Lover-fingers held, we’d made our way to the Bamboo Grove Path — one of Arashiyama’s top spots.
The atmosphere shifted from the shopping-street bustle to a serene, urban-noise-free space.
“Couldn’t come to Arashiyama and skip this.”
“Yeah — the Bamboo Grove is a classic must.”
Fresh breeze, rustling leaves, soft filtered light. Heian-era nobles used this area as a villa region — completely understandable.
“What’s past this section?”
“Nonomiya Shrine, then further the Okochi Sanso Garden.”
“You know your stuff.”
The Bamboo Grove is famous, but few know what’s past it. Kano did.
“Nonomiya Shrine is a love-binding and safe-childbirth power spot — obviously I’d know.”
”…Right.”
(She does have an eye for those gods.) She’d said at Kuzuryu Shrine in Hakone she wanted a bond that couldn’t break — back then I hadn’t known I was the target. Now I do. We’re already bound to a level beyond escape; she probably thinks it’s still not enough.
A black torii came into view.
“Remember the temizu procedure I taught you?”
“Right hand picks up the ladle, scoops water, purifies left hand.”
“Right.”
We did the purification and prayed at the main hall and side shrines.
“Now the love-god.”
“Wait — the ones we just prayed at weren’t the love-god?”
“No, actually.”
Kano stopped at a sign reading Turtle Stone.
“Nonomiya Daikokuten — the love-god — is enshrined in this stone.”
“It’s a stone.”
A turtle-shaped boulder stood there. Enshrined in the stone, not a shrine building.
“Rub the turtle stone and your wish comes true within a year.”
“That style, huh.”
I rubbed the turtle stone one-handed (other still in lover-fingers) and wished — let me be with the person I love. I deliberately didn’t picture Kano or Suzuno.
”…Your motion looks weirdly suggestive — am I imagining?”
“Aw — I’m just moving my hand hard thinking about you.”
I couldn’t articulate it, but she looked oddly… erotic. (Maybe filled with impure thoughts? Curse incoming?)
After her round, we kept going through the Bamboo Grove.
“The view alone is fun.”
“Yeah — photos can’t do it justice.”
(Coming here was worth it.) We reached the Okochi Sanso Garden. After the garden, we sat for matcha and wagashi under a red-felted-and-parasoled tea seat.
“Matcha hits different in the home region.”
“Pure-Kyoto vibe.”
It was excellent. (Matcha could be the souvenir.) Then Kano leaned in.
“Yuito — hold still.”
She kissed my cheek. I froze, then rebooted.
“W-what was that?!”
“You had matcha on your cheek.”
“You could just tell me, I’d wipe it!”
“Service from your kind big sister.”
She had the satisfied-prankster grin.