Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Happiness was a cozy armchair, a mug of Irish coffee with entirely too much whiskey in it, and pouring rain outside the bay window. Jigen liked the rain. It put him in mind of an Impressionist painting; washed out colours seeping into each other, leaving only the essence of the things reflected in hazy shapes. He’d seen a few in his time – mostly in Lupin’s collection – but none compared to the living art piece that was unfolding outside of Café Ladurée’s window.

“Alcohol, so early in the morning? Have a little self-respect, Jigen.”

And happiness couldn’t be broken by something as trifling as being interrupted by Fujiko Mine. Although she did try very hard.

“Good morning to you too, Fuji,” Jigen replied, raising his mug at her and then taking a long sip. She made a disgusted face as he smacked his lips.

The young woman sat down in an armchair opposite Jigen. A waiter immediately appeared to hand her a menu, greeting her by name. She replied with a charming smile, and skimmed over the list. She ended up ordering the same thing she did every time, and Jigen was left to wonder why she still bothered with the routine.

“So, how are things going at the parlour?” she enquired, after the waiter had returned with a large tray of pastries, avocado toasts, tea and coffee, and a plate of bacon, fried eggs and bread for Jigen.

“Like you give a crap,” the tattooist replied lightly as he started buttering an already glistening slice of fried bread.

“Humour me.”

“Same old. I’m starting to build up my clientele again. Being away didn’t really help the business, but the regulars didn’t let me down.”

“I can’t believe there are regulars in tattooing.”

Jigen chuckled. “You’d be surprised. It’s kinda like a drug. You get one tattoo, you immediately want another.”

“You people are weird.”

“Sure. How’s the scamming business going?”

“Please,” Fujiko frowned. “I’m not scamming anyone. Everything I do is completely legal.”

“Suit yourself. So?”

“I have a big opportunity coming up in San Marino. Remember Rebecca?”

Jigen raised an eyebrow. “Lupin’s wife?”

“No, that’s you. Anyway,” she pressed on before Jigen could spit out his coffee in her face, “I found some incriminating stuff about her, so she’s agreed to let me hop onto a job she’s doing back in her hometown.” She smiled. “It’s called thieving. Nothing as uncouth as a scam, dear Lord.”

“Where I come from, we call it blackmail, and it’s frowned upon by most people.”

“If I tried to please everyone, I’d never have time for anything,” Fujiko replied daintily. She took a sip from her porcelain cup of tea, and leaned back in her seat. “How is our favourite florist doing? I haven’t heard from him in a while.”

Ah. Goemon.

There was… a lot going on with Goemon.

Or rather, there was a lot going on with Jigen, involving Goemon.

He had thought everything would go back to normal. The parlour was open again, so was the florist shop; Jigen received packages for Goemon, Goemon bought Jigen coffee, new potted plants regularly appeared in the tattooist’s home, and Lupin still visited using anything but the front door. Even the Secret Frenemy Brunches had resumed. Yet Jigen couldn’t go back to before.

Back to when he still saw Goemon as a friend.

He felt like he hit a wall, trying to remember that time. He tried to summon the feeling of those days, and his mind came up blank. It wasn’t that Goemon had changed; everything Jigen saw in him today had always been there. Only, Jigen had, and he didn’t know what to do with that change. It was too big to handle. Too big the warmth he felt when his friend smiled at him; too big the joy whenever they went out together; too big the comfort when they sat in silence enjoying each other’s presence.

Thankfully for Jigen, he was very good at bottling up things that were too big.

“He’s doing fine,” he replied. “Lots of work.”

“Uh-huh?”

“He’s gotten a big order from our local shrine,” Jigen clarified. “Gonna be working all weekend.”

Fujiko sighed. “That man needs to learn to take breaks.”

The tattooist nodded in agreement. He was all for hard work, as long as it left him the time to enjoy the fruit of his labour. Goemon seemed to just enjoy the labour.

“Speaking of work,” Fujiko added, pulling Jigen out of his thoughts. “Lupin wants to ask you guys to come along on a job.”

Again, Jigen nodded without a word, and continued buttering his toast. Fujiko waited for an answer from him for a few seconds, then, getting none, she added: “Lupin, not Barnett.”

The meticulous buttering stopped, and Jigen raised his head.

“It’s been ages. Why now?”

His friend shrugged. “I don’t know. Ask him. I’m just giving you a heads up. That’s you and Goemon, by the way,” she added with a wink. Jigen frowned.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You figure it out, pea-brain. He’s going to invite you properly himself, but I figured you might want to think about it in advance.”

Jigen leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. “There’s nothing to think about. I’m not getting roped into his bullshit again and he knows that.”

///

“I’m so glad you guys came along,” Lupin exclaimed as they entered the guest room.

Jigen grumbled and dropped his bag next to the paper-thin futons. He took a look around to get the layout of the place. They’d just arrived at a Buddhist temple in the heart of the Bandai Asahi national park, and been led by a bare-headed monk to their quarters for the night: an aesthetically barren bedroom of paper panels and straw tatami mats. The only furniture was the futons, a heated kotatsu table¹, and a lacquered wood tray containing three changes of yukata. One of the walls was entirely taken up by a painting of a mountain scene, where reddening maple trees framed the lively flow of a waterfall. The art was so stunning that Jigen felt the urge to step into the panel and take a dip in the freezing water.

“I’m only here as a getaway driver,” he mumbled.

“Still! It’s nice to have the whole gang together!” Lupin replied, sounding chipper.

Jigen shared a look with Goemon; the samurai had the same half-worried, half-exasperated expression of a man who’d been roped into his best friend’s shenanigans and wasn’t sure how much he was willing to get involved to stop him from endangering himself.

“What did he promise you to get you to come?” Jigen asked him, as he grabbed a yukata from the pile and held it in front of him for size.

“He shall let me make cuttings of the flowers.”

“…I thought you weren’t gonna be involved in the ‘stealing’ part?”

Goemon’s ears turned pink. “I am not. I am simply… tagging along.”

“Hmm.”

“What did he offer you?”

Jigen glanced at the samurai from under his hat.

“Don’t you wanna see Goemon kick ass?” Lupin had asked.

“…Fancy bourbon,” he replied. Behind the samurai, the thief opened his mouth to speak, then closed it immediately. “I’m heading to the onsen. Who’s with me?”

Before Goemon could respond, Lupin had already jumped out of his clothes and into a yukata. “Last one in the water has to kiss Zenigata on the mouth!!” he shouted. Jigen rolled his eyes and Goemon shushed aggressively. A muffled “Be quiet!” rose from the other side of a paper panel. Lupin loudly slid the door open and barrelled out into the corridor.

“You didn’t bring the Zantetsuken,” Jigen remarked as he and Goemon followed suit at a more respectable pace.

“You did not pack your Magnum,” Goemon replied in kind.

“Lupin said there shouldn’t be any action.”

“When does anything Lupin says turn out to be true?”

“Good point.” Jigen glanced at his friend. “Yet you didn’t bring it.”

There was a silence, then, “I did not.”

They walked quietly for several paces, then Jigen said with a grin: “Lupin’s already kissed Zenigata on the mouth at least three times.”

That managed to break Goemon’s composure and make him snort, and Jigen was smiling contentedly as they walked into the steamy washroom preceding the onsen. They managed to get through undressing and ablutions with minimal splashing from Lupin, and neither he nor Goemon made any remark about the fact that Jigen was keeping a pair of swim trunks on. The gunman was grateful to his friend for having chosen to arrive at an hour where the place would be empty. He usually avoided public baths; between his tattoos, his scars and having the wrong bits, it was usually more of a hassle than it was worth.

They emerged into the outdoor pool, and Lupin let out a loud whistle, immediately earning himself a slap on the back of the head from Goemon. The onsen was a gorgeous natural hot spring, surrounded by rough rocks and wooden ledges. Yellow chrysanthemum petals were floating lazily in the water, carried around by the hot currents. Aside from the stone lanterns and the wood buckets, it felt like sitting in a pond in the middle of the mountainous wilderness. Goemon absentmindedly contemplated coming back in the winter – snow would cover the stones and the surrounding forest, making this a magical experience. It was far removed from the untouched nature he used to tread in back in the day. The places he went to train had nothing for comfort, although they were gorgeous in their own right. Even on the path of the sword, his focus a steel-hard beam pointing though his mind and all his attention turned toward his path to perfection, there had still been some space left in his heart to appreciate the beauty of the nature that surrounded him. He missed it, sometimes. The clear steps to a precise destination, the control over his body and his life, the feeling of being one with his sword.

He glanced at Jigen, who was laying back against the ledge, legs lazily kicking in the water. Did he miss it too? The power and confidence that washed over him when he held his weapon?

The look on the gunman’s face the last time he had wielded the Magnum flashed through his mind, bringing the answer. The gun wasn’t a path, it was a lifeline.

Jigen looked up at him, and winked. Goemon’s cheeks went pink, which was completely normal in a steamy hot spring and not anything to dwell on. With his eyes and his tattoos uncovered, Jigen looked more open that he ever had. More human. The ink on his body was at once an armour and an open book; and for the first time Goemon thought he understood why people like him etched their life story into their skin.

Goemon closed his eyes, took a deep breath and pushed all thoughts of weapons and choices from his mind.

“Can we go over the plan once more?” he asked, making his way toward Lupin through the water.

The thief sprang out of the water where he had sunk up to his nose to blow bubbles, and smiled.

“Of course! It’s easy as pie,” he exclaimed. “The monks go to bed at midnight. We leave our room at two in the morning, and sneak out through the gardens to get to the Amida Hall. That’s where they keep the sacred chrysanthemums as an offering to the Buddha. The leaflet says the hall is inaccessible to visitors, but whatever lock they’ve got on it is nothing I can’t pick.” He shrugged. “We’re just going to stroll through a nice garden and visit a historical building. Basically tourism. You sure you don’t wanna come, Jigen?”

The gunman shook his head. “I already told you, I’ll just stick to getaway driving. What’s so great about some flowers, anyway?”

Goemon answered before Lupin could even open his mouth. “The Tobagiku chrysanthemum is a variety derived directly from the original chrysanthemums brought from China by Buddhist monks. They had healing properties said to grant eternal life. The specific flower kept in this family-run temple has never been cross-bred with any other variety, but instead carefully selected and evolved from that original plant, in complete isolation. It is absolutely unique in the world.”

“…And you’re breaking into a Buddhist temple to make cuttings from it.”

“Lupin is breaking in. I am merely escorting him.”

Jigen snorted, and sank down in the hot water. “Okay bud, you do you. But I’m not risking my job for some flowers. Have fun getting arrested.”

“Unless you fuck up your job,” Lupin intervened, “no one will get arrested.”

“Buddy, you know as well as I do that there are countless ways for things to go wrong before you reach the getaway car. I’ll be waiting for you guys with bail money.”

Lupin pulled his tongue at his friend, and Jigen splashed water at him. Despite his words, the gunman didn’t look worried. It took Goemon a few moments to realise that this was just how the two friends interacted. He privately wondered about their past association. The thief was the only thing from Jigen’s old life that remained, and the smile he put on the gunman’s face wasn’t new. So why had he given up on these escapades? Was his own best friend too much of a reminder of his past mistakes?

Fujiko’s smile flashed in Goemon’s mind. He quietly sunk down into the water.

They stayed in the onsen until the heat became unbearable, then left the water and the idyllic nature behind to head back inside the temple. As they walked back into the bathhouse, Goemon noticed Jigen’s gaze lingering on his chest, his eyes veiled by his bangs and by a shadow of guilt. Instinctively, the samurai reached up to the raised bullet scar on his stomach, and Jigen looked away. A matching wound was adorning the gunman’s leg, not quite healed yet, and many more scars peppered his body. Goemon wondered if he had ever counted them. It didn’t matter. He would make sure their number never increased again.

They returned to the guests’ quarters, then Lupin dragged them along on a “touring visit and definitely not heist recon” through the temple grounds. He and Goemon provided the tour commentary, the thief retelling the history of the buildings while the samurai explained the symbolism of the religious iconography, the sand gardens and the raised stones. In every place where lotus flowers would normally be depicted, instead there were chrysanthemums, reaching their long petals toward the visitors. Goemon insisted on stopping at the jokoro² to burn a stick of incense to add to the communal purification, then visiting the goshuin³ reception desk to get his pilgrimage book stamped. Jigen and Lupin watched with curiosity as a priest wrote the temple’s name and the date in flowing calligraphy and handed the booklet back to Goemon; they tried not to snicker as they recognized yet another chrysanthemum stamped in red ink.

They spent the end of the afternoon lazing around the temple grounds, watching the other temple-goers gawk at the gardens and ring the worship bells, while monks and priests busied themselves with their daily tasks. The sun was setting when the heavy double gates closed on the last tourists, leaving only the monks and a handful of pilgrims inside. Dinner was served an hour later in the communal mess hall, and consisted of a series of small dishes of seasonal vegetables, nuts and roots. Lupin complained (thankfully quietly) about the lack of meat, earning himself a dark glare from Goemon. The meal was brought to a close by a cup of sake infused with chrysanthemum petals, supposed to bring good health and heal the mind and the body. Goemon couldn’t help but glance at Jigen while drinking it, trying to catch a glimpse of his tattoos.

Night had fallen by the time they exited the mess hall. The guests trickled back to their quarters, while the monks formed a procession toward the kod ō lecture hall deep in the gardens. The thieves watched them disappear in the dark.

Then they headed back to their room and went to bed. Jigen didn’t sleep. Instead, he played the future heist in his mind, the route Lupin and Goemon would take through the temple, the possible security measures the monks had in place, the timing necessary for the escape. Even after all this time, he remembered Lupin’s modus operandi well enough to play out a dozen different scenarios, and to know that none of them would happen. This was an easy, routine burglary, they’d be in and out in under an hour, leaving no trace… Except this was a Lupin heist. No matter what, Lupin had a knack for finding himself in situations that didn’t go according to plan.

Well, this wasn’t Jigen’s responsibility. He was just the getaway driver. If Lupin ended up between a rock and a hard place, he was big enough to get out of it on his own; and Goemon could only blame himself for following Lupin.

Jigen turned around, pulled the blanket over his chin, and still didn’t sleep.

It felt like eons before Lupin stirred his partners gently.

“Showtime, boys!” he whispered, a conniving grin plastered on his face.

Both men nodded, perfectly alert. Lupin had already changed into a catsuit, and Goemon quickly changed into what Jigen could only describe as a ninja outfit – all black fabric, the ample hakama legs and kimono sleeves tied around the shins and forearms. Instead of a weapon, the samurai slipped a pair of garden pruners into his kimono. Then Lupin handed both of them masks. Jigen narrowed his eyes at the blue oni mask he’d been given, almost matching its scowl.

“See? It suits you,” Lupin whispered before his friend could protest.

Goemon had already tied his on his face. It was a tengu mask, red-faced and long-nosed. Jigen remembered the story Goemon had told him about tengus teaching sword fighting to samurais of old, and chuckled at Lupin’s choice.

Then the thief pulled out a monkey mask and tied it on his face, earning himself a surprised glance from both his partners.

“Doesn’t the police already know your face?” Goemon enquired.

“Well, I want in on the fun,” Lupin replied. He turned to Jigen. “We’ll be back in an hour. Don’t fall back asleep.”

Jigen rolled his eyes. “Get the hell out of here, idiots,” he said by way of a farewell.

Lupin saluted him, Goemon bowed his head, and they were off.

Outside, the moon was shining high in the sky, painting the garden with harsh whiteness and deep shadows. Despite the autumnal colours slowly spreading from the north, the night was still warm, and the heady smell of chrysanthemums permeated the air.

Lupin and Goemon slipped from one shadow to the next, their footfall hidden by the rustling of the leaves. Not a word was said. They crept around the halls and the stone altars that littered the gardens, until they reached the lake at the heart of the temple grounds. In the centre of it stood the great butsuden, the main hall enshrining the most precious objects of worship of the temple. It floated over the water, as if by magic, lit up by the brilliant reflection of the full moon. Ornate footbridges connected the wings to the main hall, above which the curved pagoda roof seemed to tower endlessly, like a bridge to the stars. For an instant, Goemon felt himself lose his footing. The reflection in the water looked so real, he felt he could step onto the bright path of light and walk it to the temple.

Lupin put a hand on his shoulder, and he was brought back to reality.

On the banks of the lake, three dinghies and a motorboat were tied to an ornate pontoon. Goemon peered toward the temple. No embarkations were visible on the docks lining it. He gave Lupin a nod. The thief replied with a thumbs up and a grin, then knelt on the banks, and pulled out of his rucksack four small wooden contraptions. He handed two to Goemon and tied the other two to his shoes. The samurai bit back a smirk. He had made those water shoes for Lupin many years ago, after the thief had requested his help to rob some businessman’s lake mansion. He noted proudly that his friend had only made minimal adjustments to his design.

In seconds, Lupin was on the water. Goemon quickly strapped the contraptions to the soles of his getas, and followed him.

They paddled around the edge of the lake, hidden by the reeds and the underbrush, until they reached a side of the hall where the water was dark, untouched by moonlight. As soon as they would leave the cover of the trees, they would be completely exposed. The shadow of the temple was their only ally.

The water was calm, and quiet, and Goemon willed his mind to be the same.

From up close, the temple was imposing. They silently hopped onto the dock, and Goemon stopped for a second, admiring the towering wooden walls of red and gold. Everything was dead silent, and the statues inside seemed to glower at them as they snuck in.

They only made it a few paces along the inner wall before the samurai stopped.

“This is abnormal,” he whispered.

Lupin stopped as well, and looked around. The room was filled with the usual benches, raised platform, altar and a gilded statue of Amida Buddha. He raised an eyebrow at his companion.

“This room is too small for the outside proportions of the hall,” Goemon remarked.

“Oh, yeah, the whole building’s a bunch of mismatched rooms and corridors,” Lupin replied with a shrug. “Meant to confuse outsiders.”

“…and I don’t suppose you’ve got a plan of the place?”

“Couldn’t get my hands on one.”

Goemon sighed silently under his mask, and took a step forward.

The entire building started to rumble.

On reflex, Goemon tackled his friend to the ground, and they both rolled under the cover of a bench. The entire room was vibrating, making the furniture move slightly – but not in the way an earthquake would, Goemon noticed. After a minute, it stopped as suddenly as it had started.

The two men got up (not without an attempt from Lupin to fondle his friend’s butt), and looked around. Everything was still in its place, except-

Instead of leading outside, the door they had come through now opened onto a corridor.

“…Well, that explains the lack of floorplans,” Lupin declared.

“What do we do now?”

“What kind of question? We explore!”

And without waiting for an answer, the thief sprang forward into the corridor. Goemon sighed for the second time in a minute, didn’t bother to remind his friend that the place could very well be booby-trapped, and followed suit.

“It’s a shame Jigen didn’t come along,” Lupin commented as they snuck down the corridors. “It would have been so fun to have you two work together.”

“I am not working here,” Goemon replied without missing a beat.

“I mean, you should have seen him back in the States,” the thief continued. “He once shot the screws off a road sign and had it fall down right onto a police car.”

“Why did he stop working with you?” Goemon asked, knowing full well the answer.

“I cannot fathom,” Lupin replied. “Why did you stop working with me?”

Goemon paused for barely a second. Lupin didn’t notice.

“You know why,” the samurai replied.

They continued in silence. The corridor opened onto another worship room, with a different statue of Amida. Cut flowers were set up at the base of it; the same chrysanthemums as everywhere else in the temple. Lupin checked for trapdoors in the usual places, then shook his head. They pressed on.

“Well, you could have left the yakuza and stayed with me.”

Goemon stared at the back of Lupin’s head.

“I cannot half-turn away from crime,” he lied.

“Yet you’re here now.”

“I am not helping steal these flowers.”

The thief snickered, and Goemon glared harder.

Besides, Lupin was wrong. He wasn’t all here now. His sword was still in the florist's backroom.

///

Jigen was sitting in the driver’s seat of Lupin’s Mercedes, turning the mask in his hands. Sneaking out of the temple with their travel bags and driving the getaway car (seriously, who used a bright yellow vintage Mercedes as a getaway car?) to a side entrance had only taken him ten minutes, and now he was bored to death. He’d checked that the engine could start quickly, that the tank was full, that the tires were well inflated. He’d searched under the seats for potential weapons (and found two dummy guns and a real one, a Ziploc full of tiny grenades, and three boxes of thumbtacks), rummaged through the glove box for mints (he’d found a wig, a pack of gum with a nuclear waste symbol on it, and a deck of cards), and eventually settled for smoking all of Lupin’s backup cigarettes. Now, he was examining the cheap plastic mask the thief had given him. He’d originally wanted to get them authentic antique nō theatre masks, before being shut down by Goemon. The goal was to pass incognito, not attract even more attention on them.

Just a year and a half ago, he wouldn’t even have thought about hiding his face.

Having his mugshot on every wanted poster in a hundred miles radius wasn’t how he wanted to live anymore. It was exhausting. Always on the run, always checking behind him, always a finger on the trigger. Always afraid something would catch up.

But he missed Lupin’s smile and the way the wind ruffled his hair as they ran.

He missed the apprehension of long stake-outs, the focus as he peered through a rifle scope, the excitement coursing through him when he pulled a trigger.

He missed the glint in Goemon’s eyes when they had sparred in the courtyard. The confidence that flowed through all his movements, mirroring Jigen’s own. The way his hair stuck to the sweat on his forehead, the hoarseness of his breath, the callouses on his hands, the grin that split his face. The way Jigen’s heart raced when the samurai wielded his sword.

He missed the thrill of the fight and the laughter of a friend.

Jigen took a drag on the stolen Gitane. Memory was a fickle thing. You only ever remembered the good bits and forgot the rest. The old him was catching up, and, well...

Maybe that idiot thief had some things right.

He looked out the window toward the temple. Everything was calm and silent, unmoving, like an ukio-e ⁴print. He felt as though there ought to be some movement, a plume of smoke, someone shouting. Peacefulness never lasted long around Lupin.

The moon shone on the roof tiles. A sparrow chirped. The wind rustled in the leaves.

Jigen finished his cigarette, smothered it in the overflowing ashtray, and sighed.

He’d better get there before something exploded.

///

In the night, the temple had grown eerie. Goemon’s hairs were standing on ends. Places of worship were usually comforting, impressive, lively. This place was a haunted labyrinth. They’d passed three rooms that should be the main hall, all with different statues of Amida. Lupin was still striding like he owned the place, exploring certain inner shrines and backrooms seemingly on a whim before shaking his head and continuing onward. The temple had rumbled again once, rearranging the layout of the rooms and bringing them back to step one. Lupin was weirdly giddy about it.

“If we find the centre of the mechanism, we’ll find the treasure,” he explained after Goemon questioned him.

“How?”

“It’s gotta be the centre of the temple. Most secure and inaccessible place.”

And now that he thought of it, they were moving inwards, Goemon noticed. Even after the last rearrangement, they couldn’t see the lake from the windows anymore. The rooms must be laid out in rings. Maybe…

The room started rumbling again, and immediately Goemon knelt down and put a hand flat on the floorboards. He closed his eyes, letting the vibrations flow through him.

The shaking stopped, and Goemon stood up. He smiled at Lupin, determined.

“Follow me.”

He didn’t check to see if the thief was keeping up, and walked into the depths of the temple. He ignored the rooms they’d passed before, sped down hallways, and made sharp turns that forced Lupin to skid behind him.

Goemon barely paused when they reached the longest corridor yet. At the end of it, a golden light shone, coming from a room that certainly could not receive the light of the outside.

The central hall.

The rumble started again, louder than ever, and the light began to dim. Goemon cursed under his breath. He grabbed Lupin’s hand, and booked it. He could see the room at the end of the corridor sliding to the side, disappearing slowly out of view. Ignoring Lupin’s complaints, he bolted down the last few meters, groaning under the effort. He forced his body through the opening, bracing himself against the unforgiving mechanism, and waited until his friend had come through before falling to the ground on the other side.

The ceiling was golden. The floorboards were smooth to the touch. Next to him, Lupin punched the air.

“You did it, Goemon-chan! You’re the best!!”

Goemon grinned. He took a deep breath and pulled himself to a sitting position.

The room was like every other worship hall in the building, in the same way that the diamond necklaces that Fujiko wore resembled an uncut stone. Pillars of white oak supported an impossibly high ornate ceiling, under which pews were lined up, facing the altar. It was covered in every ritual object Goemon had ever seen in a Buddhist temple, and at the centre stood a statue of Amida-Nyorai, the Buddha of infinite light. It rivalled with the great Buddha of Kamakura both in artfulness and in sheer size. In its lap, and everywhere else the eye could rest, were bundles of bright yellow spider chrysanthemums.

Around the altar, a dozen or so shaven monks in saffron robes regarded the two thieves with round eyes. The last echoes of a gong were dying out.

“Uhm,” said Goemon.

“Are we interrupting something?” Lupin asked.

On the gilded walls of the room, the last words of sutras bounced off and disappeared. The scent of incense wafted through the smoke-thick air. The monks regarded one another.

Their outfits were strange, Goemon though. Their stance, too.

The monks turned back to them. The priest shouted something the thieves didn’t understand.

In the heavy air of the prayer-filled room, the monks descended.