Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

This is the eleventh episode.

It’s a somewhat lengthy tale.

Behind Kanda Myojin Shrine—a point of pride for Edoites—the back area, which stretched contiguously to Yushima Tenjin Shrine, wasn’t a particularly lively place. There stood the grand estate of the Tōdō family, there stood the estate of Naitō Bungo-no-kami, and squeezed tightly between them in a narrow townhouse lived Shinohara Baiho—a painter of the Maruyama school. He wasn’t particularly skilled, but his wife Koyu—until recently known as Akashi in Yoshiwara, having been a former courtesan—was quite the beauty, and this was the talk of the neighborhood.

Besides that, there was one other thing that become the talk of the neighborhood—and beyond. That thing was none other than the Buried-Alive Well located in their residence’s garden. Of course, this residence was one Shinohara Baiho had purchased when redeeming his wife Koyu from Yoshiwara—chosen for its quiet location and stylish structure at a surprisingly low price. But that affordability owed itself to none other than the presence of that Buried-Alive Well, a feature far from spine-tingling in its appeal. The well’s location was another oddity—planted with winter bamboo just to the right of the entrance, though now no trace of its form or shadow remained. According to rumors, this place had once been the lower residence of a hatamoto named Kamiya-something, whose younger brother had been confined here due to madness. As his depravities escalated, fearing their family’s prestige—honored since Mikawa—would be tarnished, they callously buried him alive in this very well.

"That’s why it appears." "No, it doesn’t." "It did appear." "It came out last night too!" "It was around sunset." From that grove of winter bamboo, a soft white shadow floated out like smoke—or so the rumors went, each account differing. The rumors were just as varied.

“Don’t talk nonsense. If I’m with the woman I fell for and show how happy we are together, even a ghost would run scared. Besides, the well’s already filled in, and the house’s structure’s been changed. If it does show up, you and I’ll just flaunt our love right in its face. This was a mere twenty—a real bargain! It’s perfect for a newlywed couple.”

They bought and moved in during May, the rainy season. His paintings weren’t particularly skilled, but Shinohara Baiho had a trick or two up his sleeve when it came to mimicry, and he was rather unflappable. “Eating out doesn’t taste good.” “Your cooking’s the best.” “Even if I’m late, I’ll come back by evening, okay?” “With yakkodōfu—I’ll put in an order.”

It was early June—a sweltering dusk—when he had taken the completed painting to Asakusa and hurried back home…

As he lightly reached for the lattice door of the entrance, a shadow like smoke wafted into view. No sooner had the winter bamboo thicket rustled faintly than a pale male shadow floated up softly. “Who’s there?!” “………” “Wait! Who’s there?!” In that moment, it drifted away like smoke. His nerves were steady, but he wasn’t feeling at ease. As he entered slightly pale, he found his wife Koyu collapsed unconscious, her post-bath makeup still visible, with the area around her chest and breasts—the alluring flesh of her skin exposed.

“What happened?!” “I’m here! Koyu! What’s wrong?!”

“Ah…!”

As she suddenly caught her breath, “It’s scary!…” “It’s scary! It’s so scary!…”

The words she pleaded while clinging to them were equally bizarre. "A white shadow... A man's shadow like smoke..." "Did it peek?!" "Yes, indeed. After getting out of the bath, while I was tidying myself up—from that dim garden edge, it softly drifted in to peek… then back away—"

Baiho, hearing this, jolted and broke out in goosebumps.

“Ha ha ha….” “It’s just your imagination.” “No—it’s true indeed.” “I won’t oppose you in other matters—but this one thing—” She shuddered as if doused in cold water and pleaded like someone who’d reached her limit.

“Living in such a house—I can’t endure another moment indeed.” “Let us move somewhere—anywhere—this very night, I implore you!”

“Don’t talk nonsense. I caught a glimpse too—no, wait—if someone says they saw something, that’s just their eyes playing tricks, their mind playing tricks. It’s all illusions conjured up by our own thoughts. How could any ghost be lurking about in this prosperous city of Edo? But more importantly, I’ve got good news. I met your brother.” “Oh! When? Where?”

Koyu’s face, which had been pale with fear, suddenly lit up completely. “If it’s Brother, he should be in Shimousa. That can’t be a lie.” “A lie?!” “After finishing my business and stopping by Kannon-sama’s shrine since I was nearby, someone tapped my shoulder out of nowhere—called me ‘Mr. Shinohara!’” “When I turned around, it was your country brother.” “Perfect timing—I said you’d been wanting to see him—so I invited him along. But he insisted he had urgent business in Umamichi tonight and couldn’t come now. Instead promised we’d go together first thing tomorrow morning.” “Since we’re already planning to visit Morita-za tomorrow anyway, I said ‘Why not join us for the play?’ That made him real happy.” “Said he’d come here at daybreak straight from bed.”

“But how strange indeed.” “If he were coming to Edo, you’d expect him to at least send word beforehand, yet my busy brother has come all this way again—whatever for, I wonder?” “I don’t know what business he had, but he said he left early this morning.” “And he also said this.” “‘I’ll bet Koyu’s got you firmly under her thumb,’ you know.” “Ha ha ha…” “Oh! How mean…” “But hearing that Brother is coming has settled my heart a little indeed.” “I can’t take it anymore!” “I won’t stand being left alone from now on indeed!” “Because there are frightening things like what just happened…”

Under the light of the round lantern, Koyu’s plump, freshly bathed body was abruptly pulled into Baiho’s arms like some eerie creature.

II

“Well, well! Welcome.” “Thank you kindly for your continued patronage, valued customers.” “The second act will begin shortly, so please hurry in.” “Since we received word last evening that your party increased by one to make three, we’ve properly reserved pit seating for you…” “Well then, Brother…” The box seats they were welcomed to by familiar attendants and guided to were a prime spot near the hanamichi. The brother who had come from Shimousa—Koyu’s brother—appeared, at first glance, to be about thirty-five or thirty-six. He was a compact yet sturdy-looking man. After Koyu came next, followed by Baiho—the man called Brother and Baiho shouldn’t particularly attract attention, but Koyu on this day was even more strikingly alluring. When entering such places, the refined beauty polished by Mikagura’s waters made her makeup shine all the more brilliantly—and Baiho’s nose naturally rose higher in pride…

The program was *Jōsei’s Thunder Debate*—a five-act play. Though the midpoint of the run had already passed, the rare joint performance by Danjūrō and Uemura Kichisaburō—a female-role specialist from Kamigata—combined with the play being Danjūrō’s own creation, stoked excitement upon excitement until the theater was packed to bursting and thriving in every sense. “Brother, isn’t this a bit different from Shimousa’s straw-mat plays?” “Ain’t gonna embarrass you ’fore folks.” “Keep hollerin’ ‘Shimousa’ like that, people’ll peg you for a country bumpkin.” “Still though, Mr. Baiho—Edo’s sure got no shortage of layabouts, eh?”

With Koyu at their center, waiting for the curtain to rise, the three were amiably conversing when—

“Pardon me.” It was strange that a man would choose such an odd path—with the hanamichi right beside them and partitioned seating boards to the side, there was no need to deliberately cut through the middle of the three. Yet a hōkan-like man rudely stepped over Koyu’s shoulder and nimbly strode past.

Instinctively bending her neck, she dodged—but whether intentionally or from the momentum of his stride, the man’s hem fluttered like a dance, brushing against Koyu’s carefully arranged hair and unsettling the elegantly styled locks at her temples—it was unbearable. Baiho’s voice called out reproachfully after him.

“Hey! Wait a second!” “Oh-ho! Thank you ever so kindly for your patronage.” “Don’t play dumb! You ruined her precious hair with your ‘thank you ever so kindly’ nonsense. You’re nothing but a bootlicker!” “Indeed? Might I have committed some blunder?”

“Take a look at this!” “What—can’t you see this ruined part of her hair?!” “Ah, right.” “It’s a bit damaged, isn’t it? But then—this is such a packed and bustling crowd we’re dealing with.” “If her hair’s so damaged and unsightly, she ought to be wearing a helmet instead.”

“What!” “Stepping over people like that is fundamentally wrong from the start!” “Not even apologizing—what’s with that tone?!”

“What’s this?!” “What?!” Along with the voices, six burly men clad in cotton hakama trousers—long and short swords at their waists—noisily rose from the quail seats across the hanamichi and surged forward. Either this bootlicker belonged to their group, or their exchange hinted at some prior acquaintance. “What’s this?” “Sanpei.” “What have these wretches done?” “Nothing worth mentioning—just fussing over whether someone touched this fancy lady’s hair or not.” “They barely scolded us at all! I tried apologizing politely, but they took issue with how I phrased it.”

“Was it you bastards who complained?!” “What do you mean by that?”

Baiho's and Koyu's eyes—which had glanced up—were casually directed toward the quail seats at the rear in unison, “Ah…!” A small cry of surprise first rose from Koyu’s lips. A familiar face! No—this was far beyond mere recognition. The face that sat arrogantly in those quail seats—from which six young samurai had just emerged—gazing mockingly in their direction was none other than Koshimoto Jiemon, the man who had repeatedly clashed with Baiho back when Koyu still dwelled in the pleasure quarter. Originally nothing more than a lowly labor boss of the Kurokuwagumi, he had suddenly been elevated after his daughter became a concubine to the shogunate—now enjoying a stipend of one thousand koku and the prestigious position of head of the shogun’s private storeroom, with unrestricted access to Edo Castle. A truly blessed soul.

“If that bastard’s here—”

It might be something they'd schemed up— "Brother...!" Koyu abruptly turned pale, sent a glance toward her brother, and whispered in a small voice.

“Please handle this smoothly…” “Alright, alright. When folks get all lovey-dovey, things always end up like this. Back off, y’all!”

The compactly built man from Shimousa—his rustic appearance belying his practiced skill—handled the situation with seasoned ease. Bowing low to the young retainers, he offered profuse apologies, as though insisting that causing a neighborhood disturbance would never do. “There, there—’tis we who’ve made this outrageous blunder, truly just as Sanpei-san here says.” “Whether her hair gets torn or crushed, she can always tie it up anew—and with the next act’s curtain about to rise besides, why don’t you gentlemen make a clean exit without further ado?”

“What do you mean ‘no fuss’?” “We didn’t start this quarrel.” “It’s you lot who planted this grudge!” “If you mean to apologize, observe proper form!” “That’s why we’re swallowin’ our pride an’ makin’ this humble apology right here, see?”

“What?!” “What do you mean ‘from a lowly position’?!” “That tone of yours is infuriating!” “Get over here!” “N-No jest, I assure you.” “As you can see, we’re all country folk here. Even if you shame the likes of us in front of everyone, it ain’t somethin’ you gentlemen can take pride in.” “If you keep making a fuss, it’ll trouble everyone here and the theater itself—so please, let’s call it quits at this.” “What’s this about you gentlemen taking pride?!” “You bastard—don’t underestimate me!” “You damned fool!” “Get over here!” “Get over here!” “Get over here!” “This’ll teach you!”

With a crack—utterly without justification. It now became clear this had been a manufactured grudge from the start—a fight deliberately provoked. From all sides, the cotton-hakama-clad young samurai tightened their fists and struck at Koyu’s brother’s temples.

“Fight! Fight!” “Where’s your spine?!” “Oi!” “Reinforcements!” “Quell this now!” The crowd surged like a raging tide! Through the bedlam, the six cotton-hakama men kept striking—crack! crack!—their blows relentless.

He had been letting them strike him, but their relentless blows showed no sign of ceasing.

In an instant!

The Shimousa man underwent a sudden and ferocious transformation. “You’re no good, you scum!” With a sudden leap, he sprang onto the hanamichi and ripped off his kimono to reveal his bare torso—a massive crimson skull tattoo emblazoned from his neck down!

“You bastards! You take advantage when I act humble—don’t you know Shimousa Jūgorō?!” “This hide’s invincible!” “Steel your guts and come at me, you bastards!” The tattoos were magnificent, his bold speech equally impressive. With a full-back tattoo of exposed bones rippling across his muscles, he thrust out his legs and planted himself in a wide cross-legged stance.

At the same moment.

The stage curtain was softly lifted, and a face peered quietly through. “Your Lordship!” “Lord Saotome!”

Indeed, it was none other than Saotome’s Bored Man—his forehead scar as familiar as ever.

III The eyes of the audience all at once focused on the figure of the Bored Man. Since Edo’s famed Forehead Scar had made an appearance, things wouldn’t end quietly. That day, that forehead scar glowed all the more brilliantly. Mondonosuke remained utterly composed.

Emerging briskly from the raised curtain, he lumbered step by step along the hanamichi, then silently positioned himself behind the frenzied Kurokuwagumi samurai. Of course, Shimousa Jūgorō’s blustering threats were in full swing, gushing fiercely like well water from within his exposed-bone tattoo. “You bastards! You dare look down on me?!” “In Edo, Shimousa Jūgorō’s glare might not carry much weight—but head to Kujūrihama Beach, and you’ll find a name that reached the very tops of the pines!” “Even if you’re talkin’ ’bout a prize catch, ain’t no fish as lively as this one here!” “I ain’t askin’ you to let me go back alive.” “If you wanna drink, then drink! If you wanna cut me, then try it!”

“Wh-wh-what?!” “What’re you—what’re you crowin’ about?!” “C-c-come out!” “Want us to drown ya? We’ll drown ya!” “Or cut ya down too!” “Get your ass over here!” “Bastards! Cut me right where I sit!” “This hanamichi’s my choppin’ block!” “Try it! Go on—try!”

“What?!” “Wh-wh-what’d you say?!” “Say it again!”

In their verbal sparring, they were no less fierce—the young samurai kept raging—but Jūgorō’s unforeseen transformation seemed to have daunted them somewhat, their bravado faltering. The crimson skull too, in this very moment and place, appeared to chill thoroughly the livers of the six men. Yet whatever they might say, the men themselves had two swords at their waists. Behind them stood Koshimoto Jiemon—an upstart bloated with power. On top of that, spectators’ eyes were watching. And they themselves were there.

“Do it! “Do it!” “I don’t care! Cut him! Cut him!” “Strike him! Cut him! Make him howl!”

Seemingly half-intent on intimidation, they twisted their black-sheathed long swords sideways and partially drew them with a snap— “You scoundrels…” After calling out eerily and quietly from behind, Mondonosuke lumbered to block their path face-to-face. Then silence fell. Silently smirking, he thrust his face close to theirs with a sudden lurch, then—*Look here, look here*—quietly pointed with his own finger at his own forehead’s famed scar.

Just as they recoiled in shock, “The exit’s that way. Go now!” “………” “Aren’t you leaving? If you don’t go, it’ll glow!” The scar’s glare—known throughout Edo—pinned them with a silent stare; as the six men faltered and began retreating under its pressure, it was Koshimoto Jiemon who surged forward through the fury to leap before Mondonosuke. The term *kurokuwamono* refers to earthworkers.

Even after rising to become a thousand-koku lord, it seemed his original roots couldn’t quite be scrubbed clean—his words twisted here and there with an affected drawl.

“Who told you to pull these useless stunts? What kind of bastard are you?” “You’re an impostor.” “What?! ‘Impostor’?! How dare you spout such nonsense—what do you mean by ‘impostor’?!” “You just said I ‘dared to say’ it, didn’t you? Anyone in Edo who doesn’t know this Forehead Scar gets called an impostor. If you’re with them, the exit’s that way. Go!” “D-don’t spew this madness! This humble one came having paid a masu koban for a quail! I won’t take orders from the likes of you!”

“Halt!” “This hut isn’t a battleground.” “Since the audience is troubled, I’m telling you to get outside!” “If you don’t withdraw, this forehead scar will have you squealing like rats! —Move!” “Can’t find the way? I’ll help you along!” “Get going—now!”

The bluish-white glow intensified as he thrust the hilt upward against their chests—there was no resisting it. In his arm lay the technique of the Moroha-ryū. Though merely a hilt, that single thrust surpassed even the tip of a great spear. In the blink of an eye—before one could register Koshimoto Jiemon’s contorted face—he and the six young samurai were forced backward through the gate, vanishing into the street.

With a roar, the entire hut erupted into an uproar as everyone leapt to their feet.

“Brother!” “Brother!” “That is Lord Saotome.” “We have been most graciously saved by his lordship.” “Please hurry and put on your underclothes…” As Koyu, rejoicing, helped Jūgorō into his underclothes, Mondonosuke slipped back in through the gate—his judgment leaving no room for criticism.

“All of you—out!” “But we—” “Even if it’s a fight someone else picked, once steel’s been drawn, both sides get punished.” “You’re ruining the play.” “Out! Now!” “Understood. Your verdict’s clear.” “Most righteous judgment—good people of the audience, our deepest apologies for this ruckus.” “I, Shimousa Jūgorō, beg your pardon.” “Koyu!” “Mr. Baiho!” “The lord’s ruling’s flawless.” “Let’s move.”

Shimousa Jūgorō’s bold back tattoo was no mere ornament. After they obediently left, the hut’s interior erupted into uproar once more.

IV

“Your Lordship. “We are most grateful!” “Words cannot express our gratitude.” “Thank you for saving us just as the play was on the verge of collapse!” The moment Danjūrō saw Mondonosuke casually withdrawing toward the back of the stage—still in his backstage attire—he rushed out and greeted him with a bow so deep it nearly touched the ground. “I can find no way to properly express my gratitude. “It was precisely because it was Your Lordship that this matter concluded without injuries.” “There truly is no way to convey our thanks.”

“Not quite so, you know. If it settled peacefully, it’s this forehead scar’s doing. I’ve no use for your thanks!”

“No, that cannot be so. For one as lowly as myself to receive your esteemed patronage alone constitutes divine blessing, let alone being granted such direct intervention—it fills me with profound awe. Though it is most presumptuous of me—”

“What’s this now? You’re offering to relieve my boredom, are you?” “It is not that I would presume to do so. As a token of gratitude for your esteemed patronage, this humble one would humbly request to accompany Your Lordship to Fukagawa this evening, if it pleases Your Lordship.”

“Where is Fukagawa? Are there women there?” “You are known as a woman-hater—no, forgive me—as having a most peculiar disposition, appearing to both like and dislike them. For this reason, this humble one has prepared a little diversion.” “It is a place where women exist if you believe they do—and vanish if you don’t, so to speak.” Truly, Danjūrō. Since he had invited a man of Mondonosuke’s stature, his tone suggested he possessed some brilliant notion that would make him exclaim “Ah!”

“I like it.” “That’s an amusing way to put it.” “I’ll come along with a face that’s half dislike and half like!” “Hurry up and get back to your performance!” “This is a most gracious blessing. You must be dreadfully bored, but please wait here in the dressing room until the curtain falls.” The crucial scene came to an end as summer lights glimmered here and there in the cool twilight of the town.

“Now then, I shall commence the promised diversion. Please wait a moment.” “Hey.” “Is there no one here? Any young lads about?” When they summoned the manager, Danjūrō leaned close and murmured instructions about his intended scheme in hushed tones. “I whispered to them earlier—they should be arriving.” “Fetch the Kamigata master.” “No need to send anyone~” “I’ve come~” The voice was unmistakably feminine. Squirming bashfully while revealing his lustrous wig-lined form appeared Uemura Kichisaburō—Kamigata’s premier female impersonator.

“Why, hello there…”

“Hey,” “Mondonosuke here.” “The world’s gotten a bit dull.” “Been prowling backstage like a kite.” “No need to mention your stage presence—but that getup’s downright elegant.” “Your Lordship and your endless jokes…” “Master of Edo—if you’ll excuse me—I must prepare—”

“Ah, hurry it up now. Since transforming into a woman and putting on a show before Lord Saotome’s very eyes would make for fine entertainment, I’ll have you give it your best effort.” “Why, hello there~”

Kichisaburō’s form transformed into that of a woman before their very eyes. Moreover, she was no ordinary woman. In his signature role’s courtesan attire, Oshū had undergone a swift transformation. Nay, his voice went without saying—even his speech had completely transformed into the dialect of a Yoshiwara-raised courtesan. “Your Lordship, how do I look~? Do I look like a woman~? If it pleases you, allow this humble one to pour you a drink~…” “Hahaha! So that’s it, is it? Danjūrō, you’ve cooked up quite the clever scheme. So this is what you meant by ‘women who exist if you believe they do—and vanish if you don’t’? Far from absent—she’s a splendid woman, I tell you!”

Mondonosuke was getting fed up. “How about it, Oshū? Shall we ditch Naritaya and go drench ourselves somewhere secluded?” “You and your sweet talk….” “Then, Master Naritaya—allow me to accompany you.”

With Kichisaburō in the middle—still wearing his comb, hairpin, and courtesan’s robes—Naritaya at the lead and Mondonosuke bringing up the rear, the three lined-up palanquins that had departed from Kobikichō’s dressing room made steady progress toward Fukagawa.

Through the blinds, the streetlights swayed, and at Okawabata, the coolness seemed to seep into one’s skin……. The one they came upon was Edo’s renowned Eitai Bridge.

“Um, excuse me, palanquin bearers…”

Once they had crossed over, Oshū (Kichisaburō), fidgeting bashfully inside the palanquin’s lowered blinds, suddenly called out to stop them.

“Um, could you... stop the palanquin for a moment, wouldja…” “Right, right. We’ll stop, but ain’t ya feelin’ poorly?” “No, um, I—I need to relieve myself…” Within the palanquin’s lowered blinds, Mondonosuke’s eyes involuntarily glinted. For the voice that had bashfully uttered “I need to relieve myself” in a tone so faint it seemed ready to vanish was indescribably alluring. —And that very demeanor!

No matter how one looked at it, that was not a man. “Your Lordship, I’m ever so sorry…” Flushing crimson as if scattering maple leaves, seeming ready to vanish from existence, he slipped bashfully behind the palanquin into a small patch of shade and crouched down, going about his business with all the grace of a woman herself. What indescribable allure!… Such ineffable elegance in his grooming!… “Ah, what a splendid female impersonator….” “It’s a masterful performance.”

Involuntarily, Danjūrō—as though unable to contain his admiration—muttered from behind the blinds.

Mondonosuke too became entranced, staring in rapture.

The palanquin descended along Okawabata toward the riverside restaurant.

Five

“Welcome!…” “Oh! Isn’t this Master Naritaya? Please, do come in! Please! Now please...” It seemed to be their regular haunt, as they were received with hospitality so lavish it bordered on overwhelming.

The establishment’s name was Tani no Ya.

In the room overlooking the river hung several summer lanterns with a cooling air about them, their blue lamplight swaying in the river breeze as it scattered—making the space feel all the more refreshing. "My! Even the courtesan..." "And the Scarred Lord too..." Whether out of keen discernment or poor judgment, the serving girls—having recognized Mondonosuke and surmised that Naritaya, the courtesan, and their two companions had come for riverside leisure—promptly brought over an array of dishes and drinks whose very appearance seemed to deepen the evening's coolness.

“Courtesan, care to pour me a cup?” “Certainly.” “I will pour for you…” “Hey, Naritaya.” “Yes, sir!” “Now that’s a stiff response.” “Ichikawa-style replies are merchandise for the stage alone.” “If you don’t give more subdued leading-man answers, Oshū will cast you aside!” “That earlier relief was worthy of a 100,000-koku lord.” “Such talk!” “You’re unbearable, my lord!” “Mark this well.” “If you speak such vulgarities—” With a sinuous writhe of her body, Kichisaburō’s Oshū fixed Mondonosuke with an affectionate glare and pinched him sharply near the knee. Radiating spiteful allure, Boredom Man remained in fine humor.

“Ouch! Ouch! If that lion ornament was worth a hundred thousand koku, this pain’s a million.—Right, Naritaya? That daytime quarrel also had a woman at its root—did you see her?” “No, I haven’t seen the lady herself, but from what the managers found out, she’s apparently a retired courtesan. Back in her professional days, those two men were rivals—the one who bought her contract being an esteemed samurai called Koshimoto Jiemon, and the one she went to being some town painter from Yushima, I hear. But here’s the strange part—at that painter’s house, something thick and oozing sometimes—”

“It appears?!” “They say a ghost like pampas grass plumes shows itself there now and then.” “That’s odd too—the whole sale was strange to begin with. Thanks to your lordship’s handling, things settled down at the time... But now the managers fret they might’ve done something else afterward.”

“Hey.” “If another quarrel blossoms into full bloom—no matter what you say—there’s seven opponents, samurai at that. Nine times out of ten—”

“Are you saying the skull-necked tattooed man lost?” “I do not believe so.” “In kabuki plays, plots are often scripted for such hotheaded bravos to prevail. Yet even if they win in verbal sparring, once their actual blades are drawn, I do not believe matters will proceed as scripted.”

“No, that’s not it,” Mondonosuke retorted. “A fight comes down to guts. With that kind of nerve, he could snap two or three drawn blades!” “But he was defeated…” a serving girl contradicted. It happened suddenly. Along with an ominous voice, the rear fusuma slid open smoothly—and as though conjured from thin air, a man appeared there. Drenched crimson like a blood-drenched demon, he crouched gasping with hands planted on the floor. “My! How terrifying!…”

While cradling Oshū—who had clung to Kichisaburō—Mondonosuke too widened his eyes in shock.

“Ho! You there!” At the same instant, startled cries erupted. Who else could it be? The man drenched in blood was none other than Shimousa Jūgorō—the very ronin they had just been discussing moments earlier.

Six Seeing blood and wounds, he was not some Boredom Man who would needlessly panic. Saotome Mondonosuke, his eyes gleaming sharply, first examined Jūgorō’s wounds. Right arm: two places; left shoulder: one place; waist: one place; temple: one place—though there seemed to be more on his back, the visible ones totaled five. However, even though the blood was spurting in a gruesome manner, the wounds were all shallow.

“Woman! Bring two quarts of shochu. I’ll treat his wounds regardless. Whether underkimonos or undergarments—bring plenty that can serve as bandages.”

Everything was handled without waste and with practiced ease. Danjūrō also lent a hand, and Kichisaburō’s courtesan tucked up a sleeve and worked diligently; once the blood-stopping treatment was completed, Shimousa Jūgorō looked formidably gallant once more. “The shochu stings sharp and proper—feels just right.” “Terribly forward of me, but let’s liven things up with another cup.”

Enduring the intense pain, he twisted into a grin and, gulping down a large cup filled to the brim in one go, shuddered violently. Mondonosuke’s voice drifted out.

“You’re a spirited one, aren’t you? Was your opponent those ones from earlier?” “That’s correct. The lord ruled it a mutual fault brawl—‘You lot clear outta the hut!’—so we left proper-like as ordered. But wasn’t it plain as day? Step outside and blades’d be swingin’ wild. —Ah well! I’m Shimousa Jūgorō! Gettin’ chopped to mincemeat in Edo’d make one helluva story for the afterlife—I’d steeled myself to die a man’s death... ‘cept for this damn sister-shaped millstone ‘round my neck. I had to get the two women outta there somehow, but in broad daylight like that, I couldn’t just sneak ’em out. So I holed up in a teahouse waitin’ for sunset, then slipped ’em into a palanquin through the back alley. After that, I went alone to stake my life on it.”

“Where did the fight flare up?” “When I left the hut, sure as sunrise, those Kurokuwagumi bastards were crouchin’ there mutterin’ ‘Now they’ll come—any minute now.’ So when they hollered ‘Get over here!’, I marched straight to that riverbank edge.” “The six underlings were the ones who drew steel.” “Course Jiemon kept his blade sheathed—bosses don’t dirty their hands, sir.” “No proper weapon, yet you walked away with just scratches? Impressive.” “Now why’d you drag that bloody carcass here?”

“That’s what I’m here about. I’m just some amateur—they’re six proper samurai with two swords each! If word got out that an unarmed townsman got himself cut down facing six samurai, even if Shimousa Jūgorō gets praised as a hero, dyin’ like that’d be a disgrace. I was ready to throw my life away... but while gettin’ hacked at, I suddenly remembered my two sisters.” “The root of this whole mess was my sister Koyu—dyin’s fine by me, but then I got to thinkin’ those Kurokuwagumi bastards’d surely pull some nasty trick on those two after. Can’t go kickin’ the bucket careless-like—gotta find someone to take care of my sisters first before I croak. Trouble as it is, what popped into my head was you, milord.” “So I staked my manly pride to make this request—figurin’ milord’s Forehead Scar wouldn’t refuse me even if I crawled outta Hell’s First Block—then bolted sudden-like from that damned place and dashed into the greenroom.” “But milord’s group was just a step away from here—when a disciple from Naritaya, see? A real kindly soul without airs, he was there. Told me where you’d gone—Fukagawa’s Valley House. ‘I’ll give ya directions,’ says he. ‘Hire a palanquin for ya too. Get there quick!’ Fussed over me so tender-like it’d bring tears to a stone. So here I am, still drippin’ blood, trailin’ after you straight off.”

“Hmm. So you’d have this Mondonosuke value your mettle, then?” “Jūgorō—no empty words. My mettle aside... If you’d take pity on my sisters—a love-matched pair—be their shield...” “What if I refuse?” “...”

“It’s someone else’s quarrel—none of my concern. What would you do if I said ‘Handle it yourself’?” …… “What’s your resolve?” “There’s nothing to be done…” The voice carried lonely despair. With that fiery spirit of his, I’d thought he’d appreciate mine—had I misjudged him? Though unspoken, Jūgorō seemed to suddenly find the world desolate. The man who’d embodied rugged vitality rose dejectedly, his blood-matted shock of hair fluttering in the riverside breeze as he shuffled away.

“Wait!”

It was an instant. That unyielding temperament—ferocious as a leopard when staking his life, yet sinking like a withered leaf when sorrowed—pierced Saotome Mondonosuke’s heart with uncommon force. “I’ll lend you my Forehead Scar! Where does your sister live?” “Huh?!” “Then—you’ll…!” “I’ll let my Forehead Scar cool off the summer heat for you. Where’s the residence of that Koyu or whatever?” “Jūgorō, I’m so happy I can’t even speak. It’s the residence of one Shinohara Baiho behind Kanda Myojin Shrine. I shall guide you…”

“Unnecessary.” “That wound can’t be left untended.” “You—go hide somewhere and recuperate.”

“Naritaya—you’re an Edoite too.” “Won’t you lend a hand to the Shimousa man?”

“Very well.” “I shall handle all matters concerning the physician and safehouse.” “Do let that Forehead Scar of yours cry out to its heart’s content.” “You’ve a silver tongue indeed.” “Now Miss Kichisaburō—no dalliances while I’m gone.”

“To think you’d say such a thing… Darling.” “You’re the one who shouldn’t go getting moonstruck over that Koyu-san, dearest.” “My ways differ somewhat from Koshimoto Kurokuwa Zaemon’s.” “Ahaha…” “The world still teems with boredom needing dispelling.” “Ladies! The capricious Mondonosuke makes his exit!” “Prepare my palanquin!”

When the Forehead Scar made its appearance, even Mondonosuke’s voice gained clarity.

——To the right and left of the swaying palanquin, the endless sea of Edo’s summer lights stretched on without bound.

7

A bell tolled….

It wasn’t particularly late at night yet, but the backstreets of Myojin were inherently lonely from early evening onward—a place that seemed to sink into the city’s underbelly. “This is it.” “The love nest of smitten souls does have some style to it after all.” “You lot—no gawking.” “Move it!”

To the dark entranceway where not a single lamplight leaked out, Mondonosuke boldly stepped inside. To the right, the thicket of cold bamboo rustled loudly. It was that thicket above the Buried-Alive Well. However, nothing had emerged. There was neither a black shadow, nor a white shadow, nor any shadow at all. Inside the house too was utterly silent. When he peered carefully, there was a faint light around the inner tatami room.

The Bored Man boldly stepped up.

Baiho and Koyu were huddled together in the lamplight’s glow, startled and pale, their eyes wide open as they trembled.

“What’s wrong?!”

“………?” “What’re you trembling for?” “’Tis Mondonosuke—the one you met at the daytime hut.” “What troubles you?” “Th-that… R-really… Are you truly the Lord of the Scar?!”

“What strange things you say—there aren’t two Mondonosukes. I came because your brother came rushing here. What are you cowering for?”

"My brother!... Ah—did Jūgorō say that?!" "That’s right. Just now—drenched in blood—he came chasing after me all the way to Fukagawa! So I’ve come to tend to this Forehead Scar of mine. Why are you so startled like that?"

“No! Th-that’s… Such nonsense could never happen! There’s no way such a thing could happen!”

When he turned deathly pale，Baiho suddenly uttered something utterly unexpected and began to tremble. “Ah! Brother—J-Jūgorō—there’s no way he would go to Fukagawa or such places!” “Brother has just now come here drenched in blood, floating in as if weightless.” “What?!”

“It is no lie.” “Twice, in fact—just moments ago, he drifted into that garden as if weightless.” “With his hair disheveled and drenched in blood, he stood gloomily in that dark garden, glaring at us—so when we called out in surprise asking what was wrong, he said, ‘I was cut down dead in a fight. There’s something weighing on me—I can’t move on until I say it. That’s why I came to tell Koyu.’” “‘This mansion has a Buried-Alive Well—it’s ill-omened! Living here is karmic fate! The curse demands you two separate! If you don’t, Brother will resent you! Him getting cut down was all your fault! If you pity Brother, split up now! If you don’t, I’ll keep haunting you!’ he said—twice now, full of spite—then drifted away into the darkness beyond the garden… That’s why we’re trembling like this…”

It was an utterly mysterious account.

There could not possibly be two Shimousa Jūgorōs. Either the Jūgorō who came to Fukagawa was an impostor, or the Jūgorō who appeared here was genuine—one of these Jūgorōs had to be the false one. Saotome Mondonosuke’s eyes glinted sharply. “Did he say he’d return?” “He left those dreadful words—‘Separate now! Until you vow to part ways, I’ll haunt you endlessly’—then vanished like mist.” As they spoke—or perhaps before they could—a shadow materialized faintly in the dim garden.

It was Jūgorō—his hair wild and drenched in blood.

An instant.

“Ah!” As he said this—just as that Jūgorō was startled—

“Stop!” At the very moment Mondonosuke shouted and leapt down into the garden. When he saw the fleeing shadow, there were two Jūgorōs of identical appearance, both drenched in the same blood. “You fool! A disguise?!” With a shout, he glided five shaku—and in the instant Mondonosuke’s hand seized his well-worn blade, there came a masterful slash—cool as five thousand ryō. With a whoosh, he sliced through and then leaped at the other Jūgorō, who was trying to flee,

“Show your face!” From beneath the collar he gripped and pulled down, his voice was already trembling.

“I deeply apologize. “I—I am not Jūgorō.” “I humbly beg you to overlook this.” “I-I am but a lowly one.” “Stay put!” “Where does this ‘humble one’ hail from? Let’s have a look at this ‘humble one’ of yours.” “Baiho, bring a light!” When they held up the light and examined him, there was no scar to be found. The blood was smeared-on blood—this crudely fabricated Jūgorō was unmistakably one of those Kurokuwagumi foot soldiers we had seen at Morita-za Theater earlier that day.

“You damned fool! What do you take Saotome Mondonosuke of the Scar for?! Was this Koshimoto Jiemon’s scheme?!” “Y-yes, th-that’s correct. You two were ordered to disguise yourselves as Jūgorō and threaten Baiho and his wife in such a way—so we went out in confusion—and craftily devised this act to demand they separate immediately, correct?” “They mentioned a white shadow appearing night after night in the winter bamboo thicket by the entrance—was that also your lot’s doing?”

"My deepest apologies. Taking advantage of that Buried-Alive Well there, Lord Koshimoto ordered us to threaten them—so we put on this disguise…" "You damned fools! You lot must be members of the Kurokuwagumi too! Lowborn though they may be, the Kurokuwagumi are first and foremost direct shogunal retainers! What’s the meaning of this absurd ghost impersonation?! I’ve words for Koshimoto Jiemon. This’ll hurt—hold still.—Baiho! Fetch writing paper here."

Stepping on him with his foot, he took the offered brush and paper in hand, and Saotome Mondonosuke wrote it down with brisk strokes.

“Saotome Mondonosuke has taken up a fight to honor his scar. I shall arrive at any hour to dispel this boredom. Shouldst thou dare challenge me by wielding the authority of thy official steeds, Saotome Mondonosuke shall answer with the might of this forehead scar. Come.” After crisply rolling this challenge letter and fastening it to his dagger’s hilt,

“This’ll hurt a bit.” “It’s divine punishment.” “Endure it!” With a sharp jerk, he gouged out a chunk of flesh from his back and thrust the dagger through.

With a thud, he kicked up the foot soldier—who writhed screaming shrilly—and declared with relish: “Jūgorō’s suffering worse than this—you damned fool! Count yourself lucky you’re still breathing.” “Fly back quick and tell Koshimoto Jiemon every detail—mix in all that happened and didn’t happen—then report it all.” “Ah ha ha!”

……The air turned suddenly cool. "I'll come see you again, Baiho and wife." "Even a fight someone picks with you feels good afterward—soaking it all in." "So enjoy it to the hilt!" Splattering blood as he fled, the foot soldier raced off—and from behind him, the Bored Man's dashing figure swayed gently, coolly receding into the city's lantern-lit glow.

8

“Ah ha ha…” “I’ve returned!” “Brother’s in a fine mood!”

The place to which he returned in exceedingly high spirits was his mansion where his sister Kikuji, his attendant Kyōya, and ornate dolls had been waiting. Though they had supposedly been awaiting him, these beautiful yet vexing dolls—who clearly preferred Brother Mondonosuke's absence—abruptly released their playfully intertwined hands for no particular reason, both flushing crimson as they welcomed him. "Welcome home..." "What's this now? No point welcoming me once all the fun's gone cold. I'll stew you alive! Ah ha ha ha! Were you glad to have Brother away?"

“You’re always like this…” “You’re in quite the fine mood, aren’t you?” “What’s wrong with being in a good mood?” “Again with your usual antics…” “Where have you been?” “Just went over there, you know.” “Which ‘over there’ would that be?” “Wherever my nose was pointing.” “Again with your usual antics…” “I no longer care to know.”

“I no longer care to know.” “Bwah ha ha!” “You’re angry now.” “Little Tomoe with her canoodling—even when Brother’s away, you shouldn’t get so cozy with Kyōya, y’hear?” “Brother’s gotten himself into a splendid romantic quarrel.” “After so long, my forehead scar’s about to let out a great howl—so Brother’s in high spirits.” “If preparations go swiftly, tomorrow morning; if they take time, perhaps by evening—fortune comes to those who wait, so.” “Off to bed with you!”

He welcomed that morning in high spirits, eagerly anticipating developments—yet there was no word whatsoever from Koshimoto Jiemon.

He had waited—expecting something to be set in motion by evening—but indeed nothing came. Two days passed and still it didn’t come.

Three days passed without his arrival. "Even if Koshimoto Jiemon lacks backbone," Mondonosuke remarked dryly while inspecting his scarred knuckles at breakfast table next morning,"with his daughter basking in His Excellency's favor—you'd think he'd come galloping on some palanquin-steed by now—" "What do you mean?" Kikuji paused mid-pour of barley tea."What does 'basking in His Excellency's favor' signify?" "'Tis like you and Kyōya." "I would never!" Her porcelain teacup clattered against lacquered tray."I've not breathed such improper breaths upon Kyōya-sama!" Mondonosuke nearly choked on his pickled plum."Ahaha! Then best start breathing posthaste! Should this coquetry persist—" He drew finger across throat dramatically."—your brother'll roast alive from secondhand passion! He may come tomorrow! When he does—we'll know! So wait! Wait!"

However, even though the fourth day came, there was still no word.

Five days passed, but still there was nothing. Even if there were no challenge here, had they set something in motion toward Yushima, Baiho would likely have sent an urgent messenger—yet even that had not occurred.

As he welcomed the evening of the sixth day with growing suspicion, Kyōya clapped his hands in agitation. “He’s come!” “Ha!” “How many?” “He is alone.”

“What, alone?” “I’ve brought this with me.” “Show me!” What he presented was a magnificent yet extravagantly luxurious lacquered writing box.

However, the characters visible in the letter inside were splendidly wretched chicken-scrawl. “This humble one could never hope to be your opponent.” “In connection with this apology and as a token of our acquaintance, I humbly wish to offer a modest cup of sake; should you deign to visit my humble residence, Koshimoto Jiemon would consider it a most fortunate honor.” It stated: “a modest cup of sake.” It also stated “my humble residence.” “Bwah ha ha!” “The Kurokuwagumi boss using Chinese-style phrases, eh?” “He calls it ‘my humble residence,’ eh?” “The envoy departs shortly.”

“The envoy is humbly awaiting your honorable reply at the entrance hall.”

“Tell him I’m coming now!” “The carriage!” “Get it ready immediately!” “My lord—alone?” “That’s right.” “Got a problem with that?”

“But if there should be some nefarious scheme—” “If there’s a scheme—it’ll flash right here.” He tapped his forehead. “What could a pipsqueak like Jiemon do against Edo’s own Forehead Scar? Go have your sweet little tryst with Kikuji later.” His booming laugh shook the room. “Six days he kept me waiting—my patience ran drier than a bonfire. No telling when I’ll be back!” He departed from Honjo Nagawari Gesui at dusk. He arrived at Jiemon’s Bancho residence around first watch.

Though an upstart, he drew a substantial stipend of a thousand koku. His position as Head of the Privy Purse—a post that turned a blind eye to bribes and thrived on sanctioned corruption—meant that every last detail of the place flaunted extravagance. “Lord Saotome has arrived.” “Well, well, welcome. “Please, come in.” “Allow me to show you in.” “Now, please.” As three or four underling samurai came trooping out, their over-the-top hospitality didn’t sit well with him.

The reception room they led him to also demanded vigilance.

There was sake. There was a candlestick. Eight or nine men had trooped in disorderly fashion to line both sides of the hall while Jiemon planted himself imposingly at the head. The moment Mondonosuke appeared, they slid from their seats and greeted him with disquieting courtesy, pressing their hands to the floor. “Welcome—your presence honors us.” “The preparations for food and drink are hereby in order.” “Please, this way…” What kind of food and drink awaited? Spear dishes? White-blade fare? With a dismissive “Splendid,” the Boredom Man stomped heavily into the room—then loomed imposingly at its very center.

Nine

Late that night…

The Honjo area, deep into the Hour of the Ox, was as silent as the realm of the dead.

Thinking he must have returned by now—surely it was time—they waited without sleep for her brother to come home. Yet Mondonosuke, having stormed into Koshimoto Jiemon’s residence in Bancho, showed not the slightest sign of returning no matter how long they waited. The two keeping watch—Kyōya and Kikuji—naturally found their anxiety mounting. “He’s running a bit late.” “What could have happened?” “Is he all right?” “...”

“Why are you silent?! Even though I’m so worried, how can you remain so indifferent, my lord? We’re not strangers anymore—no! Since my brother is your lord, he ought to be like a brother to you too! Couldn’t you at least worry together?” “It’s because I’m worried that I’ve been sitting here thinking all sorts of things since earlier.” “How could you do such a thing! If I was worried, couldn’t you at least have replied? You’re hateful… Lately, you’ve grown so cold toward me. You heartless—”

“Ouch! Ouch! What are you doing?! Doesn’t it hurt when you pinch me there like that?!” “No, I will pinch! I’ll pinch harder! I’ll pinch even harder!…”

Even sharing the same concern, the way these two fretted left nothing undisturbed.

But Mondonosuke—the one they were waiting for—still hadn’t returned, no matter how much time passed.

The pale light of dawn crept in, and night finally began to break.

However, there was no word from him whatsoever.

“What could have happened?” “Even my esteemed brother seems to be running a bit late.” “And given who he truly is—the one who invited you—I simply can’t shake this uneasiness.”

“Where is last night’s document from Koshimoto?” “Please lend it to me for a moment.” I read it again, but all it said was: ‘Someone of my lowly station could never hope to match you. As a token of our newfound connection, I humbly request your presence at my residence to share a modest cup of sake...’ and so on. If you thought it was nothing, then it was nothing.

If he suspected some plot at work, it wasn’t impossible to imagine.

Suddenly, the color of blood rushed to Kyōya’s face. “Make your preparations!” “Will you go with me?” “Even if we wait here idly, our anxieties will only grow. Something untoward—it is not beyond reckoning that it has occurred. I shall accompany you!”

With her scarlet silk obi—its deer-spot pattern vivid enough to startle the eye—tightened until it bit into her waist, and her dagger concealed with deliberate ceremony beneath her breast, Kikuji followed close behind as the two figures hastened through the dawn-lit streets of Honjo toward Bancho. Though the sun had barely risen, Edo’s June morning was already as stifling as a steam bath from the break of dawn. “That’s it, that’s it! “That large mansion is the one.” “No matter what occurs, you must not panic. “You must not draw your sword until Kyōya draws his.”

Shielding Kikuji behind him, he approached the gate without dropping his guard.

But the mansion’s interior lay deathly still, without so much as a peep. From the gate swung open in an eight-character shape to the main entrance, water had even been sprinkled to settle the dust, but there was no trace of storms of blood, brawls, sword fights—or indeed any commotion worth the name—leaving the grounds deathly still in an uncanny silence. Yet precisely because of that, Kyōya and his companion’s unease only deepened.

This silence was not an ordinary silence. It almost seemed as though they had already trapped Mondonosuke and finished cleaning up the aftermath.

Kyōya’s eyes imperceptibly took on a faint, beautiful tinge of killing intent.

“Hear me! Hear me!” “...” “I’ve come on urgent business. Is there no one here to receive us? Hear me! Hear me!”

When, at his second call, he finally saw the young samurai there prostrating himself, Kyōya showered him with a voice quivering with killing intent.

“If you dare claim to have underestimated me, I won’t show mercy!” “I have come from Saotome’s mansion.” “You’re done for!” “Ah, I see.” “Welcome, despite this sweltering heat.” “Please wait a moment.”

No sooner had he disappeared into the rear than he reappeared and prostrated himself, his words now unnervingly polite to a sinister degree. "My master is presently attending to urgent official business at the castle, but he left instructions upon his departure." "Members of the Saotome household might come to greet you." "As per my master's orders—that should members of the Saotome household arrive, they are to be warmly received—I shall now act as your guide." "Please do not stand on ceremony—this way——"

What he pointed at was the palanquin. And that was no ordinary vehicle. Both palanquins were lacquered in subdued tones and bore the mansion’s family crest. “Still scheming, are you!” “You speak of scheming?” “You were part of this plot too!” “Do you mean to ensnare us both?!” “That’s preposterous. As you see, those palanquin bearers are mere menials—I alone am guiding you. Schemes or such vile designs are beyond conception. Lord Saotome has arrived in most gratified spirits—circumstances now demand discretion—hence my guidance thus far. Pray harbor no doubts; deign to enter.”

“Alright!” “I’ll board it.” “Lady Kiku, you mustn’t let your guard down!” “And you as well!” After waiting for them to board, the palanquin—with the young samurai serving as their guide—began moving slowly and steadily.

10

The palanquin followed the embankment to Gogomi Gate, took a right along the moat from there, and turned left just before reaching the Mito residence—it seemed indeed bound for Dentsūin Temple. Though their destination struck them as peculiar, those inside kept vigilant watch through both sides of the palanquin—anticipating some development at any moment—yet showed no indication of emerging.

Eventually, the place they arrived at was indeed Dentsūin Temple. Founded by Ryōyo Shōnin and granted a temple estate of 600 koku due to housing the burial site of Ieyasu’s birth mother, Dentsūin Temple prided itself as the foremost among the Jōdo sect’s Kantō Eighteen Danrin monasteries—boasting three subtemples (the Founder’s Hall, Benzaiten Shrine, and Sotokurazuka Inari), the Constant Prayer Hall, Sutra Repository, Unmarked Grave Cloisters, a hundred Shohokuryō Residences, and a grand temple complex so vast and magnificent it defied description.

“From this point onward, palanquins are prohibited. Please proceed on foot.” “I shall now serve as your escort.” After having the palanquin stopped before the temple gate, the young samurai—wearing a knowing look—took the lead and entered the profoundly quiet temple grounds.

This place was a temple.

It was a temple with graves. Could it be we're already at the graves?!... "Stop!"

Kyōya, feeling an irrepressible foreboding, sharply called out to stop him.

“We did not come to inspect your corpse or some new grave!” “Act insolently and I’ll show no mercy!”

“Please remain calm. As it is my master’s order to guide you, I am merely fulfilling that duty…”

In a hushed voice, the young samurai spoke and, without paying them any heed, circled around from the side of the main hall to the back—where a field of graves lay.

But just as they were startled—the place he led them into was not there. Passing through the graves and quietly opening the brushwood door beyond them, he stood smiling with his eyes. “So here you are!” “Indeed it is.” “This is Dentsūin Temple’s prized rear study hall.” “He should still certainly be present here. This humble one’s duty is now concluded.” “Please take your time…” No sooner had he spoken than he was already two rooms away.

They did not hesitate. Kyōya gripped his short sword, Kikuji her dagger, and as they leapt onto the high veranda and slid open the latticed doors from both sides with a clatter—Ah!—the two gasped and stood frozen. The so-called study hall was one in name only—the curtained screens, bamboo blinds, armrests, and cushions within sight all exuded the seductive allure of a secret teahouse’s hidden room.

Moreover, beside that curtained screen was a woman. She appeared to be about twenty-two or twenty-three. With pale, drooping eyebrows and an uncanny allure spilling forth as if about to overflow, her flesh swelled and her eyes smoldered—but she was no ordinary woman. Her figure, demeanor, extravagant makeup—whether she was a high-ranking lady’s attendant or a favored concubine—marked her as no ordinary woman. Upon that woman’s lap lay Saotome Mondonosuke—how utterly improper!—his Edo-renowned forehead scar resting lightly there as if to declare, “Paradise on earth is here,” while he serenely wove his dream of a lap pillow. But what was even more mysterious was the woman herself. Contrary to her expectation that they would surely be shocked, upon seeing the two flusteredly barge in, she deliberately embraced Saotome Mondonosuke’s neck—as if to flaunt that she had won his affection—and smiled with a bewitching allure, like a seductive flower in full bloom.

As for Kyōya, it went without saying—his sister Kikuji’s flustered dismay was painfully evident. Even if her brother Mondonosuke had engaged in womanizing, visits to the pleasure quarters, and fleeting dalliances with the women of this world to relieve his occasional boredom, this—such an outrageously brazen act as this, in a hidden room of the temple’s rear study hall with a woman of unfathomable origins—was a first.

Kikuji’s beautiful willow-like eyebrows stood on end without her noticing.

“What is the meaning of this! Brother!” “...” “What is the meaning of this spectacle! Brother!” “Could it not be that you’ve come all this way out of concern to greet me?” “What is the meaning of this indecent appearance!”

Keeping his head pillowed on her lap in response to her voice, he half-opened his eyes and gazed languidly—such a brother was truly one of a kind. “Well, well. You dolls came all lovey-dovey, did you?” “Ahahaha….” “It’s what they call a lap pillow worth five thousand koku.” “For future reference—take a good look.” “When frolicking in accordance with the way of yin and yang between men and women, this is how it’s done.” “How’s that for jealousy?” “Ahahaha!” “Well then, I suppose I’ll take my leave.…”

He stood up nonchalantly, completely unruffled. “That was quite the treat! Should fate allow it, I’d gladly borrow her lap again. With this, I take my leave. You two, head back. Come along.” He slipped out smoothly.

一一

What was suspicious was the woman’s background.

Kyōya and Kikuji’s eyes and faces drew closer from both sides, probing. “What manner of being is that woman?” “Do you wish to know?” “It is precisely because I wish to know that I ask.” “What sort of fox-woman is she?” “Call her a fox-woman and your mouth’ll swell.” “That is none other than—” “What manner of person is she?” “Koshimoto Jiemon’s daughter—the shogun’s beloved concubine, Omon-no-kata.”

“Wh-what!…” “C-c-could this truly be?!” “There’s no doubt about it.” “Were you surprised?” “She’s quite a beauty.” “Especially the plumpness of her knees—exceptional, I tell you.”

This was no mere trifling matter. Given that he had used the lap of the shogun’s beloved concubine as a pillow, no matter how renowned Saotome Mondonosuke—the Lord of the Forehead Scar—might be in Edo, the matter could not possibly end without consequence. Both Kyōya’s face and Kikuji’s face drained of color. “This has turned into quite a predicament. If this matter were to reach His Excellency’s ears, what would become of you!”

“There’s no helping it—first, seppuku.” “You knew that, and yet you engaged in such frivolous antics?!”

“Of course. The right knee belongs to His Excellency, the left knee to Mondonosuke—in matters of love, hierarchy holds no sway, I tell you. A beauty’s lap could topple nations, they say. If seppuku settles this, consider it a bargain price. Come here. Come here. Keep fretting like this and those pretty faces of yours’ll wrinkle up. You lot got an eyeful of how lap pillows work, didn’t you? Want to try it? Go practice back at the mansion.”

“What absurd nonsense are you spouting?!” “This is no ordinary opponent you’re dealing with!” “Even considering His Excellency—if something were to happen—”

“……”

“My lord!” “……” “Brother!” “……” “My lord!”

Kyōya and Kikuji, gripped by single-minded anxiety, pressed in from both sides in a fluster, but Mondonosuke was already reclining on a high pillow. Upon returning to the mansion, he lay down as if to savor last night’s lap pillow once more and even began to emit light snores.

“This has turned into quite a predicament… Given the circumstances when we visited the Banchō mansion earlier, the manner in which we were guided there, and Lady Omon-no-kata being Jiemon’s daughter, there can be no doubt this is a scheme plotted by Koshimoto. Though the master said he is currently attending to urgent business at the castle, I am most anxious—there can be no doubt that some terrifying envoy from the castle will arrive at any moment now!” “What?! … And yet here you are—this infuriating sight of you. Despite my being so terribly worried for you, here you are sleeping so soundly—what could possibly be the meaning of this? Hey, Brother!”

“……” “Brother!” He showed no sign of waking. His deliberate composure made it appear almost as if he were waiting for the messenger of calamity sure to arrive at any moment.

But it was strange.

Despite Kikuji and her companion trembling in anticipation—certain the messenger would arrive any moment—not only did no envoy come from the castle, but there was no sign of any messenger arriving from anywhere at all.

In Honjo, the Water Village, the sun sank into the water, and dusk soon arrived. When evening gloom crept into Mondonosuke’s chamber—where he still reclined on his high pillow without any intention of rising—a timidly announced voice suddenly came from the entrance. Startled, Kyōya rushed out. Almost before one could register it, he returned pale and shook Mondonosuke awake. “My lord! “My lord!” “….” “He has arrived!” “So he’s here.” “It’s not merely ‘he’s here.’” “Senior Inspector, sir, has arrived incognito!”

“There are plenty of Senior Inspectors. Who is it?” “It is Mizoguchi Bungo-no-kami, sir.” “Well, well—Bungo, eh? The schemer’s come himself.”

Saotome Mondonosuke finally rose up. The Ōmetsuke (Senior Inspector) was stationed in the Hibiscus Chamber with a stipend of three thousand koku; his four colleagues were all hatamoto. At times acting as the eyes and ears of the senior councilors, and at others as those of the shogun himself, their role as overseers extended to monitoring the conduct of daimyo and hatamoto alike—keeping watch over every facet of the shogunate administration’s governance through their surveillance duties. Among those four, Mizoguchi Bungo-no-kami was renowned throughout the land as a schemer.

“Show him in here.” Withdrawing a step, Mondonosuke took the lower seat. Guided onto the cushion that had been moved to the upper seat was Bungo-no-kami in incognito attire, a quiet light visible in the depths of his eyes.

“Welcome…” As Mondonosuke greeted him with a nod, Bungo-no-kami—without a word—suddenly thrust his short sword before Mondonosuke’s eyes, his voice quiet. “I shall lend you this. “Adorn Saotome Mondonosuke’s final moments with this.”

“Ha ha ha…! I see—you’ve come to collect last night’s lap pillow debt? Quite a fine lap it was! Truly—one knee worth five thousand koku! What an enigmatic riddle to demand my seppuku.” “That tongue of yours is detestable! What nonsense is this ‘five thousand koku per knee’? Edo’s eight million koku rest in His Excellency’s cherished lap! It is blasphemous even to speak of this illicit affair—it has reached the shogun’s august ears! Should this become public, not only would you perish—it would stain Lady Omon’s name! Thus I, Mizoguchi Bungo, come discreetly to urge honorable self-disembowelment! No underhanded schemes here! Commit seppuku with dignity!”

“Ahaha! So five thousand koku was too cheap after all? Then this must be the shogun’s own lap of eight million koku! By that measure, last night’s single knee would’ve been worth four million koku, eh? No wonder that generous warmth felt like a rare treasure you’d never find elsewhere!”

He betrayed not a trace of fear. His forehead scar flashed as he calmly returned the words.

“Mondonosuke—what if you refuse to commit seppuku?” “’Tis obvious.” “By tonight, an edict from His Excellency will surely arrive—summary execution, stipend confiscated, family name abolished—that’s what awaits you!” “You speak in a manner unbefitting a wise man.” “If Lady Omon conspired with her father Jiemon, knowingly plotting this illicit affair—how would you judge that?” “Knowing full well this setup would unfold, this Mondonosuke deliberately borrowed that lap pillow.” “If you absolutely refuse seppuku—how do you suppose His Excellency will judge this?!”

“So you refuse…”

Suddenly. No sooner had a cold light flashed in the depths of Bungo-no-kami’s eyes—which had appeared calm—than he slipped away toward the entrance as if some second phase of his plan were now in place.

In an instant. An eerie atmosphere hung heavy. Through the deathly stillness outside the entranceway, there abruptly welled up a restless, unsettling clamor.

12

Rustling, rustling, rustling—the eerie noise grew gradually louder and closer, moving from the entrance into the room.

This was no ordinary sound. Indeed, those were the footsteps of someone imbued with murderous intent.

The number of people was not small either.

Indeed, the footsteps numbered close to eight or nine people.

However, Saotome Mondonosuke remained composed. His forehead scar flashed, flashed as he waited with a smile as quiet as a forest—and just as expected, seven, eight, nine—nearly ten faces appeared before him. Clad in haori jackets and hakama trousers, gripping long swords—all uniformly black as if prearranged—they had not yet drawn their blades from the scabbards. But in their eyes, across their faces, a palpable murderous intent faintly revealed itself.

Moreover, all were young. From what could be inferred, they appeared to be skilled retainers that Mizoguchi Bungo-no-kami, the Ōmetsuke, had groomed. The ten men divided into five on the right and five on the left, kneeling in eerie silence as they lined up flanking Mondonosuke on both sides. Then Mizoguchi Bungo-no-kami himself advanced, eyes glinting dangerously as he blocked the path—and abruptly issued a cold, binding order. “Rise!”

“Stand? What for?” “No matter how you protest, the crime of adultery is now inescapable.” “You shall now proceed to Edo Castle and receive His Excellency’s direct judgment.” “Bungo hereby commands by the authority of the Ōmetsuke.” “Rise at once!” “Hoho… I see the skies have changed all of a sudden, hmm?” A cold sneer flashed across Mondonosuke’s face. Just moments ago, Bungo-no-kami had thrust a dagger forward, demanding seppuku. When Mondonosuke declared he wouldn’t die, the inspector had abruptly shifted tactics to demand the shogun’s direct judgment. The opponent was none other than Bungo the Wise—a man reputed for his cunning. The demand to attend the castle for His Excellency’s direct judgment was of course a pretext—behind it, there undoubtedly lay some fearsome scheme. First and foremost, the very act of forcing seppuku had been a ploy to obscure right and wrong, intending to bury the matter from darkness to darkness. Even now, deep within Bungo’s heart, that fearsome stratagem was undoubtedly still at work.

That was precisely why he had deployed ten unleashed agents around him, lying in wait for any opening.

“The renowned wise man has grown old indeed. Kyōya!” “Kyōya!” In that case, he too had a countermeasure prepared. Mondonosuke turned around with a chuckle, peered through the gap in the sliding door with bloodshot eyes, then quietly issued an order to Kyōya, who stood poised to leap out if needed. “The forelock. Prepare it.” “So, um... you intend to proceed to the castle, my lord?” “That’s right. “Saotome Mondonosuke has no desire to die, you see—His Excellency’s direct judgment isn’t something one would wish for.” “Hurry up and prepare the basin!”

“But considering Jiemon’s connection to His Excellency’s favorite concubine… There’s also the saying that a crying child cannot best the magistrate.” “No matter how innocent you may be, if they twist white into black and your innocence cannot be proven, what resolve do you intend to show?” “If a world exists where innocence cannot prove innocence, then I shall simply flee to the next world.” “His Excellency awaits.” “Hurry up!” He calmly sat back down and extended his neck before Kyōya.

Yet there was not an ounce of carelessness. If they attacked, he would draw and strike in one flash without revealing his blade—keeping his long sword pulled close by his knee while fixing a piercing gaze on the ten men's eye movements.

Kyōya also remained vigilant while shaving the forelock. “The forelock is impeccably done.” “How does it compare to yours?” “How could this humble one’s compare?” “Nose hair, that’s what it is.” “If you keep indulging in such jests, you’ll mar it, my lord.”

While scritch-scratching away with the razor, Kyōya’s eyes remained ceaselessly fixed on the ten men’s movements. With each stroke of the razor—one, two—as the shaven crown turned blue, Edo’s famed forehead scar gradually emerged in stark relief. That glistening scar! At last, the shaven crown turned pale and stark, and the scar—now sharply defined in the shape of a three-day-old moon—seemed to quiver with anticipation. “Truly splendid work. Kyōya, I’m utterly captivated.”

“So, are you smitten?” “You and your endless jests!” “You’re quite mistaken.” “You’re full of it!” “I’ll pinch you, you rascal.” “Kiku!” “Kiku!” “Is Kikuji not here?” “Kyōya, you hateful wretch! I told you it’s a mistake to say you’re in love with me.” “Punishment.” “Lend a hand and get my kimono on quick.”

He carried himself as though no one else existed. Bungo-no-kami glared in irritation, but there was nothing he could do. Though holding no official post yet commanding a 1,200-koku stipend—a man even nominally connected to the ranks of direct shogunate retainers—Saotome Mondonosuke was now preparing to proceed to the castle and present himself before His Excellency. Shaving his forelock was a matter of course; even if they wished to hurry him, there were no grounds for complaint. As they fidgeted restlessly—standing, sitting, waiting—Mondonosuke maintained his leisurely composure.

“Even a packhorse driver needs his finery, as they say.” “If only that courtesan and this one were here—I’d want to show them.” “The palanquin.” “Prepare it.” “As for your attendant—Kyōya will—” “No. Unnecessary.” “Instead, I’ll bring along a slightly unusual attendant.” “Go to the storehouse—it should be there.” “Bring the horse’s breastplate and attach it to the palanquin.” “Breastplate?” “It’s the horse’s breastplate.” “Kiku, you know where it is.” “It should be stored together with the armor chest.” “It’s a precious item—don’t you dare mishandle it!” He issued an unexpected command.

A breastplate referred to the front ornamentation adorning the chests of warhorses on battlefields. Strange as the item was, even stranger was his order to attach this peculiar object—not to a horse, but to a palanquin. Moreover, he intended to use it as his attendant. While they harbored doubts and hesitated, “Once you bring it, you’ll see.” “Hurry up.”

He urged them on, having the two carry it from the storehouse.

It was a splendid paulownia wood box. On its surface lay brushstrokes redolent of ink's fragrant scent. "Bestowed. Breastplate. House of Saotome" They were solemn characters indeed. It was no ordinary item.

The true purpose and mission of the eighty thousand hatamoto had been to stand firm in defense of His Excellency the Shogun's retainers should an emergency arise—this was their fundamental duty. Setting aside the exceptional Four Heavenly Kings—Ii, Honda, Sakai, and Sakakibara—since the time of the Divine Lord, among those eighty thousand horsemen there existed a unit known as the Okage-gumi, numbering one hundred riders. The Okage-gumi referred to none other than shadow warriors meant to serve as the shogun's decoys. The tides of battle were as fickle as the sky—sometimes storming, sometimes clear—and until victory was assured, one had to steel oneself for the possibility of defeat and retreat. The Okage-gumi were none other than shadow warriors prepared in advance for such occasions. Their armor, helmets, surcoats, and attire were uniformly identical—naturally—as were their horses, horse gear, and even the official Aoi crest adorning them all. Should the shogunal retainers ever face total rout in battle, His Excellency the Shogun would slip unnoticed into this indistinguishable hundred-strong cohort of identically attired riders, allowing him to escape temporarily to safety—such was the role of these decoys.

The family lineage and status of Saotome Mondonosuke—who bore his forehead scar as a proxy’s insignia—stood indeed among those hundred riders of the Okage-gumi that proudly served as Edo Tokugawa’s shadow doubles. Thus when the lid was removed, there appeared a breastplate—a single resplendent piece adorned with purple twisted silk threads and cascading silk tassels. A crest marked it. The authority of eight million koku—the shogunate’s official Aoi crest—seemed to rise shimmering from those tassels.

With a start, the faces of Bungo-no-kami and his subordinates fell prostrate against the blue tatami mats as though cut down.

The realm governed by this official crest did not sway like grass in the wind. While Bungo-no-kami and his men lay flattened like tissue paper, Saotome Mondonosuke—having Kyōya ceremoniously bear the breastplate—approached the garden palanquin with repeated self-amused chuckles, then personally secured the ornament before its front in one deft motion.

The mystery was solved. The opponent was a master of stratagems—a tactician of reputed sharpness. The road was perilous. If there was a plot to bury their target from shadow to shadow when the moment came, then without doubt they must have also prepared ambushes at some point along the journey—ambushes against which no lapse in vigilance would be permissible. Spears were another possibility.

Bows were another possibility. Firearms were another possibility.

Against this, there was no defense. The reason he had specifically ordered the horse’s breastplate attached to the palanquin’s front was precisely to avoid such projectile attacks. Truly, the official Aoi crest—an impregnable fortress before which even the realm prostrates—once even a fragment of it adorned the palanquin’s front, this was no ordinary palanquin. It was now equivalent to His Excellency the Shogun’s own palanquin.

If someone were to take aim at this and fire a shot with a muffled pop, Mizoguchi Bungo wouldn’t face mere seppuku—it’d mean an uproar beyond that. His entire clan would tremble; nine generations of his lineage eradicated.—Just as suspected—it seemed some scheme had been plotted for the journey—Bungo-no-kami’s face rapidly paled.

“Ahahaha! Behold the official Aoi crest! Behold—the Crest! I do so want to see that fool’s face. Lord Bungo, I do appreciate the trouble you’ve taken to escort me. Then, let’s be off. Onward with the palanquin!”

He was in good spirits.

The official Aoi crest with its purple tassels—its silent authority renowned through the ages—swayed lushly within the flowing lantern light held by attendants leading the procession, and the palanquin quietly began to move.

**Part 13** The route from Waridashimizu to the castle typically involved crossing Ryōgoku Bridge, ascending through Ōdenmachō, passing through the fourth, third, and second blocks of Honchō, and proceeding from Tokiwabashi Gate to Geba-dome.

The road was dark.

If they were to strike, now would be the perfect moment... As they approached Ryōgoku Bridge—just as anticipated—assassins indeed lay in wait. No sooner had a black shadow darted from beside the official notice board at the bridge’s approach than a short rod resembling a gun barrel inched into view. However, upon the palanquin hung none other than the peerless, ironclad, bulletproof official crest. This was no ordinary procession. The prestige of eight million koku passed through. From within Bungo-no-kami’s palanquin—which had been following at a distance behind—a hand shot out in panic, and while flustered, restrained the shadow.

At the same time, the short rod resembling a gun barrel withdrew suspiciously.

“Wahahaha!” “Behold the official Aoi crest! Behold—the Crest! I do want to see that fool’s face.” “Lord Bungo, I do appreciate the trouble you’ve taken to provide escort and security.” “Onward with the palanquin!” At Saotome Mondonosuke’s explosive voice, both Mizoguchi Bungo-no-kami and the ten shadows encircling and closely following him seemed to uniformly grind their teeth—but with the emblematic crest now adorning the palanquin, there was nothing they could do.

The palanquin reached Ōdenmachō in the early evening and ascended through Honchō—passing the fourth, third, and second blocks—toward Tokiwabashi Gate.

That corner. To the right stood a guard post, but to the left lay a charcoal storage room encircled by bamboo fencing—a place ideally suited for assassins to lie concealed with formidable stealth. Having apparently planned to strike here should they fail at Ryōgoku, two more black shadows now briefly revealed themselves from within that bamboo enclosure.

Sure enough, it was a short-barreled gun. However, just as they peered out, from the rear palanquin Bungo's panicked hand shot out once more and, floundering in haste, restrained them.

“Wahahaha!” “Behold the official Aoi crest! Behold—the Crest!” “I do want to see that fool’s face.” “Lord Bungo, I do appreciate the trouble you’ve taken with such thorough security preparations.” “Onward with the palanquin!”

Bearing Saotome Mondonosuke’s roaring laughter, the palanquin swayed heavily as it approached Tokiwabashi Gate.

Once they passed through here, they would be within the castle grounds. All the way to Geba-dome, it was safe.

But even so, what concerned him was Bungo’s scheme. This scheme—an attempt to dispose of matters from darkness to darkness, burying the truth of the affair forever in secrecy—might have originated from Bungo himself, or perhaps it was a stratagem orchestrated by Jiemon. If Jiemon had maneuvered behind the scenes to bring even the senior inspector, who bore the grave duty of destroying falsehood and upholding justice, under his control, then Mondonosuke must never let down his guard. Undoubtedly, even to His Excellency the Shogun’s ears, his own innocence had been distorted—with last night’s incident embellished with all manner of fabrications—and it must have been reported as though he himself had attempted some unforgivable illicit affair with the lady bearing the crest.

Saotome Mondonosuke tensed his dantian firmly and quietly stroked his abdomen. This was the shogunate—where black passed for white. And worse yet, he traveled with a she-demon whose every frown or smile could bring nations to ruin. From Shimomibashi Bridge, they turned right along the garden path to Nakano-kuchi. There stood the famed Nakano-kuchi Ōgenkan—the Great Entrance—of Edo Castle’s inner citadel.

“Senior Inspector, Lord Mizoguchi Bungo-no-kami, has arrived for his audience with the shogun… Uu…”

“Next—Lord Saotome Mondonosuke, this way…” It was an unprecedented nighttime summons to the castle. Guided by the beckoned castle priests, they wound through the grand corridor and middle corridor until arriving at the Central Deliberation Chamber adjacent to the Senior Councilors’ Official Residence.

Saotome Mondonosuke’s seat was positioned far back to the left. To the right, it had been expected that Koshimoto Jiemon would be waiting in attendance, yet there was no sign of him; given that this was a shogunal tribunal, a proper confrontation between both parties should have been arranged, yet the seating clearly indicated a one-sided judgment.

Urging the monks and having them make various arrangements, Bungo’s face was deathly pale. His face showed the pallor of one who feared having failed to bury the matter from darkness to darkness. Though they had spoken of seeking His Excellency’s direct judgment, if—even after receiving such a verdict—Mondonosuke were to successfully prove his innocence, the senior inspector’s professional honor would lie in utter ruins. The pit dug to curse others now gaped open beneath their own feet. Within the castle walls, the night air tightened with a penetrating chill, not a single stifled cough to be heard.

Mondonosuke's face was coldly pale, with only his forehead scar glowing. It appeared His Excellency the Shogun had withdrawn to the inner chambers, for monks' faces kept peeking out and disappearing repeatedly as they exchanged urgent whispers with Bungo-no-kami's pallid countenance. Then from the corridor came a voice calling loudly in this direction.

“His Excellency approaches!” To the right and left, as Bungo and Mondonosuke prostrated themselves with a start, what scurried out was a red-and-white mottled dog. It appeared to be His Excellency the Dog Shogun’s peerless beloved pet, attended by two castle pages serving as its guardians. “Lord Goi, this way, this way. “Your seat is here.” Though an utterly ordinary dog, its status as the eight-million-koku shogun’s cherished companion radiated imperial majesty. Evidently holding fifth court rank, the long-tailed Lord Goi settled primly beside His Excellency’s cushion with an air of understanding—just as rough tatami-muffled footsteps announced the arrival of the Dog Shogun Tsunayoshi’s severe countenance.

At the same moment. “You insolent wretch!” “How dare you show your face here!” A thunderous voice—sharp as splitting timber—came crashing down upon Mondonosuke’s head. His Excellency’s temper seemed to have reached its boiling point. After that, he remained standing imposingly without even attempting to take his seat, his irritation smoldering—when an even greater thunderbolt struck from an unexpected quarter. “Bungo! What is the meaning of this?!” “You blithering fool!” “Ha!” “Don’t you ‘ha’ me!” “What is the meaning of this?!” “Why, why—why did you bring Mondonosuke here alive?!”

It was an utterly unexpected decree from His Excellency. Saotome Mondonosuke gasped. There must have been a secret order to bring him beheaded. Precisely because there had been such an order, bringing him alive had now become grounds for censure. From these gathering storm clouds, it went without saying that Jiemon’s influence had already reached even the shogunate; should even half a word be misspoken, His Excellency’s countenance would grow increasingly hostile—and his dreadful judgment would assuredly descend.

However, Saotome Mondonosuke remained profoundly composed, his expression unperturbed, holding his voice in silence as he stayed prostrated cold as ice.

Over his head, the sharp, piercing voice of His Excellency the Shogun—still standing imposingly—came crashing down once more.

“Hateful! “Hateful!” “To call you hateful still falls short for a wretch like you!” “You insolent cur!” “Raise your head!” ......... “Why won’t you raise it?! “Look up, damn you!”

.......... “You refuse to look up! “You presumptuous wretch!” “Do you think that suffices to uphold your duty as a direct Hatamoto retainer?!” “You wretched fool! Jiemon has reported every last one of your insolent deeds!” “What meaning do you assign to the crest?!” “Hateful cur!” “Look up!” Yet Saotome Mondonosuke deliberately maintained silence, remaining profoundly still in prostration. It was a prudent strategy. Now, with His Excellency standing imposingly—his temper so inflamed he hadn’t even taken his cushion—any words spoken would never reach his ears. Knowing this, should he offer excuses, those very words would assuredly further provoke His Excellency’s wrath. Once provoked, it was certain that before any determination of right or wrong could be made, a decree driven solely by ire would descend: seppuku, dismissal from office, execution by his hand, or official punishment.

Everything had to wait until His Excellency’s temper subsided. To await the softening of His Excellency’s countenance, he deliberately kept silent, refrained from raising his face, and continued his deep prostration. The strategy succeeded.

Gradually, His Excellency’s temper appeared to soften, and he first took his seat.

“Tea! “Tea!” “The tea will be here shortly.” “It is here before Your Excellency…” His Excellency’s mood had settled after partaking of it. When his throat’s dryness ceased, His Excellency’s fit of temper subsided as well. As expected, though a harsh edge still lingered in his voice, a decree from His Excellency was issued—his heart had seemingly settled at last.

“If you have an explanation to offer, I shall hear it.” “Raise your head!”

“Yes…” The time was right. When he quietly raised his face, a sonorous, auspiciously smooth voice flowed out. “Your unusually refreshing countenance is my greatest joy.” “What?! What do you mean by ‘refreshing countenance’?! Does my angry face appear refreshing to you?!” “Such peerless refreshment! Though I—in fearful trepidation—journeyed here with a heart heavy at the thought that you, who hold command over all military forces under heaven, might let your noble mind be swayed by listening to the slander of such unworthy flatterers… yet that unchanging refreshment of yours! Truly, it is the bloodline of the Divine Lord himself—a joy to behold in a peerless enlightened ruler!”

“Silence!!” “You fool!!” “What do you mean by ‘flatterers’?!” “Who do you mean?!” “Namely, Koshimoto Jiemon and Her Ladyship Omon-no-kata—both are flatterers unworthy to serve beneath heaven.”

“Silence!! “Silence!! What do you mean by ‘Mon is a flatterer’?! Mon is Our beloved woman—a peerlessly adorable creature. If you dare call her a fool, I won’t forgive you!” “That itself proves their sycophancy—disturbing Your Excellency’s discerning eyes stands as the ultimate evidence of their flattery. Above us is the splendid enlightened ruler—the enlightened ruler we direct hatamoto retainers take pride in—” “Silence! Silence! Will you not be silent?!” “No—Your Excellency is an enlightened ruler! An enlightened ruler worthy of pride throughout the realm! Mondonosuke, too, has always thought this and that—”

“Silence!! Will you not obey?!” “Nay! To have the honor of serving Your Excellency—a splendid enlightened ruler, a peerless enlightened ruler in all the realm—there is no greater joy. Female demons are ever fair of form—it is only natural that you would show them favor, Your Excellency. Yet should even a peerless enlightened ruler such as yourself mistakenly judge right from wrong on their account, it would be the gravest of matters. I humbly beg you to exercise your discerning wisdom...” First an enlightened ruler, second an enlightened ruler—he pressed on with nothing but enlightened rulers this and enlightened rulers that. It was a prudent strategy. If being called an enlightened ruler rather than a fool, the eight-million-koku lord’s state of mind must have been a rather pleasant one indeed. The shogun’s countenance had indeed softened.

“Then—are you claiming that everything Jiemon has stated is false?”

“As Your Excellency commands.” “Though I know not what falsehoods have been whispered in your august ears, this Saotome Mondonosuke—a hatamoto of Mikawa’s ancient lineage—would never so rot his soul as to commit such brazen impropriety with Her Ladyship Omon-no-kata, she who basks in your most cherished favor.” “All are machinations spun by Koshimoto Jiemon—I entreat Your Excellency’s peerless discernment.”

“Yet Jiemon claims you became utterly infatuated and tried to dally with Mon.” “These outrageous slanders all stem from schemes to trap this Saotome Mondonosuke in crimes he did not commit. As Your Excellency is well aware, that man was originally a lowly black hoe worker who, grown arrogant with power and ignorant of his current station, began this affair through his improper infatuation with a base woman of the pleasure quarters. The woman called Koyu, envious of another’s devotion to her, attempted to stray down an improper path—which I, Mondonosuke, unwittingly noticed and supported, much to Jiemon’s displeasure. Then, whether plausible or not, he instigated Her Ladyship Omon-no-kata—Your Excellency’s beloved—to summon this humble one to Dentsū-in Temple, a place beyond all propriety, where she committed… most irreverent acts of dalliance at my knee—deeds too audacious even to name.”

“Why did you dally?!” “Even if it were Jiemon’s scheme, Mon is Our beloved woman.” “Knowing this, why did you still dally with her?!” “For the sake of the realm and Your Excellency’s governance.” “You damned fool!” “How could dallying at the knee of Our beloved woman serve the realm?!” “If such insolent scoundrels—a father and daughter conspiring to force impropriety—were left unchecked, who knows what reckless schemes they might attempt next, emboldened by your favor? Knowing this full well, I, Mondonosuke, lent my knee [to her advances] solely as a means to convey counsel to Your Excellency. For I knew that eventually even this defilement of my person would surely reach your august ears—at which time I could prove my innocence before you, seek your righteous judgment, and thereby purge the sycophants poisoning your court. To cleanse your entourage of such villains is to serve both the realm and Your Excellency’s governance.”

“You damned fool!” “What?” “I say you’re a damned fool!” “What a blessed honor—Saotome Mondonosuke is the greatest damned fool in all the realm.” “However—this damned fool is no mere damned fool.” “We Mikawa-born hatamoto are all damned fools—damned fools who would gladly throw away our lives for Your Excellency’s governance and the sake of the realm.” “I, Mondonosuke, swear by heaven and earth that my person is innocent. Should Your Excellency’s doubts remain unallayed, I would not hesitate to confront Her Ladyship Omon-no-kata here and now.”

“A confrontation?” “Ha! Should even that fail to dispel Your Excellency’s doubts, I would not hesitate to confront her before the monks of Dentsū-in Temple.” “Your Excellency is a peerless enlightened ruler—I humbly entreat your discerning judgment.” “Insolent cur! In-in-insolent wretch!” “I am profoundly obliged.” “Was it Jiemon’s insolence to force impropriety and disrupt the realm? Or Her Ladyship Omon-no-kata’s insolence to lend a knee that ought never have been lent? Or perhaps this Mondonosuke’s insolence—who dared defile his knee as substitute counsel, fully prepared to incur Your Excellency’s wrath? The truth rests solely in Your Excellency’s discerning eyes. Should you decree any insolence lies with Mondonosuke, I would not falter at seppuku or execution.” “I beseech Your Excellency’s direct verdict.”

“……” “With all due respect, how does Your Excellency’s wise judgment find in this matter?” “Detestable—! No—We’ve heard enough! We feel quite ill. Disgraceful. Begone!” With Mondonosuke’s words—pure, blameless, rectifying right and wrong—the target for the shogun’s anger had vanished. He glared wordlessly, seething as he struggled to contain his smoldering anger—but then abruptly kicked aside the cushion, rose to his feet, and vanished violently behind the reed screen.

However, it seemed there was truly no outlet for His Excellency's indignation. He stomped back and issued a rebuke. “Bungo! You too are an insolent wretch." “Your account differs considerably from the truth.” “You detestable wretch!” “Begone!” Having begun to leave, it seemed that even so, the lingering unease in his chest had yet to clear up. “Jiemon too is insolent!” “Her Ladyship Omon is insolent too.” "No—Mon is adorable." “It’s the knee that’s hateful!” "You damned fools!" “What kind of damned fool borrows a precious knee as substitute for counsel?!” "Even if one offers to lend it, declining out of propriety would be the natural course." “Those Mikawa-style hatamoto retainers are too stubborn for their own good.” “Take heed—Omon’s knee shall exercise restraint henceforth.” “Goi, let’s go.” “Attend me!”

The dog, having no honorable knees, was fortunate indeed. After the shogun—who had vanished with an irritated swish of his curled tail—Goi too scurried away, disappearing from view.

Mondonosuke’s innocence was finally recognized. Bungo’s face turned deathly pale. Regardless of whether Jiemon’s hand was involved or not, one in the role of senior inspector could not escape blame for having misjudged the situation.

“You detestable wretch—begone!” His Excellency’s decree had been only that, yet depending on interpretation, one could not deny it might also be taken as a shogunal command ordering seppuku for one who cannot discern right from wrong. Moreover, Bungo too was of a hatamoto lineage; when he reflected on his reputation as a wise man, he must have felt ashamed of his own ignorance.

He hung his head without a word, remaining sunk in silent despondency.

In stark contrast was Saotome Mondonosuke’s cheerfulness.

“Good attendant—you’ve endured much hardship.” “You’re a hatamoto too—after all, hatamoto are naught but consummate fools.” “His Excellency did remark your bones prove too stubbornly hard.” “Let’s brew candy and drink it down!” “Monk!” Saotome Mondonosuke withdrew. “Pray lead the way.”

Swish, swish—the rustle of hakama trousers resounded crisply through the grand nighttime corridor.

14

Outside, it was nearing the fourth hour. Dark.

Great Edo was shrouded in thick darkness, like a black cloth spread out as far as the eye could see. “You there! “It’s Mondonosuke.” “Are there no attendants here?”

“Ah— “Welcome back, my lord.” “How truly fortunate you’ve returned unharmed.” “This forehead scar of mine— “Makes for quite the protective charm when visiting the castle, you know. “His Majesty remains ever wise—all told, it’s something I’ve managed to avoid slicing my belly open.” “Take your time.” “And you, my lord?”

“There’s no telling if some idiot might still be lurking about. Keep advancing as you are.” They rode leisurely from Gesho Bridge, approached Tokiwabashi Gate, passed through it, and found the road growing even darker. The night wind sweeping across the moat billowed softly, swaying the willow fronds as an eerie presence seemed to draw near without any discernible cause. As they moved along the moat’s edge and prepared to turn toward the outskirts of town—it struck without warning.

A murderous aura hung thick. A predatory killing intent stalked closer.

It was no ordinary murderous intent. The assassins’ stalking murderous aura. Creeping closer step by step—stealthily at ankle level—the murderous presence pierced sharply into Saotome Mondonosuke's chest. An instant. “Ah— “My lord, there are ruffians here!” Faster than the words were spoken. Before the attendants could even cry out, Saotome Mondonosuke's body had already leapt into a guardian's stance, pressing flush against the palanquin as he peered through the darkness—spear after spear after spear, in all directions, every quarter, nothing but spears.

Three spears, four spears. Six spears, eight spears.

All were short spears. Crouched low, barefoot in black hoods—and moreover, an imposing stance. In perfect silence, those eight spears pressed their tips from all directions and began relentlessly inching toward Saotome Mondonosuke’s person.

15 Who?— In an instant, Saotome Mondonosuke's eyes flashed like lightning. "The Tokugawa crest! The Tokugawa crest!" For with this emblem present, even the most reckless ruffians would find no means to raise blades against them. Yet either these attackers failed to see the crest upon his breastplate, or knowing full well, they launched this brazen night ambush regardless. If any dared confront this symbol without fear despite recognizing it, they could only be assassins of extraordinary resolve. "You panicked fools! Can't you see this Tokugawa crest?!" "Make one reckless move, and there'll be no undoing it!"

But they remained defiant. As if Mondonosuke’s fiery rebuke fell on deaf ears—despite the Tokugawa crest upon his palanquin being starkly illuminated by the flames of fallen lanterns dropped by panicked attendants—the assassins’ shadows remained utterly still. Not only that—in utter silence, they inched closer, tightening the ring of encirclement. Remaining surrounded on all sides left no room for strategy. Seizing his chance with a decisive moment he had been waiting for, Mondonosuke kicked over the palanquin and leapt through the opening in one swift bound—but in an instant, the short-spear formation that had seemed to collapse reformed into a crescent shape and, still silent, began inching relentlessly toward him once more.

The shadows remained eight in number. Moreover, their formation was truly—one might say perfectly—orderly, a splendid stance. These were no amateurs! Could this be Koshimoto Jiemon’s faction?—a natural question arose. But for that, their formation was too flawless. Then—could these be assassins dispatched by Mizoguchi Bungo-no-kami, who had incurred the shogunate’s displeasure, to permanently silence Mondonosuke and tidy up loose ends? Mondonosuke’s eyes glittered with suspicion. As those eyes moved sharply through the darkness, three more shadows suddenly came into view. From beyond the spear screen, two shadows clung protectively to a single shadow as they intently observed the situation.

"......?" Saotome Mondonosuke’s eyes pierced through the row of short spears like probes, boring into the three shadows beyond. The moment he discerned the central shadow standing with hands tucked in sleeves—exuding preposterous composure before this murderous standoff—a daring smile bloomed across his face. At the same instant, his deep voice rang out. “Ah hah… “Interesting.” “Come then… I’ll oblige you…”

There must be some scheme afoot. His left hand settled at his dantian while his right thrust upward—the Yōshin-ryū Suigetsu Atemi stance! He meant to fight bare-handed. Yet within the depths of those eyes glaring fiercely at his opponents, a bright smile still lingered. "Here I come!" "Bare hands they may be—but these fists of Saotome Mondonosuke, direct shogunal retainer of Mikawa lineage—are a touch tougher than naked blades!" "Come prepared now..." "......"

“No need to fear…and spare no courtesy! …Even if my three-month-old forehead scar looks fearsome—you won’t take the bait. Why don’t you come at me with everything you’ve got?” Whether his bold provocation had struck a nerve, the right spear glinted distinctly through the night’s darkness as it sliced— “Hyah!” With a cloth-rending battle cry, they charged—but Mondonosuke nimbly pivoted sideways in half-stance, letting the thrust slip past his flank until its spearhead became firmly trapped beneath his arm. The extended spear couldn’t be rashly withdrawn. The moment they released it, the weapon rebounded—knowing full well the terrifying strike from its butt end would follow—they found themselves unable to retreat or advance, clinging desperately to their spears in a desperate stalemate.

“Bastard!” A spear lunged from the left in desperate aid—but once again, it proved futile. At the final instant, Mondonosuke nimbly twisted his torso—trapping even the spearhead beneath his right arm. “How’s that! Using foes as instant shields—Saotome Mondonosuke’s Mutekatsu-ryū esoteric technique. To your liking?” “......”

“Stay as you are! Stay as you! If you thrust forward, your comrades caught by these two spears will be skewered like dango. Next comes another Saotome-ryū secret art—the driving pursuit and takedown. I’ll treat you to a viewing. Here I come!” No sooner had he forcefully readjusted the two crossed spears under his arms than both spear-wielders—alongside himself—were pressed inch by inch toward the remaining six-spear formation. If they came using their comrades as shields, they had no choice but to retreat.

“Smart! “Smart!” “Not breaking formation while retreating—that’s the height of tactics! “There!” “A foot! There!” “Two feet!” “Not a single one of you breaks formation, or this spear butt will come visiting!” “There!” “There!” “If you thrust forward, your comrades will be skewered like dango!” “There!” “There!” The six-spear formation inched backward toward the shadowy commander behind them until—now merged into nine shadows—they jerked toward the moat.

“There! There! Just a bit more and you’ll reach the moat! Sampling the moat’s watery gruel would make for quite the diversion. Crucian carp, carp, loach—if you prefer, there’s salamander and soft-shelled turtle too. —There! There!”

Dangerous. They had been pressed back until only a sliver remained between their heels and the moat’s corner stone—teetering on tiptoe at the rearmost edge—on the verge of tumbling into the water like a human avalanche... when suddenly, from behind the Bored Man, a gravelly shout erupted.

“Don’t falter! “You there!” “Drive them back!” “Reinforcements!” “Reinforcements!” “We’ll reinforce you now!” “Execute a pincer attack!” “Drive them back!!”

16

He whirled around—startled—only to find them already upon him! They were here! There were roughly twenty of them—a group of rough-looking thugs whose appearances left much to be desired—lined up in a ragged line with drawn blades, led by what appeared to be their white-masked leader. “Finish him off! “As you can see, we have ample reinforcements here! “Whoever you are—we too hold a grudge against Mondonosuke. “No matter what—we must end that man’s breath before this night expires! “We too will reinforce you with our lives! “Hurry, hurry! “Charge! “Charge! “You lot charge too!”

At the white-masked instigator’s voice, the black mass of men shifted swiftly. A split second! The Bored Man—who had been holding one of the spears—thrust it forward with force, yanked it back to seize it for himself, then dashed diagonally, slipping to the flank. With a firm stance, he let out a thunderous roar— "You insolent fools! Knowing full well I am Mondonosuke—dare you make this three-month-old scar squeal like a rat?!" That divine speed! That ferocious fighting spirit! Truly, the majestic aura of the Bored Hatamoto of Great Edo blazed forth in all its glory. The black mass of men froze in shock—at that very moment. From beyond the darkness came the sound of clattering footsteps accompanied by labored breathing—and no sooner had they drawn near than—

“Phew! Made it in time!”

It was none other than Shimousa Jūgorō.

Next, Kyōya—

Next came Kikuji— "Brother!" "My lord!" "Y-you! Are you unharmed, sir?! Thank goodness! Thank goodness! N-now! Don't let them escape over there! I-I don't know about that moat edge business, but that white-masked one there—" "It must be Koshimoto Jiemon." The white-masked figure twitched.

“You’ve seen through me!” “That’s right.” “W-well... uh... after gettin’ word from Lord Kyōya ’bout you bein’ sudden-like summoned t’ th’ castle... figured this was ’nother o’ Koshimoto’s baboon-samurai tricks... so I staked out ’front his mansion t’ see what schemes he’d cook up next... Then some jittery castle lackeys came rushin’ over... whole place started rattlin’ like a busted cart... an’ th’ ol’ baboon bastard slapped on a mask... rounded up all his trashy crew there... an’ went hightailin’ toward th’ castle!” “While tailin’ ’em an’ eavesdroppin’, seems at th’ castle yer arguments won out—ol’ Baboon’s storehouse went up in flames! Now these bastards’re goin’ full desperate—plannin’ t’ make ya vanish from one darkness t’ another tonight! Then they’ll sweet-talk th’ shogun with fox-tongued lies ’bout th’ family crest! Nasty business—sure they fight like drunks, but there’s a whole mob!” “Even you might’ve caught a scratch or two! If I hadn’t dashed straight t’ yer mansion quick-like, wouldn’t that’ve been a sight!” “On th’ way, I ran smack into Lady Kikuji an’ Lord Kyōya—who’d come out all worried t’ meet me—an’ th’ three of us came barrelin’ in like fireballs! Now then—Baboon Samurai!”

The ghastly sight of Koshimoto Jiemon—his white mask now peeled away—twitched and stepped back once more. "You runty baboons—step the hell up! Now that Shimousa Jūgorō's here, you ain't layin' a finger on His Lordship! With these arms that subdued countless whales on Kujūkuri's wild shores, I'll send every last one o' you to the afterlife! You lot who're in a hurry to meet your maker—come at me!"

“Stand down! Jūgorō!”

Saotome Mondonosuke sharply restrained the agitated Jūgorō.

“There are circumstances you’re unaware of—stand back!” “Kyōya!” “Kikuji!” “Yes!”

To the two who drew closer and stepped forward,

“I grant you this trial of skill. “A prime opportunity! The Yōshin-ryū striking techniques you’ve drilled daily—make ready to savor them to your heart’s content.” “Yes!” With both gallant resolve and youthful zeal, the two took their stances—whereupon Mondonosuke, as though wholly disregarding the moat’s edge behind him, wheeled about to confront the Koshimoto faction head-on. His blazing eyes pierced through the white mask like arrows. “Koshimoto Jiemon… behold these eyes!”

“...” “What do you say to this man’s accusation?!”

“...” “You who hold even the esteemed position of Chief of the Inner Chambers—do you think His Majesty’s governance can stand firm when reviled so thoroughly by a mere fisherman?!” “Blinded by twisted passion, you dared make your own sister—she who receives His Majesty’s favor—commit impropriety! And now you seek to take my life and obscure His Majesty’s wisdom? What madness is this!” “Awaken now!” “Reclaim your true self!” “If you but declare a change of heart, I—Mondonosuke—as one bound by the Hatamoto code, have no wish to escalate this conflict!” “What say you?!”

“Wh-what… What are you talking about?! “I-I’ll just silence that cursed mouth of yours!” A muddied shriek burst from beneath the white mask. “M-my sister’s charms were meant to eclipse even you—that was my miscalculation—no—if only you didn’t exist in this world—the realm would be mine and hers! “Do it! “Do it! “Y-you lot! “You people over there!” ......

“Attack now!” “We eliminate this obstacle tonight—if we wait until tomorrow—no! Strike while the iron’s hot! You’ve got numbers, we’ve got numbers—combine our strength and crushing this lone fool should be easy!” “Quickly, charge in!” “Quickly, run them through!” Koshimoto Jiemon—his vulgarity as a former ditch-digger laid bare—desperately shouted toward the moat’s edge, but—it was strange. They did not move. The group by the moat—for some reason—had not only abandoned their spear stances at some point but were now silently keeping watch on this side. Koshimoto Jiemon’s frustration had now turned desperate—

“Wh-what—have you lost your nerve?!” “W-well then! Since our fresh forces are engaging—follow after them! Now, attack!” “Attack!” “Reward! Reward!” “Once we take down this guy, it’ll be my sister and me ruling the realm!” “The reward’s yours for the taking—grab as much as you want!” “I’ll give you a thousand ryō!” “Attack!” “Attack!” The reward was a thousand ryō! Despite the reward being theirs for the taking, they were incited. The disreputable mob bared their ferocious teeth in unison, flashed their white blades in a swift motion, let out an eerie collective cry, and lunged at the three—Saotome Mondonosuke, Kikuji, and Kyōya.

“Kyōya-sama! Stay sharp!” “Kikuji-sama! Do not falter!” Magnificent! Fluttering, fluttering—like butterflies dancing through a storm-swept meadow—Kyōya’s page-like figure and Kikuji’s long-sleeved form wove through, wove through the oncoming wave of attackers, darting left and right in a blur. “Agh!” “Ugh!”

Thud, another one fell.

Thud, another one fell. Truly fearsome was the intensity of Saotome Mondonosuke's Yōshin-ryū striking techniques honed through rigorous training! In the moonlit darkness where the arms of two youths—deceptive as polished jade—reached forth, the demon-crushing forms of burly ronin toppled one after another, their rear ranks scattering in disarray from behind. Unable to withstand any longer,

“The target is Saotome! Follow me!” Koshimoto Jiemon lunged forward— “You damned fool!” He stood frozen before the Bored Man as if paralyzed. Terrifying eyes. Saotome Mondonosuke’s piercing gaze—keen enough to bore straight through him.

...... Slowly—those terrifying eyes advanced a step——. “H-help me!” As Koshimoto Jiemon shrieked and tried to flee into the group by the moat’s edge—something uncanny happened. In a flash, a spear butt shot out from within that very group—striking Jiemon squarely in the solar plexus with perfect precision—and his body slammed onto the gravel as if hurled down. Simultaneously from the moat-side group, figures in hakama trousers—their hems crisply pressed—scattered out and began apprehending Koshimoto’s confederates one by one, caught off guard by this reversal. It was Jūgorō who leapt up.

“Well ain’t this a fine mess!” “Look at yourself now!” “You bastard!” Jūgorō leaped out and tried to throttle Koshimoto Jiemon, “Halt, Jūgorō!” “Jūgorō!” Mondonosuke’s thunderous command descended. “Kyōya! Kikuji! Stand down! Kneel! Kneel! Kneel with proper reverence!” “Kneel!” “Kneel!” “Kneel with proper reverence!” He himself assumed seiza on the spot, bowed deeply to the commander-like figure remaining by the moat’s edge, and while keeping his expression unchanged, spoke with a radiant smile playing across his face.

“Your Majesty! I trust this display of a Mikawa-born hatamoto’s prowess—the utterly genuine spirit of a true hatamoto—has met with Your Majesty’s satisfaction here.”

17

“Ahahaha!” “You cunning devil!” “You saw through it all, did you?!” It was a refreshing laugh.

The voice that flowed out from beneath the mask of one who had boldly stepped forward with laughter was, unexpectedly, that of Shogun Tsunayoshi himself. With his hands still tucked into his sleeves, he stood before Mondonosuke, and his voice grew even brighter. “Splendid! Splendid!” “No—when you were driven to the edge of the moat, I relished it so much I broke into a sweat.” “Ahahahaha! To think you could entertain the realm’s shogun to such a degree—you’re a cunning one, Mondonosuke.” “Did you stage this performance knowing full well it was We from the very beginning?!”

“As Your Majesty commands!” “Well now…” “With all due respect—Your Majesty’s august bearing inherently radiates the Realm’s authority, which shone clear even to these night eyes. Moreover, Your Majesty’s attendants’ spear techniques were uniformly of the Seihōgan-ryū restraint style! Furthermore—their brazen disregard for the Aoi Crest itself roused suspicion! Thus I concluded—Your Majesty wished to test this Mikawa-born Mondonosuke’s true capabilities, to see if they might satisfy Your Majesty’s expectations—” “Were you satisfied?” “As Your Majesty commands!”

“Hahahahaha.” “Utterly cunning you are, Mondonosuke!” “Amusing.” “Amusing.” “Ah, but...” “Your earlier explanation struck true to my heart, and I understood it well—yet what fails to satisfy is this careless handling of the crest.” “They say a woman’s duplicity vexes even the wisest of sages—and how true that is!” “It suddenly occurred to me that testing your true mettle—you with all your ‘Mikawa-born this, Mikawa-born that’ bluster—might soothe my irritation, so I brought Bungo and these fellows along for a cooling stroll.” “Splendidly done!” “Mondonosuke!” “Heavens, what brilliance!” “Magnificent!” “My heart has been splendidly cleared—Mondonosuke!”

“Yes!” “I’ll not tolerate negligence regarding the crest.” “Heh.” “Utterly subhuman—this creature—”

His Majesty’s eyes, which had swept over Jiemon with displeasure, now shifted backward. “Bungo! Bungo!” “Heh.” Slithered out and crouched down was none other than Senior Inspector Mizoguchi Bungo-no-kami himself. “Revive that maggot!” “Understood!”

With an “Ei!”, Jiemon—struck on the back by Bungo and jolted back to his senses—looked around frantically, but upon realizing the figure standing before him was His Majesty, he gasped audibly, pressed his face down, and prostrated himself as if burrowing into the gravel. “How dare you bring lifelong disgrace upon this Tsunayoshi!” “I hereby command Bungo to carry out the sentencing.” “Moreover, one cannot fathom how you might have been tormenting these townspeople.” “Investigate him without mercy.” “He’s an eyesore.” “Be off with him!”

At the shogun’s decree, Koshimoto Jiemon—bound with the sword cords of attendants who had pounced upon him—was led away toward Denmachō’s great prison alongside his cohorts, his utterly pitiable figure moving through the faint moonlight that had just begun to shine. “What a laughable wretch! “—Mondonosuke!” “Yes!” “A sovereign’s errors are witnessed by all under heaven. “Well done kneeling beneath the crest to remonstrate!” “Tsunayoshi gives his thanks!”

Clear as a cloudless sky after rain—His Majesty’s bright voice held no lingering attachment to the events of moments before. In the eyes of the Bored Man looking up, a glint appeared.

“Your Majesty!” “Does Tsunayoshi’s judgment satisfy you?” “What is there to say? What indeed—”

It was to receive this judgment that he had made his desperate visit to the castle. The wish he had poured into risking his life for the sake of the realm and its people had been granted. Mondonosuke's voice suddenly choked with emotion. "What is there to say, Mondonosuke?" "Just... just…"

“Feeling relieved?”

“Heh. ‘A sage does not exchange wisdom for mere appearances.’ ‘A splendid heir to the Divine Founder’s august lineage—what an enlightened sovereign!’ ‘With Your Majesty upholding peace across the realm and security for all subjects!’ ‘Enlightened Sovereign!’ ‘Enlightened Sovereign!’ ‘Mondonosuke’s rejoicing mirrors that of every soul in the land—no words could ever suffice.’”

“This won’t do! This won’t do! If you keep parading this ‘Wise Ruler’ nonsense about, Bungo, you’ll leave me with a mess to clean up!” “Understood!” “Best we withdraw before I’m drenched in cold sweat again.—Ah, this night air… Tsunayoshi shall sleep soundly tonight. Bungo! My horse!” “Understood!”

In response to the final beckoning gesture, he mounted His Majesty’s steed—which had galloped over from beyond the bridge—with practiced ease, and “Mondonosuke—do come by from time to time so I may savor your scoldings again.” “Farewell then!” “Lord Mondonosuke, I offer my heartfelt congratulations on tonight’s exploit.” “Greetings can wait for another day—”

Leaving behind a cheerful nod, Mizoguchi Bungo-no-kami also mounted his horse. Clop, clop—echoing pleasant hoofbeats, the shogun’s retinue proceeded into the depths of Edo Castle—and from among those seeing them off came a man’s choked sobs.

It was Jūgorō.

He was happy. The joy that his sister's modest romance—which he had considered trivial—had been rescued from persistent evil through His Majesty the Shogun's personal judgment now pierced through that rugged chest of his.

“Are you happy, Jūgorō?”

When they had finished seeing off the Shogun, Mondonosuke's eyes intently urged Jūgorō onward. “Convey that joy to your sister quickly. “Let us withdraw together! “Kyōya.” “The palanquin!” “Yes, sir!” Holding up the palanquin the porters had abandoned and fled from, Kyōya took the lead—— Pressed close—Kikuji. And then—the Bored Man, Jūgorō——

The moon came out.

As if to brighten and refresh people's hearts, a luminous shadow moved through the moonlight that had risen beyond the rows of rooftops.