*Twenty years ago*

"Jiro-nii! Okaeri!!"

Eijiro laughed, spreading his arms so that Sayuri could jump into them. Working two jobs at fifteen wasn't ideal, but Eijiro found it hard to complain. Especially when he had Sayuri to come home to. He spun her around, lifting her high into the air in spite of how tired he was.

"Tadaima!" he said, tossing her up before tickling her. She giggled, kicking wildly as Eijiro set her down. He stepped out of his work shoes, his feet aching. He really should've gotten a different job. Working at the wharfs had been busy enough, but a rickshaw driver? That was just crazy, even if they did need the money.

Now Eijiro spent every morning fishing and every night pushing rich people around in a two-wheeled cart. The pay wasn't bad, but at this rate Eijiro wouldn't be surprised if his knees gave out ten years sooner than they were supposed to.

"Did you catch any big fish today?" Sayuri asked.

"Did I?" Eijiro sat next to her in the entryway, feigning a look of concentration. "I think I might have. You should check in my bag."

He slung it off and passed it to her. Grinning, Sayuri opened the top flap, squealing with delight as she pulled out a bag of pink fluff.

"Wataame!" she cheered. Cotton candy!

Eijiro laughed. "Be sure you share with Tsubaki, okay?"

"But Tsubaki never wants to play," Sayuri pouted. "She's too busy working."

"Is she?"

Eijiro stood. Sayuri held one arm up to him, the other wrapped tight around her cotton candy. Deciding to indulge her, Eijiro bent down and scooped her up, resting her against his right hip. Sayuri was getting too old to be carried like this, but she made it so hard to say no to her. It was the reason why Eijiro always bought her candy rather than put that money towards bills or groceries.

He padded down the hall, catching a glimpse of their father in his usual spot. He was sprawled against the tatami mats of the living room, an empty beer bottle in one hand. His mouth hung open and he snored.

Eijiro was disgusted by him. He heard that Tokuda Shinji used to be a good man. If he thought hard enough about it, he could even remember a few times when that was true. But that had been years ago.

A year after Sayuri was born, their mother died in a train accident. As a result, Eijiro's father became a derelict. He wouldn't speak to Eijiro or his sisters unless it was to ask for beer or to yell at them for not having any. At first, Eijiro thought it was his way of grieving. But when he never stopped drinking, he had to accept that Tokuda Shinji loved his beer more than he loved his children.

Eijiro stopped outside of Tsubaki's door. He heard her looms weaving on the other side, threads shushing and whooshing as they bound themselves together. He glanced at Sayuri, who gestured at the closed door as if to say, See! I told you so.

Eijiro knocked. "Tsubaki?"

No one answered. Eijiro almost knocked again, then heard a shuffle on the other side.

"Hai, douzo," Tsubaki called. She sounded exhausted.

Eijiro set Sayuri on the ground, then slid the door open with two hands.

The room was dark. The only light came from a single oil lamp, even though Eijiro had their home wired for electricity two years ago. Eijiro sighed, wishing there was some way for him to fix that. Tsubaki still lived in fear that they would run out of food or money again.

"Oneechan, kurosugi kono heya wa," Sayuri complained. It's too dark in here.

She flipped the lights on. Tsubaki's workshop appeared before them. She had three weaving looms crammed into a space that was only meant to hold a futon. There were twelve bowls of silk fibers lining the edges of the room. Each one rolled themselves out into threads of different colors. Eijiro sidestepped the loom that was weaving a purple cloth. Sayuri hopped over a bowl that spun out golden thread.

Tsubaki's head popped up from the loom she was working at. Her hair was a mess and there were bags under her eyes.

"Turn it off!" she snapped. "There's no point in using it when we don't have to."

"For the sake of my eyeballs, I say we have to," Eijiro said. "Honestly, Tsu, how do you see anything in here?"

Tsubaki scowled at him, and he held his hands up defensively. "Tsubaki, really, it's fine. I already paid the electric bill."

"Then we should use the extra money for food."

"We have more than enough to eat."

"And the mortgage?"

Eijiro frowned. Tsubaki was eleven-years-old. How did she even know what a mortgage was?

He stepped around the loom she was working on, motioning for her to sit on the ground with him and Sayuri. She obliged, rubbing her eyes and suppressing a yawn. Eijiro didn't fail to notice that her looms kept weaving. Even now, when she was trying to indulge them, Tsubaki was still working.

Sayuri crawled into Eijiro's lap and pulled his arms around her. "Oneechan, you work too much," she said.

Tsubaki shrugged. "We need the money."

"No, we don't," Eijiro said. "I already told you; I got a second job. Between that and the wharfs, we'll be fine. You'll both have enough money for school, and in a few months Sayuri can have her own shamisen to practice on."

Sayuri perked up at that. "Really?"

Tsubaki twirled a strand of hair in her fingers. She looked at Eijiro, her eyes somehow too worried to belong to someone so young.

"And what about you, Oniichan?" she asked. "Don't you want to go back to school?"

Eijiro shook his head. "Nah, school is stupid. Besides, if I tried to go back now they'd put me with all the nine-year-olds. I'd rather be fishing."

Tsubaki sighed. She plucked out a strand of her hair, swirling it in the palm of her right hand with her left index finger. The strand of hair started to change, becoming long and thin. Its color shifted from black to white, as it began to stick to itself. Tsubaki spun it into a silk cocoon the size of her fist, then tossed it from one hand to the other.

"It's not fair though, is it?" she said, "That we have to live like this?"

"You don't have to," Eijiro pointed out. "You could just focus on school."

Tsubaki scoffed. "As if our father would allow that."

Unlike Eijiro--who received his synthetic serum as payment for a job he did--Tsubaki was born with magic. But it was hard to say what kind she had. She obviously wasn't elemental. If she grew cotton plants, that would've made it clear she was a plant magic specialist. But silk didn't grow from plants, at least not the kind that Tsubaki made. Eijiro's guess was she had a form of beast magic, manipulating her body to create silk in the same way that others shifted to grow wings or a pair of fangs.

When she began to manifest, Eijiro didn't think Tsubaki's magic was particularly useful. Her threads were sticky, reminding him of spiderwebs, and she trailed them everywhere. Tsubaki herself found the ability disgraceful. It wasn't until their mother died that she really began to hone her skills. She worked her sticky fibers into sewing threads, then wove those into silks as soft as water. Over time she learned how to weave different designs and patterns. She even started spinning threads in different colors. Eijiro didn't know a lot about bugs, but he couldn't think of a silkworm in the world that could do that.

At first Eijiro was glad Tsubaki found something that made her happy. Even before their mother died, she had always been prone to worrying. Like the sticky fibers she made, Tsubaki tried to keep everyone and everything together. Losing their mother only made that worse. But when she was weaving she forgot about all that, delighting herself in an ability that used to embarrass her.

"Just don't let him sell them," Eijiro told her. "It's not your fault he's a rotten drunk."

Tsubaki winced. Maybe it was because she was the middle child, and cared a lot about their family dynamic, but she couldn't stand it when Eijiro spoke ill of their father. It was as if she were hoping he would come back someday. That if she kept funding his bad habits, eventually he would realize he didn't need them anymore.

Eijiro still hated himself for not being there that night. About a year ago, while he was working late at the wharfs, their father fell into a rage when he couldn't find any drinking money. Desperate and angry, he took his feelings out on Sayuri, beating her for not bringing him something to drink.

Thinking fast, Tsubaki went to her loom and brought him the cloth she was working on.

"Sell it, Otou-sama," she told him. "Sell it and buy whatever you need."

Tokuda Shinji snatched the cloth, his anger appeased. He muttered that he'd better be able to get a beer out of it as he staggered out the door.

For better or worse, he got more than enough money for beer that night. Tsubaki's cloth sold for so much that he didn't buy any alcohol at all. Minutes after Eijiro returned from work their father came bumbling in, drunk with a happiness that hadn't come from liquor.

"Mite, mite!" he said, holding a bag of coins in the air. Look at this!

It was all Eijiro could do not to punch the man. He squared off with his father, hands balled into fists.

"Apologize to Sayuri," he demanded. Behind him Sayuri whimpered, holding a bag of ice over her swollen eye as Tsubaki comforted her.

"Sayuri?" Their father frowned, then waved a hand dismissively. "Bah, she should thank me. If it weren't for me we never would've known Tsubaki was holding out on us. I ought to throttle her for her greed."

Eijiro clenched his jaw. He felt his blood boiling under his skin. How he hated this man. What he would give to strangle him, to bind him up with the greasy clothes he wore and toss him into the sea. If he were to die tomorrow, Eijiro wouldn't shed a tear over him. He would be one less mouth to feed and a--

A hand rested on his arm. "Oniichan, daijyoubu." It's alright, brother.

Eijiro looked down at Tsubaki. In his anger, he hadn't realized he'd ripped his shirt to shreds. The fabric coiled around him in strips, ready to lash out at his father. Eijiro blinked, and the fabric coils floated to the ground.

Their father hadn't noticed. He went into the living room, hefting the bag of coins with two hands and muttering to himself what he would buy with it. Eijiro gritted his teeth. Sensing that he might do something stupid, Tsubaki stepped forward.

"How much money did you get, Otou-sama?" she asked.

Eijiro wrinkled his nose. He wished Tsubaki wouldn't call him "otou-sama." A man like their father didn't deserve to be addressed with honorifics.

"See for yourself," he gloated. He flipped the bag upside down, emptying it. Gold coins and banknotes came pouring out, piling in front of him like a mountain.

Eijiro gaped at it, so shocked he forgot his rage. That...that was more money than he made in a month. Tsubaki's cloth had sold for that? She hadn't even finished it.

"Not so arrogant now, are you boy?" Their father jeered.

Eijiro tensed. The shredded remains of his shirt began to writhe. If his sisters weren't with him, he would've strangled the man. How he hated him...

Tsubaki reached back and touched his arm, sending a silent reminder that now wasn't the time. Swallowing his anger, Eijiro willed the strips of fabric to lie still.

"I'm glad you are happy, Otou-sama," she said. "Now you know for next time, ne? There is no need to ask Sayuri for drinks. Be kind to Sayuri, and I will give you more of this."

"Yes," their father muttered. He scooped up a fistful of coins, letting them rain down between his fingers. "Yes, Tsubaki will give us money. Tsubaki will make us rich."

From that day forward, Tsubaki's weaving ceased to be a hobby. Word quickly spread about the girl from a fishing village who spun silks fit for an emperor. Orders came piling in from all over the province, so much so that other weavers complained Tsubaki was stealing their business. Although if anyone had a right to complain, Eijiro thought it was Tsubaki.

Before she started weaving for money, Tsubaki shared a room with Sayuri. But as demand for her silks grew, Sayuri moved in with Eijiro so that Tsubaki could make her workshop. Eijiro would never say it out loud, but Tsubaki's workshop was really more of a one-woman sweatshop. With all the proceeds going back to fund their father's drinking habits.

Eijiro wanted her to stop. He wanted her to go back to making silks for herself, but she worried their father would beat Sayuri again if she did. Eventually that worry bled together with her fear that they would run out of money. Eijiro loved her for her compassion, but he could tell it was getting to her. Where other girls in the village were starting to show signs of womanhood, Tsubaki was still rail-thin. Since she spun more than what her body could naturally produce her hair was thinning, and her skin looked sallow. If she kept this up, Eijiro worried she would be an old baba by the time she was his age.

"It's too late to cancel," Tsubaki said. "I have orders lined up until the end of the year. And even then, there's always someone trying to get on the waiting list."

"Tell them to wait somewhere else," Sayuri said. "It's not good for you to work so much, Oneechan. You look sick."

Eijiro nodded. "She's right. You should take a break, Tsu. Recharge for a little bit. If you're not going to quit, at least give yourself some time to recover."

Tsubaki tilted her head. "I don't know..."

"Well I do," Eijiro said. "Let's go out tonight, just the three of us. We can get dinner and maybe stop at that dessert place you like. You know, the one that makes the fancy pudding?"

Tsubaki was mortified. "I can't do that! I'm supposed to give Toga-senpai his fabric by the end of the week. If I don't finish, then--"

"You'll finish," Eijiro cut in. "I'm not worried about that." He looked down at Sayuri, then up again at Tsubaki, an evil glint in his eye."But if you don't come...who knows? Sayuri's cotton candy might end up in places it shouldn't."

Taking the hint, Sayuri pulled out a chunk of cotton candy, waving it dangerously close to the loom.

"Pretty, pretty fabric!" she said. "It will look prettier with pink!"

"Yamenasai!" Tsubaki scolded, swatting her hand away. Then to Eijiro. "I already made dinner for tonight."

"Then save it for tomorrow," Eijiro insisted. "We can eat it for breakfast. But tonight we should get pudding."

Sayuri raised both arms in agreement. "Pudding!"

Tsubaki narrowed her eyes. "Are you seriously threatening me to ditch work for pudding? Our father will not approve."

"So we don't tell him," Eijiro said. "He's passed out, anyway. You know he won't wake up until tomorrow afternoon. What difference will it make if we sneak out for a little bit?"

Tsubaki still looked indecisive. It occurred to Eijiro that if he tried to persuade her they'd be there all night. What Tsubaki really needed was an intervention.

His mind made up, Eijiro nodded. "Sayuri, get the back door."

"Hai!"

Sayuri hopped out of his lap, making her way to the sliding door on the side of Tsubaki's room. Pressing her palms to it, she slid it open. Darkness spilled out on the other side. Eijirio could see stars and hear the town bustle in the distance.

Tsubaki frowned. "What are you--"

A strip of fabric wrapped around her mouth, muffling her cry of alarm. Another bound her hands, and a third latched around her feet. She was so surprised that her looms stopped weaving and her silk threads weren't spinning.

Finally, Eijiro thought.

He stepped forward, scooping Tsubaki up and throwing her over his shoulder.

"I didn't want to do this," he said. "But you gotta learn to relax, Tsu. Trust your brother; what's the worst that could happen?"