Sonam, in turn, taught him to laugh. Not the quiet ninja chuckle, but a real, belly-aching laugh. She drew him out of the shadows, making him sit in the sun, eat ice cream that dripped on his tunic, and admit that yes, he was jealous of Kenichi’s new video game because it made her spend less time with him.
Sonam, no fool, knew. The lotus was the clue. Only Hattori knew she had once told him, “Lotuses are silly. They bloom in mud, but everyone loves them anyway. Like me.” The summer festival arrived. Sonam wore a sky-blue yukata, a gift from her mother, but her eyes kept searching the crowd. Ryo appeared with a bouquet of sparklers. Kenichi, encouraged by Hattori’s earlier advice (“Just be yourself, which is annoying, but persistent”), tagged along, eating six candied apples.
Sonam screamed, “No!”
That was the crack in the dam. Hattori began leaving small, anonymous gifts: a perfectly sharpened pencil on her desk, a rare medicinal herb for her mother’s headache, and a single, perfect lotus flower floating in her washbasin one morning.
“My home is where my mission is,” he said. “And my mission has a name. It starts with ‘So’ and ends with ‘nam.’” Ninja Hattori Sex With Sonam
Sonam spun around. There, leaning against a taiko drum, was Hattori. He wasn’t wearing his ninja gear, but a simple dark jinbei. And over his face, a fox mask.
Halfway through the evening, a group of rowdy older boys began harassing Sonam at the goldfish scooping booth. Ryo froze. Kenichi tried to step in and got shoved to the ground. Sonam, in turn, taught him to laugh
“Will you ever go back to Iga?” Sonam asked one evening.