipe the wetness away as she was used to doing to his sweat back in Edo.

For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say something and she hoped it would be her name, but what he said was, “Who…?”

Saki jerks her hand away. “Ah, I’m sorry! My hand just moved—”

“Saki...san?” he whispers.

Saki allows herself to hope. “...Sensei?”

“Saki-san!”

“It’s me, Minakata-sensei,” Saki says, and before she can reach to wipe his tears away again she’s back in Edo, ill nearly to the point of septic shock, and Minakata-sensei is in a kimono hugging her for the first time, and she’s clinging  to him with what little strength she has left.

She blinks, and she’s back in the present, and her body is not weak, and Minakata-sensei is still hugging her. In the present. In a shirt and pants and parka and ridiculous beanie.

She hugs him back and this time he doesn’t let go of her hand.

---

They’re seated in a nearby cafe. Saki doesn’t quite remember how they ended up here but she does remember following him like a lost child unwilling to be parted from a familiar face, right after introducing herself as Miki’s sister.

“Minakata-sensei, do you—”

“Ah, can you...not call me that?”

“What else would I call you?” Saki asks, puzzled.

Minakata-sensei ducks his head, almost bashful. “How about...Jin?” he says, staring at his cup of coffee with a smile that Saki knows to mean that he’s embarrassed.

Saki feels her own face flare up with blood as well. “Jin...sensei?” Saki tries.

“Just Jin is okay,” Minakata-sensei says, still not looking up from his coffee. Still smiling, his cheeks bunched up, the corners of his eyes crinkled.

Saki presses her lips together tightly, trying to hold back what would definitely be a silly, flustered smile. “...Jin.”

Minakata-sensei finally looks up, and his smile is blinding and beautiful and Saki has missed it so much.

“Jin,” she says again, just to see him smile more.

He laughs, scratching the back of his head in that endearing way of his, so unlike the restrained habits of every other man Saki had known back in Edo. All of his oddities made sense now, knowing that he came from the twenty-first century. His hair, his knowledge, his awkwardness. The parts of him she loved that had never fit into what Saki, the Saki of Edo, used to think she would find in a man she wanted to marry.

She loves him, so much.

“I heard from Miki that she gave you the letter,” Saki says. Better to rip the bandaid off sooner instead of letting her emotions fester with uncertainty.

“Ah,” he says shortly. “Yes.”

“You can pretend it doesn’t exist, if you want,” Saki offers as she prepares to hide her heart away. “I know how much Miki-san...Miki, my sister, means to you.” And she does. For all of the six years that he had been in Edo, Minakata-sensei had worked tirelessly to create the sort of future where a treatment for Miki-san’s tumour existed. And he had succeeded, because Saki had benefited from the advances when she wrote her thesis introducing a method to treat that very disease.

Saki had invented the technique that would save her sister’s life. She had achieved what Minakata-sensei had hoped for all those six years.

She isn’t delusional enough to think that Minakata-sensei had found himself softening towards her entirely of her own merit. If Miki-san had been with him, if Nokaze-san hadn’t gotten married, Saki would never have known what it felt like to be embraced by him.

But she’s been selfish enough. She’s lived a long life without him once. She can do it again, even if it might hurt more now that she knows the face of the person who’s been missing from her life.

They sit in silence for a while. A minute passes, then two.

Eventually, he says, “I left a reply on your grave.”

Saki’s lips quirk up. “I know. But I’m selfish and weak. I didn’t want to hear you say goodbye so I didn’t read it.”

“I didn’t say goodbye. Would you...would you read it? Please. And let me know what you think.”

“I can’t make this promise,” Saki tells him.

“Then…will you write to me?”

Saki can’t help the smile tugging at her lips. It seems that Minakata-sensei hasn’t quite gotten used to having the conveniences of the modern world at his fingertips again. “We have mobile phones and emails now, remember?”

Minakata-sensei barks a bashful laugh, hand scratching the back of his head in that achingly familiar way again. “Right, right! Will you call me, then?”

“...I don’t have your number.”

Minakata-sensei opens his mouth as if to speak, then abruptly winces. “Ah, I actually don’t remember my number anymore. Maybe you can give me yours?” he says as he pulls out his phone. “I’ll call you so you can have mine too.”

Saki dutifully recites her number, promptly receives a call from Minakata-sensei’s phone, and saves the unknown number as ‘Minakata-sensei (Jin)’.

“This is a new chance for us, even if it’s not the past I left behind,” Minakata-sensei said, pocketing his phone.

“Chance, huh.” Saki smiles, slipping her phone into her bag. “I’m glad I can understand you better now. Not just modern words, but also medical jargon. I’m a neurosurgeon too, you know?”

“Neurosurgeon?” Minakata-sensei asks, brows furrowed. “Weren’t you interested in paediatrics and obstetrics? Miki said you were.”

“I was. I still am. If I didn’t remember Minakata-sensei at all, I really would have gone into paediatrics.”

“Did you remember me all this time? I’m sorry,” he says with a grimace. “I didn’t mean to derail your life again.”

“It’s all right,” Saki assures him. “I didn’t actually remember you properly until Miki told me your name just now, right after she met you.

"Besides, it wasn’t really you so much as a feeling that I had that led me to make the decisions I did in this life. Instead of saying that you forced my hand, it was more that I chose to listen to the whispers of what remained of you.”

“But I still feel like I’ve turned your life upside down again.”

“Don’t be. I do enjoy neurosurgery. And if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have developed the technique to remove tumours like Miki’s. I won’t regret that.”

“You...you did?”

Saki smiles at his disbelief even as her heart squeezes a little. Just a little. After all, she’s saving her sister’s life here. Losing Minakata-sensei to her is a small price to pay. “Congratulations, Minakata-sensei, you’ve created the kind of future where a cure for Miki’s tumour is possible.”

“I...Saki-san, I can’t tell you how happy I am!” Minakata-sensei’s face is alight with joy, those familiar wrinkles creasing on his face as his lips pull into an unreserved smile. She sees him make an aborted motion with his hands, probably to clasp hers in excitement, and she wishes that he had gone ahead with it. She would miss his touch once he and Miki are reacquainted.

“You don’t have to. Miki is my sister. When I remembered everything, I too was grateful that I listened to the voice in my head that kept nudging me towards achieving your goals. I won’t lose a sister this time.”

“Thank you, Saki-san! Thank you so much!”

“There’s really no need. You can thank me by being happy with her.” Saki schools her face into a pleasant smile. It might hurt now, but it would hurt more if she knowingly stood in the way of Minakata-sensei and Miki’s happiness. “Shall I introduce you to Miki properly sometime soon?”

“What?”

“Shall I introduce you to Miki?” Saki repeats despite the sinking of her heart. “She’ll be thrilled to get to know you, both as a historical figure and as a person. You got along with her once before. I’m sure you’ll get along again.”

“I know a good coffee shop nearby!” Minakata-sensei says eagerly. “You can bring Miki along and we can get something to drink together someday.”

“Ah, no. I meant just you and Miki,” Saki clarifies. She doesn’t fancy being there when Minakata-sensei and Miki start getting to know each other.

“Saki-san—”

“Minakata-sensei, let me do this for you. You’ve done everything in the last six years for this moment. Let this be my gift to you.”

“No, wait, Saki-san—!”

“Miki’s schedule is very flexible. Just let me know when you’re free, Minakata-sensei.” Saki bows and gets up to leave, but Minakata-sensei’s hand on her arm stops her.

“You need two things when it comes to love,” Minakata-sensei says slowly, “the right timing, and the right person. I’m not who I was six years ago. I don’t fit with Miki anymore. She doesn’t even know who I am.”

“We can change that, of course. Miki will come to love you again—”

Minakata-sensei looks her straight in the eye, his lips set in a determined line. “You’re missing the point, Saki-san. In those six years, I’ve changed, and even if I will always remember her fondly, I can’t give myself to Miki anymore.”

Saki thinks she knows what Minakata-sensei is trying to say. Part of her wants to believe him so badly, but another part of her can’t help but be wary. She still isn’t convinced that Minakata-sensei would have chosen her if Miki-san and Nokaze-san were still in the picture. “But you’ve always worked so hard towards Miki as your goal, all throughout those six years. I’m not foolish enough to think that you would choose me over my sister now that you actually have a choice.”

“But I am choosing you over her,” Minakata-sensei says earnestly, his eyes beseeching and his hands pleading as they hold hers gently, warmly. Saki remembers what it felt like to have her hand held by him while she was nearly sick to death–it was a lot like this, like he was afraid that if he let her go he would never see her again. “I don’t know this Miki. I’m sure I can learn to know her, but I don’t want that, can’t you see? Right now, right here, the one I want to hold, to spend the rest of my life with, that’s you, Saki.”

“...you called me Saki.”

“Sorry, does it make you uncomfortable? I can call you Saki-san again.”

“No, it’s not that. I’m...happy.” Saki allows herself a small smile. “It’s silly, but you’ve never called Nokaze-san by her name only. This is a privilege you’ve always reserved for Miki. I...I like it.”

“I can call you Saki from now,” Minakata-sensei says quickly, as seeing an opening. “All day, every day. I’ll call you Saki until you’re sick of it.”

Saki can’t help the widening of her smile. “I don’t think I’ll ever grow sick of it.”

“Does that mean you’ll let me stand next to you on the street again? Does this mean we could try to be together?”

She remembers a beautiful sunset in Edo, tainted by the bittersweet news of Nokaze-san’s marriage and Saki’s uncertainty of what the future held, when Minakata-sensei asked if they could be together. It had felt like Minakata-sensei only asked because he was freshly unbalanced from the disappearance of Miki’s photo and was trying to settle himself by clinging on to Saki’s steadfast presence.

Saki had thought of Nokaze-san’s well wishes for her and Minakata-sensei and realised that Nokaze-san had made a sacrifice that Minakata-sensei did not fully know how to accept, for it erased the future that he had tried so hard to preserve. Minakata-sensei had never been and will never fully be in Edo with her, and she could not bear to be with Minakata-sensei if part of him was always elsewhere, if one day he could vanish back into the future and leave Saki all alone in Edo after promising her the world. So she hardened her heart and told herself that Jinyuu-Dou and its legacy was what she most wanted to stake her happiness on, because Minakata-sensei was an uncertain target and she cannot take the risk with him.

But today, in the modern world, Miki is right there. She is not married and out of reach like Nokaze-san was. She is not a person in a photograph that fades with every seemingly insignificant event. Miki is in this world, at their home, and yet Minakata-sensei, who is no longer at risk of vanishing into a world where Saki cannot reach him, has chosen Saki.

Saki laughs, and nods her head. Her eyes are wet, but she’s happy, she’s so happy. “Okay. Okay. At least this time, I’m not afraid you’ll disappear at any time.”

---

A week later, they’re at the same cafe and chatting over tea when Saki suddenly says, “I still can’t get used to it.”

Jin—Jin! Not just Minakata-sensei, but Jin—squints at her. “Get used to what?”

“The way you say ‘I’ now.” ³

“Should I say it the same way I did back then?” Jin asks, smiling. He’s smiling so much. Saki doesn’t want him to ever lose his too-broad, too-much-teeth smile. “It’s not hard. I already feel like I should in your presence.”

“It’s okay. It doesn’t matter. Jin is Jin,” Saki decides. “If you say it that way, I’d be tempted to revert to my old way of speaking too.” She pauses, a sudden thought occurring to her. “Although, I would like to see you in a kimono again, sometime.”

“Me too. Maybe at Tanabata,” Jin suggests.

“That would be nice,” Saki agrees wistfully, then takes a sip from her cup.

Jin grins, and adds, “And maybe at our wedding.”

Saki chokes on her tea.