December 25th, 1920 (Taisho 9)

Sakura wondered why her mother looked particularly withdrawn that day. It was an unremarkable winter's day like all others to her; the melting frost a sign spring was coming.

Spring – the most beautiful season, the season of sakura blossoms, her namesake. The old tree in the garden never failed to produce sweet-smelling flowers in abundant quantities. The blossoms had been especially fragrant the year she was born, her mother had told her; they had named her for it because of that.

Her grandmother was as stern as always and Sakura knew she was not going to get any clues from her. Gonji was of no help, changing the conversation to her sword training or the weather.

On a rare outing to the nearest town – her ancestral home in rural Sendai was still remote from the wave of modernisation sweeping Japan – to help Gonji with the shopping, she saw lights arranged over the store. "Look, Gonji!" she laughed, tugging on his sleeve. "They're over the board – and there're wreaths! And toys! What's the occasion?"

"It is Christmas Day next week, Sakura-oujou-sama," answered the elderly manservant.

"Kurisumasu?" she repeated, dragging out the unfamiliar syllables.

"Yes, it is a Western holiday brought to Japan some time ago. On that day, families gather for dinner and exchange presents."

"How'd you know so much, Gonji? And why didn't Okaa-sama and Obaa-sama say anything about it?" She had a mental image of the four of them seated around a table, Western-style, surrounded by gaily-wrapped presents of multiple colours.

He hesitated momentarily. "We do not really celebrate Western holidays – your grandmother does not approve."

Sakura's face fell. "I see..."

"But that is not to say, the master did not try." Gonji's eyes creased as he smiled. "Why, he brought back a little tree one year when you were a little girl, and he wrapped souvenirs in fancy paper and arranged them underneath it – all that time in the capital was a bad influence, no doubt."

"Otou-sama did?" She frowned, trying her best to remember. Hazy memories, interspersed with clear images here and there. "But I don't remember any gifts from him..."

Gonji looked away. "Ah, it is getting late! We must hurry home before your mother and grandmother worry, Sakura-oujou-sama."

After dinner, Sakura approached her mother and bowed. "Okaa-sama, may I ask you a question?"

"What is it, Sakura-san?"

"Gonji told me that Otou-sama celebrated Christmas with us once – it sounds like such a nice tradition. Why don't we keep it going, even though..." She left the statement hanging, not wanting to complete it. Saying it made her father's death seem so final, as though he was no longer watching over the family.

Her mother's face was perfectly unemotional. "Your father is no longer with us, therefore your grandmother and I saw no reason to continue that tradition. Furthermore, there is no reason in observing a Western custom."

"But – "

Wakana stood up. "It is late. You should prepare for bed, Sakura-san. It will be the new year soon; your grandmother wishes to see development in your training."

She opened her mouth to speak – and closed it, thinking the better of talking back. "Yes, Okaa-sama," Sakura answered, bowing low.

The next day, she set off on her mission. Most of Shinguji Kazuma's things had been stored away neatly, as though their owner would be coming home any day but her father's room betrayed no personal touch. Her enquiries turned up nothing; Gonji, sensing he had said too much, refused to comment further on the matter.

"What's Christmas like in the capital, Otou-sama?" she asked the black headstone in the family gravesite. "Is it like the store in town, but bigger and more colourful? Does everybody give presents to everybody?" Sakura rested her chin on her knees. "... Why won't Okaa-sama say anything about it?"

She stared at the carved kanji in silence.

Further cajoling and coaxing had squeezed the exact date of Christmas Day out of poor Gonji. "December 25th by the Western calendar, Ojou-sama," sighed the defeated old man. "Now will you please let me have some peace?"

"The 25th?" Sakura went into her father's room to retrieve a book to check the date. "... That's tomorrow!" It spurred her back into her quest with new zeal; to find any trace of Christmas in the Shinguji household.

She wondered why this newfound obsession with Christmas had started as she went through the storage room in the back of the house. It certainly was not the presents, or the tree that fascinated her; Sakura wondered why she could not remember her father with these things. Surely such a momentous celebration with him and the rest of the family would have been engraved into her memory as one of the few she had of him?

"Gyaaah!" Lost in her thoughts, she tripped over a box and fell flat on her face. "Owowowow... that really hurt... Hmm?" The young girl opened one eye. Tucked in one corner of the room, hidden behind a set of boxes was a dusty bundle of cloth she did not remember seeing before.

A quick check around to make sure nobody was there, and she pulled out the bundle, coughing as it dislodged at least a few years' worth of dust. Sakura's fingers easily undid the knot on top and the bundle fell open.

Inside were old photographs; formal ones taken in a photography studio. She barely recognized a young Kazuma standing with a solemn couple; the woman bore a resemblance to her grandmother.

Her father's family, a generation ago.

Another photograph showed her parents in traditional wedding attire; her mother, a demure bride in her white uchikake next to her smiling father, handsome in his stiff haori. Sakura smiled, tracing the faces with a finger.

One more was her father in uniform, smiling with three other people. She laughed aloud at the older man in front pulling a silly face. Her father's old comrades, she guessed, the Tai Kouma Butai that had protected the capital.

The last took her breath away; herself as a baby in her father's arms. The smile captured on his face was not the same as in the previous photographs; the man in the picture was completely unaware of the camera, smiling tenderly down at his newborn daughter. Sakura's breath caught in her throat.

"Otou-sama..."

The photograph was lovingly wiped of dust before being laid aside; Sakura turned her attention to the rest of the bundle's contents. A writing brush, a carved netsuke in the shape of a stag's head, a pin bearing the Imperial Army's insignia. All these objects had been her father's treasures in life – now his daughter reverently handled each one in turn.

Clearly her mother had hid all these things away when her father died; the memories must have been too painful. Sakura understood why she had not said anything when she had asked her.

There was nothing else left in the bundle. She took special care to arrange everything the way she had found it, lingering a moment over the photograph of her father and herself. As Sakura pulled the cloth back up, her fingers found another smaller lump tucked away in one of its folds.

She took out the squarish object and held it up to the light; patterned paper, held in place by a shiny ribbon that caught the light as she moved it. Sakura drew a sharp breath.

"Presents..."

Attached to the top was a crinkled label yellowed with time. Her father's neat characters stood out from the paper: 'For Sakura'

Excitement rushed in her chest. "A Christmas present... from Otou-sama..." Carefully, so as not to tear the beautiful paper, Sakura removed the wrapping the reveal a small brown box. Lifting the lid, she found a single object lying in the bottom; leather fingerless gloves, still smelling faintly of polish.

She took one out. The material was still a little stiff and new, but had a soft texture from being polished. They were the perfect size for her.

"Otou-sama..." It became clear. The gift had been intended for her years after Kazuma had bought it; clearly, he had regularly polished it in preparation for the girl who would grow into a warrior. Tears filled her eyes; Sakura dabbed them away with her sleeve.

"... Happy Christmas, Otou-sama..." She tucked the gloves away into the box, slipping it into the folds of her kimono before stowing the bundle back where she had found it.

Someday, she would be worthy of her father's sword and earn the right to continue his mission, protecting the capital he loved so much, and she would go fearlessly into battle wearing her father's present.

As she slipped outside and down the corridor, two pairs of eyes watched unnoticed.

"Sakura-san is growing up faster than we imagined," said Wakana softly.

The old lady beside her nodded. "She is fulfilling her destiny. The blood of the Shinguji family runs strong in her."

Sakura's mother bowed her head, fighting the tears that threatened to come.