Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

This is the eleventh story. This is a somewhat lengthy tale. Behind Kanda Myojin—a shrine Edo locals proudly boast of—the area stretching toward what could practically be called the contiguous Yushima Tenjin wasn’t particularly lively. There stood the grand mansion of the Todo family and the residence of Lord Naitō Bungo-no-kami, with the slightly narrowed space between them occupied by townhouses—among which lived Shinohara Baifu, a Maruyama-school painter. Though not particularly skilled, his wife Koyoshi—who until quite recently had gone by the name Akashi as a courtesan in Yoshiwara—was something of a real beauty; this had become the talk of both the neighborhood and beyond.

There was one other thing that had become the talk of both the neighborhood and the wider world. That would be the buried-alive well in the residence’s garden. Of course, this residence was what Shinohara Baifu had purchased when he redeemed his current wife Koyoshi from Yoshiwara—chosen for its quiet location and surprisingly low price given its stylish structure. But that affordability had in truth come from its rather unpleasant feature: the buried-alive well. The location of this well was also peculiar—directly to the right of the entrance, where winter bamboo now grew, with no trace remaining of its original form. According to rumors, this place had once been the lower mansion of a hatamoto named Kamiya Nanigashi. It was said that his younger brother, driven mad, had been confined here. As his depravity worsened, fearing disgrace to their family’s prestige dating back to Mikawa, they had brutally buried him alive in this very well.

That’s why it appears.

“No, it doesn’t appear.” “It did appear. It appeared last night too. Around sunset. From that clump of winter bamboo—some said a white shadow had billowed out like smoke, others denied it—rumors swirled thick and fast. The gossip ran wild.” “Don’t talk nonsense. Once I’m with the woman I love and show how happy we are together, even a ghost’d turn tail and run! Besides, the well’s filled in now—the whole house rebuilt different. If it shows up, you and I’ll just flaunt how lovey-dovey we are. Twenty times a bargain, this place! Perfect for newlyweds!”

They bought and moved in during May’s rainy season. Though his paintings weren’t particularly skilled, Shinohara Baifu could manage a trick or two when it came to imitations, and he possessed considerable fortitude. “The food ain’t tasty when I eat elsewhere. “Your cooking’s the best, you know.” “Even if I’m late, I’ll come back by evening, ya hear?” “I’ll put in an order for some yudofu then.”

It was early June’s sweltering dusk when he returned home in haste after delivering the completed painting to Asakusa… As he lightly reached for the lattice door of the entrance, a shadow like smoke wafted up. The thicket of winter bamboo rustled faintly with a dry crackle as a pale male figure billowed into view. “Who’s there?!” “……” “Wait!” “Who’s there?!” In that instant, it dissolved like smoke into the distance. He remained composed, but unease prickled his skin. Pale-faced, he stepped inside to find his wife Koyoshi collapsed unconscious—her post-bath makeup still fresh, the alluring flesh around her chest and breasts exposed.

“What’s wrong?!” “It’s me! Koyoshi! What’s happened?!” “Ah…” Suddenly regaining her breath,

“Scary!… Scary scary!…” “Scary!… Scary scary!…” The way she clung to him as she pleaded was uncanny in itself. “A white shadow… A man’s shadow like smoke…” “Did you see it?!”

“Yes, it truly was,” she replied. “After stepping from the bath and dressing myself, from that dim garden edge it peered softly... then withdrew—” Baifu broke into goosebumps as he listened. “Ahaha…” he forced a laugh. “Just your nerves.” “No, ’tis real,” she insisted, her voice trembling. “In other matters I’d never defy you, but this—”

Shuddering as if doused with cold water, she pleaded as though she’d had enough.

“I cannot abide living in this house another moment.” “I beg you to move us somewhere tonight!”

“Don’t talk nonsense. I caught a glimpse too—no, wait—those who say they’ve seen a glimpse are just imagining things! It’s all tricks of the eyes, tricks of the mind—illusions conjured by our own thoughts! In this thriving capital of Edo, how could ghosts be loitering around? But hey—I’ve got some good news. I met your brother.” “Oh my! When? Where?” Koyoshi’s face, which had been filled with fear, suddenly brightened completely. “If we’re talking about Brother, he should be in Shimousa. That can’t be true.”

“You think I’m lying?! After taking care of business and stopping by Kannon-sama’s shrine since I was in the area, wouldn’t you know it—someone taps me on the shoulder and calls out ‘Mr. Shinohara!’ When I turned to look—it was your country brother. Since it was a good opportunity—‘Koyoshi wants to see you too,’ I said—‘how about comin’ together?’ But he insisted he had urgent business tonight around Umamichi or somethin’, so he couldn’t make it now. Instead, he said we’d go early tomorrow mornin’. Since tomorrow’s even better—what with Koyoshi and me already planning to go to Morita-za together—I said, ‘How about you join us for the play?’ and he was overjoyed. He said he’d come here first thing in the morning.”

“But how strange. If he was coming to Edo at all, you’d think he’d send word first—but with Brother being so busy, what could’ve brought him here now?”

“I don’t know what business brought him here, but he said he left early this morning.” “And then he said this too.” “‘I bet little Koyoshi’s got you henpecked!’” “Ahaha….” “My! How rude….” “But hearing Brother was coming did calm my heart somewhat.” “I can’t take this anymore!” “Don’t you dare leave me alone from now on!” “Not after such terrifying things have happened…” Under the round lantern’s glow, Koyoshi’s plump, freshly bathed body was pulled into Baifu’s arms like some eerie creature.

II

“Ah, welcome!” “Thank you as always for your continued patronage.” “The second act will begin shortly, so please make haste.” “Since your party has grown by one—we received word last evening to prepare for three—we’ve properly secured flat-floor seating for you……” “Well then, Brother…”

The box seats to which they were welcomed and guided by familiar attendants were in an excellent location near the hanamichi. The man introduced as Koyoshi’s brother from Shimousa appeared to be about thirty-five or thirty-six at first glance. He was a compact yet solidly built man. After them came Koyoshi, followed by Baifu. Neither the man called Brother nor Baifu were the type to draw attention, but on this day, Koyoshi possessed an even more striking allure. When entering such spaces, the mellowed beauty polished by Sannen-guruwa’s waters made her cosmetics shine all the more splendidly, while Baifu’s nose also naturally lifted with pride...

The program featured Kagemasa and the Thunder God’s Dialogue (景政雷問答), a five-act sequence. Though the midpoint of the play's run had already passed, the rare collaboration between Danjuro and Kamigata-born female-role specialist Uemura Kichisaburo—combined with Danjuro having authored the production himself—fanned popularity upon popularity, resulting in nothing less than a literal packed house and booming business. “Brother, isn’t this a bit different from the straw-mat plays back in Shimousa?” “Don’t go embarrassin’ me in front of folks.” “If you keep shoutin’ ‘Shimousa’ like that, you’ll give away that you’re a hick from the sticks!” “Still though, Baifu-san—Edo’s sure got no shortage of folks with too much time on their hands, eh?”

With Koyoshi at their center, waiting for the curtain to rise as the three conversed amicably,

“’Scuse me here!” What a strange place for a man to pass through—with the hanamichi runway right beside them and square partition boards lining the sides, there seemed no need to forcibly cut through the trio’s center. Yet the bōzu-like man rudely stepped over Koyoshi’s shoulder, vaulting grandly across them as he passed. They instinctively tilted their heads aside to avoid contact, but whether through intent or the momentum of his stride, the man's hem fluttered against Koyoshi's carefully arranged hair like a dancer's sleeve, gently disheveling the exquisitely styled side locks she had perfected—an unbearable provocation. Baifu’s voice chased after him reproachfully.

“Hey! Wait!” “Oh ho ho! Thank you ever so much for your continued patronage!” “Don’t spout such nonsense.” “You ruin precious hair and then say ‘Thanks ever so much for your continued patronage!’ What’s that supposed to mean?” “You damn bootlicker!” “Indeed. Did I perhaps cause some inconvenience?” “Might I have committed some impropriety?” “Look at this!” “Can’t you see this messed-up hair?” “Ah, I see.” “It got a bit damaged—but this is a packed house we’re talking about.” “If precious hair’s so fragile, maybe you should’ve worn a helmet instead.”

“What!” “The very act of stepping over people to pass through is what’s wrong here.” “And now you’re talking like that without even apologizing?”

“What?!” “What?!” Along with the voice came six burly men in cotton hakama trousers bearing large and small swords at their waists, noisily rising from the quail seats across the hanamichi. They appeared either allied with the flatterer or at least familiar with him through their manner of interaction.

“What’s this.” “Sanpei.” “What have these wretches done?” “No，it’s nothing．This fancy lady here is making a fuss about whether I touched her hair or not．” “After receiving this grand scolding over nothing，I offered a little apology，but apparently they didn’t care for how I phrased it．”

“Was it you lot who dared complain?!” “What’s this about?” As Baifu and Koyoshi casually glanced up, their eyes were simultaneously—and absentmindedly—drawn toward the quail seats behind them. “Ah—” A small cry of surprise first escaped from Koyoshi’s lips. A familiar face!

No—this was far beyond mere recognition. The face that arrogantly occupied those very quail seats from which the six young samurai had burst forth—gazing mockingly toward them—was none other than Koshimoto Jiemon, who had frequently clashed with Baifu back when Koyoshi still dwelled in the pleasure quarters. Originally nothing more than a lowly head laborer of the Black Hoe Group, he had been abruptly promoted ever since his daughter became the shogun’s concubine—now enjoying a thousand-koku stipend as Head Steward of the Inner Chambers with unrestricted access to Edo Castle’s grounds.

“If that bastard’s here—” “This might be a plotted scheme.” “Brother!...” Koyoshi turned pale in an instant, sending a panicked look toward her brother as she whispered faintly: “Please smooth this over somehow…” “There now,” he soothed. “This’s what comes of being all lovey-dovey.” “Get over here.”

The compact-built man from Shimousa, though sporting a rustic appearance, handled matters with practiced ease—bowing low to the young samurai, he offered profuse apologies as if insisting they mustn’t cause a disturbance among the crowd or trouble the neighborhood.

“The outrageous blunder was entirely ours—truly, matters stand exactly as Mr. Sanpei here has stated.” “Whether her hair gets ruined or crushed flat, it can simply be redone. Since the next act’s curtain is about to rise anyway, I must ask you gentlemen to withdraw cleanly without further dispute.” “What’s this ‘no dispute’ nonsense?” “This ain’t no quarrel we started.” “This feud’s of your own making!” “If you mean to apologize, do it proper-like!”

“That’s why we’re swallowing our pride and offering this humble apology from the bottom of our hearts.”

“What?!” “What’s this ‘humbly’ nonsense?!” “That smart mouth of yours pisses me off!” “Get over here!” “Ha ha! This ain’t no joke.” “Plain as day—we’re just country fools. Shaming the likes of us in front o’ this crowd won’t make you fancy types look good.” “Make a scene, and you’ll bother everyone—theater included. Let’s call it quits here, eh?” “Who said anything about us lookin’ good?!” “Don’t you dare mock me!” “Worthless scum—!” “Out!” “Out!” “Out here!” “I’ll end you right here!”

With a sharp crack—utterly senseless. It became clear this had been premeditated enmity from the start—an orchestrated fight. From front, back, left, and right, cotton hakama-clad young samurai clenched their fists and struck at Koyoshi’s brother’s temple. “A fight! A fight!”

“Isn’t there anyone to handle this?!” “Hey!” “Where’s security?!” “Suppress this quickly!”

A surging wave of people erupted! Amid the commotion, the six cotton hakama-clad men continued their assault with sharp cracks. He had been letting himself be struck, but the pummeling showed no sign of ceasing.

An instant!

The Shimousa man underwent a ferocious transformation. “Pathetic bunch, you are!”

With a sudden leap onto the hanamichi, he ripped off his kimono to reveal his bare torso—a massive crimson skull tattoo glaring across his entire frame! "You insolent curs! You dare take advantage when shown humility?! Don’t you know Shimousa Jugoro?" "It’s an invincible hide!" "Come at me with some real guts!" The tattoo was a marvel to behold, his retort masterfully delivered. With rippling muscles beneath the sun-bleached design covering his entire back, he planted himself down in a wide cross-legged stance. At that very moment.

The stage curtain lifted softly as a face peered silently through. “His Lordship!” “It’s His Lordship Saotome!” There indeed stood Saotome—the Bored Man with that nostalgic scar between his brows.

III

The spectators' eyes all focused on the figure of the Bored Man. With Edo's Famous Scar Between the Eyebrows having appeared, this couldn't possibly end peacefully. That scar between his eyebrows shone all the more brilliantly today. Saotome Mondonosuke remained utterly composed. Emerging briskly from behind the raised curtain, he ambled leisurely down the hanamichi before silently positioning himself behind the frenzied Black Hoe Group underlings. Of course, Shimousa Jugoro's fierce retort was still gushing forth violently like well water from within his sun-bleached tattoo.

“You insolent bastards! You dare look down on me?!” “In Edo, Shimousa Jugoro’s glare mightn’t mean shit—but head to Kujukuri Beach, and my name’s known clear up to the pine treetops!” “Even as salted fish, you’re the liveliest catch I’ve ever seen!” “I ain’t sayin’ I’ll let you bastards walk away alive.” “If you’re gonna finish me off, finish me! If you’re gonna cut me down, try it!” “Wh-wh-what?!” “What... What nonsense are you spouting?!” “O-out! O-out!”

“If you wanna be finished off, we’ll finish ya!” “We’ll cut ya down too!” “Get your ass over here!” “Bastards! I can cut you down without even comin’ out!” “I’ve got the hanamichi at my back instead of a cutting board!” “Try cutting me down!” “What?!” “Wh-wha-what did you say?!” “Say that again!” Though the young samurai kept up their fierce verbal assault, they seemed slightly intimidated by Jugoro’s sudden transformation. The vivid red skull tattoo appeared to thoroughly chill the resolve of all six men under these circumstances. Yet regardless of their words, each man carried two swords at his waist. Behind them stood Koshimoto Jiemon—an upstart drunk on his newfound power. Moreover, there were the spectators’ eyes watching. He was also there.

“Do it!” “Do it!” “Never mind! Cut’em down! Cut’em down!” “Strike! Cut’em down! Make’em howl!” Seemingly half-intending to threaten, they twisted their black-sheathed longswords sideways and snapped open the koi-guchi— “W-w-wretches…” With an eerily quiet call from behind, Saotome Mondonosuke lumbered forward to stand blocking their view—then fell silent. Silently wearing a smug smile, he smoothly thrust his face close to theirs and, as if saying “Look—look here,” quietly pointed with his own finger at his own forehead’s prominent feature.

As they recoiled in startled shock, “The exit lies yonder. Go!” “Go!” …… “Will you not go? Should you refuse, it shall glow!” “Should you refuse, it shall glow!” The glaring scar—Edo’s notorious mark—pierced them with a silence-forging stare. Watching the six men falter and begin retreating under its pressure, Koshimoto Jiemon came surging forth before Saotome Mondonosuke like fury incarnate riding the waves. The Black Hoe Group were earth-diggers. Even having climbed to thousand-koku status, his base origins proved ineradicable—his speech snarled here and there with lingering coarseness.

“Who told you to pull this damn fool stunt?” “What kinda bastard d’you think you are?!” “You there—an impostor, I see.”

“What?! What do you mean ‘impostor,’ you bastard?! You spout such outrageous nonsense! What do you mean ‘impostor,’ you bastard?!” “I did say you were ranting. In Edo, we call anyone who doesn’t know this scar between their eyebrows an impostor. If you’re one of them too, the exit’s over there. Go!” “D-don’tcha spout such nonsense! I bought a measure of quail with koban coins! I ain’t takin’ orders from the likes of you!”

“Halt! This hut is not a battleground. As you’re disturbing the spectators, I bid you take this outside. If you don’t withdraw, this scar between my eyebrows will start screeching like a rat! —Go! If you can’t find your way out, I’ll help you! Hurry up and get out!”

As he made it glow pale blue-white and thrust upward with the hilt in a forceful wrench toward their chests, there was no resisting it. His arm bore the techniques of the Moroha school. Though merely a hilt, that single thrust surpassed even the tip of a great spear. No sooner had Koshimoto Jiemon's face contorted than he and the six retainers were shoved out through the gatehouse entrance and vanished from sight. With a roar, the entire hut erupted into collective uproar.

“Brother! “Brother! Brother!” “That is Lord Saotome.” “We have been most graciously saved.” “Hurry and adjust your attire…” As Koyoshi helped adjust Jugoro’s attire while rejoicing, Saotome Mondonosuke sauntered back through the gatehouse—his judgment leaving no room for complaint. “Out with you all!” “But those people—” “Even if it was a fight we were drawn into, once blades are crossed, both parties are at fault.” “They’re disrupting the performance in every way.” “Get out!”

“Understood—your judgment is clear.” “Most reasonable indeed—to all you spectators, we deeply apologize for causing such an unexpected disturbance.” “Shimousa Jugoro humbly begs your pardon.” “Koyoshi!” “Baifu-san!” “There’s no fault in the lord’s judgment.” “Let us depart.”

Shimousa Jugoro’s weather-beaten back tattoo was clearly no mere decoration. After they had obediently departed, the inside of the hut erupted into another uproar.

IV

“Your Lordship! Thank you ever so much! I have no words to express my gratitude! Thank you ever so much for preventing the play from being disrupted at the very brink!” No sooner had Danjūrō spotted Saotome Mondonosuke withdrawing nonchalantly toward the back of the stage than he came rushing out still in his backstage clothes and welcomed him with near-prostration. “I have no words to express my gratitude. It is precisely because of Your Lordship that this matter was resolved without injuries. I have no way to repay this debt.”

“It’s not like that,” he said. “If matters resolved peacefully, it’s this scar between my eyebrows you should thank.” He tapped the crescent mark glowing faintly on his forehead. “This one requires no gratitude!” “No, that cannot stand,” protested the actor, bowing until his stage wig nearly touched the floorboards. “That this humble player has long enjoyed Your Lordship’s patronage alone constitutes divine favor beyond measure. To then receive such timely intervention...” His voice dropped to a reverent whisper. “It fills me with trembling awe. Though impertinent beyond words——”

“What’s this now? Are you suggesting some boredom-dispelling diversion?”

“I would not presume to do such a thing. As an expression of gratitude for Your Lordship’s usual patronage, this humble actor would be most honored to accompany you to Fukagawa this evening—if it would please you.”

“Where’s Fukagawa? Got women there?” “Your Lordship is renowned for your aversion to women—no, it’s more an unusual disposition where you seem both fond and disdainful of them. For this reason, this humble one has prepared a modest arrangement.” “A place where ladies exist if you believe they do—and vanish if you think they don’t.” As expected of Danjūrō. Given that he had invited a man of Mondonosuke’s caliber, his tone suggested he had some brilliant scheme up his sleeve—the kind that would make someone gasp in surprise.

“I like it.” “That turn of phrase amuses me.” “Even Saotome Mondonosuke shall attend with an expression caught between distaste and fondness.” “Make haste with your performance duties.” “This humble one counts himself most fortunate.” “Though Your Lordship must find this tedious beyond measure, deign to await curtain call within our greenroom.”

That crucial act came to an end during a cool summer dusk when lights flickered faintly through the town. “Now then, as we shall commence with our promised diversion, kindly wait but a moment.” “Hey! “Is there no one? Any youngsters here? Is there not a single young one present?” After summoning the manager, Danjūrō quietly issued hushed instructions about the diversion they were preparing. “I already whispered orders earlier—they should be arriving.” “Go call the Kamigata master.”

“No need for messengers.” “I’ve come.”

The voice was exactly like a woman’s. Squirming bashfully while revealing his glamorous figure beneath the wig base was Uemura Kichisaburo—a Kamigata-born leading onnagata.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance...” “Oh.” “It’s Mondonosuke.” “The world’s grown a bit dull.” “I’ve been loitering backstage.” “The stage goes without saying—but even this idle form of mine cuts quite an elegant figure.” “You and your constant jokes...” “Master Narita-ya—I shall prepare myself——” “Ah—hurry up.” “Since transforming into a woman before Your Lordship’s very eyes would make for fine entertainment—I ask you to put your all into this performance.” “Why—ready as can be~”

Kichisaburo’s form transformed into that of a woman before our very eyes. Moreover，she was no ordinary woman. In her signature courtesan guise，she had transformed into an Oshu beauty in an instant. But no—not only did her voice now unmistakably match a courtesan’s，even her speech had completely transformed into the cultivated dialect of a Yoshiwara-trained courtesan. “My lord，please do...” “Do I look like a woman?” “If it pleases you，prithee allow this humble one to pour your drink...”

“Ha ha ha! So that’s it! Danjūrō, you’ve pulled off an exquisitely crafted diversion.” “So this is what you meant by ‘women exist if you believe they do and vanish if you believe they don’t’!” “No—not only does she exist, she’s a remarkable woman, I tell you!”

Saotome Mondonosuke found himself thoroughly burdened. "How about it, Oshu? Shall we ditch Narita-ya and go get soaked somewhere nice?"

“All talk and no action….” “Then, Narita-ya-san, allow me to accompany you.”

With Kichisaburo—still adorned with combs, hairpins, and layered courtesan robes—at the center, Narita-ya leading ahead, and Mondonosuke following behind, the three palanquins lined up in a row that had departed from Kobikichō’s greenroom began making their way toward Fukagawa with a rhythmic splashing sound.

Through the bamboo blinds, the town lights swayed, and Ōkawabata seemed to seep coolness into the skin……. The one they came upon was Edo’s renowned Eitai Bridge. “Um, excuse me... Mr. Palanquin Bearer...” After crossing over, Kichisaburo’s Oshu suddenly called out from within the bamboo blind, fidgeting bashfully. “Um, er... could you stop the palanquin for a moment...”

“Right away. “We’ll stop, but are you feelin’ unwell or somethin’?” “No, um, I... I need to... tend to personal needs…” Within the bamboo blind, Saotome Mondonosuke’s eyes inadvertently gleamed. For the voice that said “I need to tend to personal needs”—spoken in a fading tone with bashful hesitation—was indescribably, irresistibly alluring. And that way of carrying oneself—! By any measure, that was not a man. “My lord, I beg your pardon…”

Scattering crimson maple leaves across her flushed face, seeming ready to vanish from shame, she went—blushing and blushing—to a small shadow beyond the palanquin, crouched down, and relieved herself with all the grace of a woman.

That indescribable allure!……. That indescribable refinement in his grooming!…….

“Ah, what a fine onnagata….” “It’s masterful artistry.” Unintentionally, Danjūrō muttered from within the bamboo blind, as if unable to contain his admiration. Saotome Mondonosuke also stood entranced, gazing in fascination.

In that very state, the palanquin proceeded down Ōkawabata to the restaurant.

Five

“Welcome!……”

“Oh! Isn’t that Narita-ya-san? Please, right this way! After you! Please, right this way…” The staff’s effusive hospitality suggested this was a regular haunt of theirs. The establishment was called Tani no Ya. In its river-view room, several summer lanterns hung with cool elegance, their blue shadows swaying and scattering in the river breeze to heighten the refreshing atmosphere. “My! A courtesan too…” “And the Scarred Lord himself…” Whether through discernment or mere luck, the maids had pierced through Saotome Mondonosuke’s guise. Assuming Narita-ya and the courtesan were merely his entourage enjoying riverside leisure, they swiftly brought chilled delicacies as coolly appraising as their gazes.

“Courtesan, care to pour me a drink?” “Aye. I shall pour for you…” “Say, Narita-ya.” “Ha!” “Ha! That’s a harsh response. The Ichikawa-style replies are meant for the stage alone. If you don’t give a more dashing reply, Oshu will dump you. That relief earlier was one worthy of a 100,000-koku lord.” “How could you say such a thing! You detestable sir. You shall remember this, mark my words. If you insist on making such remarks—” Twisting his body sinuously, Kichisaburo’s Oshu glared gently at Mondonosuke and pinched the area around his knee with a sharp nip. Spitefulness that seemed ready to overflow—the Boredom Lord was in high spirits.

“Ouch! Ouch! If that carving was worth 100,000 koku, this pain must be a million-koku affair.—Eh, Narita-ya? That daytime brawl also seemed rooted in a woman—did you catch sight of her?” “No, I haven’t laid eyes on the lady herself, but from what the managers have pieced together, she’s apparently a courtesan who climbed the ranks. Back when she was still in the trade, those two men were rivals—the samurai who sold her off being some bigwig called Koshimoto Jiemon, and the buyer being a town painter from Yushima or such, so I hear. But here’s the queer part—at that painter’s place, there’s times when something thick and oozy—”

“Here it comes!” “They say something like a pampas grass-shaped ghost appears from time to time.” “That’s strange too—the way she was sold was suspicious as well. Thanks to your intervention, that incident was somehow settled peacefully at the time, but the managers are worried something else might have happened afterward.” “Say,” “If another fight were to blossom—with seven opponents and a samurai among them—nine times out of ten...”

“Are you saying the skull-necked tattooed man would lose?” “I do not think so. In stage plays, it is customary for those bravado types to have their victories scripted into the plot. However, even if they triumph in verbal sparring, once their actual blades come into play, I believe matters may not proceed according to the script.” “No—that’s not it. A fight’s a test of courage. If that’s the extent of their courage against two or three drawn blades, I’ll snap them like twigs!”

“No—I have been defeated…”

It happened without warning then. Suddenly, accompanied by an eerily uttered voice, the rear sliding door opened smoothly, and a man appeared there as though conjured from thin air. Soaked crimson like a blood-daruma doll, he gasped for breath while bracing himself on his hands.

“Oh! How terrifying!...” While holding up Kichisaburo’s Oshu who had clung to him, Saotome Mondonosuke too widened his eyes in shock. “Hey! You!” Simultaneously, astonished voices erupted around them.

It was none other than Jugoro—the man drenched in blood was none other than Shimousa Jugoro, whom they had just been discussing.

Six

Seeing the blood and wounds, this was no man to panic needlessly. Saotome Mondonosuke, his eyes gleaming sharply, first examined Jugoro’s wound sites. Two on the right arm, one on the left shoulder, one at the waist, one at the temple—though there seemed to be more on his back—the visible ones totaled five locations.

However, even though the blood was gushing horrifically, all the wounds were shallow. "You there! Bring about one sho of shochu. First things first—I'll treat his wounds. Whether it's underrobes or underclothes—bring plenty of anything that can be used as bandages." Every task was carried out without waste and with practiced efficiency. Danjūrō lent his hands too, Kichisaburo’s courtesan tucked up one sleeve and assisted earnestly, and once the blood-stopping treatment was completed, Shimousa Jugoro was remarkably fierce again.

“The shochu stings sharp—does me good.” “Pardon my rudeness, but have a drink to liven things up.” Enduring the excruciating pain, he forced a twisted smile, then gulped down the large sake cup filled to the brim in one go and shuddered violently.

Saotome Mondonosuke’s voice drifted out.

“You’re quite the feisty one, aren’t you? So your opponents were that lot from earlier?” “That’s right. The lord handed down mutual punishment for the fight—ordered us out of the theater shed. We left proper-like like he said, but knew damn well blades’d be waitin’ outside.—Ah well, figured I’m Shimousa Jugoro through and through. Even if I get carved up like festival skewers here in Edo, least I’ll have a hell of a story for the afterlife. Was ready to die like a true man... ‘cept for this sister-shaped anchor dragging me down.” “Had to get both women clear somehow—but that main street in broad daylight? No chance. So I holed up in a teahouse till sunset, then slipped ’em out back in a palanquin. After that, went alone to throw my life on the line.”

“Where did the fight flare up?” “When we left the hut, those Kurokuwagumi bastards were lying in wait—seems they’d been itching for us to come out any second. Since they told us to come, we headed to that riverside spot at Kawasuppuchi.” “The ones who drew their blades were those six underlings.” “As expected of Koshimoto Jiemon—the fact he wasn’t the one to draw his blade is what makes him the boss.” “’Tis impressive you escaped with just those wounds, lacking even a proper weapon.” “Why did you come here in that state?”

“That’s what this is about.” “I’m just some amateur here—they’ve got six samurai packin’ two swords each. If word gets out some unarmed townsman got carved up by six warriors, even if they sing praises ’bout Shimousa Jugoro after I’m gone, I’d die shame-faced. Was ready to toss my life away… but while they were slicin’ at me, I suddenly remembered my two sisters.” “This whole mess started ’cause of my sister Koyoshi—dyin’s no skin off my nose, but I figured once I’m worm food, them Kurokuwagumi bastards’ll pull some foul trick on those two. Can’t kick off careless-like—gotta find someone to watch over my sisters first. ’Scuse the imposition, but that’s when it struck me: your lordship.” “Figured if I made a proper man’s request stakin’ my pride, you couldn’t refuse—not with that scar ’tween your brows keepin’ you honest—so I hauled ass from hell’s doorstep and came barrelin’ into this greenroom.” “But your lordship’s crew was just steps ahead—one of Narita-ya’s apprentices, a decent sort without airs, comes sayin’, ‘The place you want’s Fukagawa’s valley house! Let me mark your path! I’ll fetch a palanquin! Come quick now!’ Tended me like a blubberin’ nursemaid, he did. So here I stand, still bleedin’ like stuck pig, trailin’ after your wake proper-like.”

“Hmm, I see.” “So you’re telling Saotome Mondonosuke here to recognize your mettle, then?” “Jugoro—this ain’t empty words.” “Never mind my own grit—but if you’d take pity on these sisters here, smitten as they are... then be their shield.” “And if I refuse?”

“……” “It’s someone else’s quarrel—none of this one’s concern. What would you do if I said ‘Do as you please’ and refused?” “……” “What do you intend to do now?” “I have no recourse.” It was a lonely-sounding voice. I thought someone of your temperament would appreciate mine, but was I wrong?!

Though he didn't voice it, Jugoro suddenly seemed to find this world a lonely place. The man who seemed thoroughly formidable stood up dejectedly, then left with equal dejection, his disheveled hair—still tangled with fresh blood—stirring faintly in the riverside breeze as he went. “Wait!”

It was an instant. The temperament that raged like a leopard or tiger when life hung in the balance yet sank like a withered leaf when sorrow struck pierced Saotome Mondonosuke's heart with singular intensity. "You can have this scar between my eyebrows!" "Where does your sister dwell?"

“Huh?!” “Then that...!” “I’ll let this scar between my brows drive out summer’s heat for you.” “Where does that Koyoshi and her ilk reside?” “This Jugoro’s too moved to speak.” “In Kanda’s Myojin-ura—one Shinohara Baifu keeps house there.” “This humble one shall guide—” “Needless.” “That wound won’t wait.” “You—hide somewhere and mend.” “Narita-ya! You’re Edo-born through and through.” “Will you make that Shimousa man bare his shoulder?” “Understood.” “Physicians and hideouts—all fall to me.” “Let that brow-scar sing loud enough.”

“You’ve got flair,” “Kichisaburo’s courtesan—don’t you go fooling around.”

“Such things…” “You’re the one who shouldn’t go pining after that ‘Koyoshi-san’ or whoever.” “My approach differs somewhat from Koshimoto Kurokuwa Zaemon’s.” “Ah ha ha….” “The world still has ample tedium to dispel.” “You women! The whimsical Mondonosuke makes his exit.” “Prepare the palanquin.” When the Scar Between the Eyebrows took to the field, even Saotome Mondonosuke’s voice acquired new sharpness. To both sides of the swaying palanquin stretched Edo’s endless summer sea of lights.

VII

A bell tolled…….

It wasn’t particularly late at night, but Myojin-ura had always been a lonely district from early evening onward—a place like the city’s underbelly.

“This is it.” “A love nest of mutual affection does have its stylish touches after all, I must say.” “Palanquin bearers, don’t gawk.” “Move along quickly!”

Saotome Mondonosuke strode boldly into the dark entranceway, from which not a single glimmer of light escaped.

The thicket of cold bamboo on the right rustled loudly. It was that very thicket atop the buried-alive well.

However, nothing had appeared. There were no black shadows, no white shadows, no shadows of any kind.

The inside of the house was deathly quiet as well.

When he peered carefully into the darkness, there was a faint glimmer of light near the inner room.

The Bored Man proceeded briskly onward. Baifu and Koyoshi were embracing each other in the dim light, startled, their faces pale, eyes wide open, trembling.

“What’s wrong?!” “...?”

“What has you trembling so?” “’Tis Saotome Mondonosuke - he whom you met at the daytime hut!” “What troubles you?”

“U-um… R-really… Are you truly the Lord of the Scar?!” “You speak nonsense—there aren’t two Mondonosukes.” “I’ve come because your brother came rushing in.” “What are you trembling so for?”

“Brother!...” “Ah… Could it be that Jugoro said something?!”

“That’s right. Having just chased this blood-drenched self all the way to Fukagawa, I’ve come to pay respects to the scar between my eyebrows. Why are you so startled, I tell you?”

“No! “Th-that’s impossible! Such an absurd thing could not be! “There could not possibly be such a thing!”

Turned deathly pale, Baifu suddenly said something utterly unexpected and began trembling. “Ah—Brother—J-Jugoro couldn’t possibly have gone to Fukagawa or anywhere like that!” “Brother was covered in blood just moments ago and floated right here.”

“What?!”

“It is no falsehood. And that twice—just moments ago—he drifted right to our garden. With his hair disheveled and drenched in blood, he stood dejectedly in the dark garden there, glaring—so when I called out in surprise asking what was wrong, he said, ‘I was killed in a fight. There’s something weighing on my mind—I can’t move on to where I’m supposed to go—so I came to tell Koyoshi.’ He said—twice—in this resentful tone: ‘This mansion has a buried-alive well—it’s ill-omened. Living here is karmic retribution. The curse demands you separate as husband and wife! If you don’t part, Brother will hold a grudge! My getting cut down was all your fault! If you pity Brother, split now! If you refuse, I’ll haunt you endlessly!’ Then he drifted away into the darkness beyond the garden—and here we’ve been trembling like this……”

It was an utterly strange account. There cannot be two Shimousa Jugoros. Was the Jugoro who came to Fukagawa a false one, or was the Jugoro who appeared here the real one—one of these Jugoros must be the suspect. Saotome Mondonosuke's eyes glinted.

“Did he say he’d appear again?” “He said, ‘Separate now! Until you promise to part ways, I’ll haunt you endlessly!’—left behind that ominous warning and drifted away.”

As they were about to say whether they would or not, a shadow drifted into the dimly lit garden. It was Jugoro, his hair disheveled and covered in blood.

An instant.

“Ah!” And as that Jugoro reacted in shock— “Wait!” At the exact moment Saotome Mondonosuke shouted and leapt down into the garden. When he saw the fleeing shadow, there were two Jugoros—identical in appearance and drenched in blood. “You fool! Disguised yourself?!” With a shout he surged forward five shaku—and in the instant Saotome’s hand reached his well-practiced sword came a masterful slash—cool as five thousand gold pieces. With a whoosh of his sweeping blade, he lunged at the other Jugoro attempting to flee,

“Show yourself!” From beneath where he gripped and yanked the nape, the voice was already trembling.

“Forgive me. “I—I am not Jugoro.” “I beg you to spare me!” “I-I am… this humble one.” “Stay back!” “I shall see where you hail from and what face you bear.” “Baifu, bring a light!” When they held up the light and examined him, there was no wound. The blood was smeared blood—this crudely disguised Jugoro was undoubtedly one of those Black Hoe Group foot soldiers they had seen at the Morita-za theater during the day. “You damned fool!” “What do you take Saotome Mondonosuke of the scar to be?!” “Was this under Koshimoto Jiemon’s orders?!”

“Y-y-yes... That’s... that’s indeed the case.” “He ordered us two to disguise ourselves as Jugoro and threaten the Baifu couple in this manner, so we reluctantly carried it out. We crafted a clever scheme demanding they separate immediately.” “You said a white shadow appears night after night in the thicket of winter bamboo by the entrance—was that also your handiwork?” “I beg your forgiveness. “Since there was that buried-alive well over there, Lord Koshimoto ordered us to use it for intimidation, so we pretended to be spirits…”

“You fools!” “You must be low-ranking members of the Black Hoe Group.” “You may be baseborn wretches, but the Black Hoe Group are direct shogunal retainers nonetheless.” “What nonsense is this—indulging in such childish ghostly pantomimes?!” “I have words for Koshimoto Jiemon.” “This will sting briefly—hold still.” “Baifu! Bring writing paper here!” While keeping his foot planted on the impostor, he took the proffered brush and paper. Saotome Mondonosuke began writing fluidly: “Saotome Mondonosuke engages in this quarrel to honor his scar’s legacy.” “Whenever you seek to relieve your tedium, I shall come to end it.” “Should you dare challenge me by clinging to your master’s borrowed authority, Mondonosuke shall answer with the might of this scar between his brows.” “Present yourself!”

After neatly rolling up the challenge letter and tying it to the dagger, “This’ll hurt.” “Divine punishment.” “Endure it.” He cleanly gouged out a chunk of flesh from the back and impaled the dagger through it. As the young samurai writhed shrieking “Hii-hii!”, Saotome kicked him upright with a heavy thud and declared: “Jugoro’s catchin’ worse than this, you fool! Count yourself lucky to still be breathin’.” “Scamper back quick and tell Koshimoto Jiemon to chew on this stew of truths and lies he’s brewed up.” “Ah hah hah!”

The air turned sharply cool. “The Baifu couple will be back,” he said. “Even a fight you didn’t start leaves its own satisfaction in the lingering aftermath.” “Take your fill of amusement!” Dripping blood as he fled, the young samurai left behind the nonchalant man’s dashing figure swaying leisurely—cool as the evening breeze—into the receding glow of street lanterns.

8

“Ah hah hah…” “I have returned!” “Your brother’s in fine spirits!”

The place he returned to in high spirits was his mansion where his sister Kikuji and his attendant Kyoya—resplendent as decorative dolls—had been waiting. Though they had been waiting these beautiful yet vexing doll-like figures—apparently preferring Brother Mondonosuke’s absence—abruptly ceased their ceaseless playfulness by releasing each other’s hands while both flushed crimson to greet him. “Welcome back… my lord…”

“What’s this now? “You can’t welcome me back so casually once you’ve relaxed your vigilance.” “I’ll boil and eat you.” “Ah hah hah!” “Were you glad your brother was away?”

“You’re always like this…” “How exceedingly cheerful you appear.” “Is there fault in good spirits?” “Again with your usual antics…” “Might I inquire where you ventured?” “Went where my feet carried me.” “To what specific locale did your feet carry you?” “Wherever my nose happened to point!”

“Again with that sort of thing…” “We don’t care to know anymore.”

“I know nothing of the sort.” “Wa ha ha!” “Now you’re angry!” “Tomoe Gozen of canoodling – even when your brother’s away, don’t get too cozy with Kyoya.” “Your brother’s gone and claimed a splendid love feud, I tell ya!” “After so long, this scar between my brows seems ready to roar—that’s why I’m in such fine fettle.” “First outcome by dawn if swift, by dusk if preparations drag—fortune favors those who wait abed.” “Off to bed with you!” They had welcomed that morning in high spirits, eagerly awaiting word—yet no message came from Koshimoto Jiemon.

They waited expecting something to be set in motion by evening, but still nothing came.

Two days passed, and still nothing came. Three days passed, and still nothing came. “Even if Koshimoto Jiemon’s got no grit, with his daughter under the shogun’s thumb like they say—you’d think she’d come charging in on some fancy procession horse—” “What do you mean?” “What does ‘under the shogun’s thumb’ signify?” “Same as you and Kyoya.” “Kikuji has never breathed a word toward Lord Kyoya in such fashion.” “Ah hah! If you’ve not breathed yet, best hurry up and puff away.” “Keep this up and your brother’ll roast to death, I tell ya.” “Might come tomorrow.” “If they come, you’ll know—so bide your time.”

However, even when the fourth day came, there was still no word whatsoever. Five days had passed, but still there was nothing. Even if there had been no challenges directed here, had they made any moves toward Yushima, an urgent messenger from Baifu would have been expected—yet even that had not come.

When they welcomed the evening of the sixth day with growing suspicion, Kyoya stirred with excitement and clapped his hands.

“They’re here!”

“Hah!” “How many?” “Just one person.” “What? Only one?”

“I have brought such a thing.”

“Show me!” What was presented was a magnificently extravagant writing box. However, the characters visible in the letter inside were a magnificently atrocious scrawl. “A lowly one such as myself could never hope to oppose an honorable opponent. In light of this apology and as a token of our acquaintance, I humbly wish to offer you a modest cup of sake. Should you grace my humble residence with your presence, Koshimoto Jiemon would consider it an immeasurable honor.”

It mentioned "a modest cup of sake." It was referred to as my humble residence.

“Wahahaha! The Black Hoe Group’s boss is using Chinese-derived phrases, I see. He calls it ‘my humble residence,’ I tell ya! Where’s the messenger now?” “The messenger awaits your reply in the entrance hall, sir.”

“Tell them I’m coming now!” “A carriage!” “Get it ready this instant!”

“You’re going alone?”

“Exactly. Got a problem with that?” “But if there’s some ill-intentioned scheme…” “If there’s a scheme, it’ll flash right up. What can a mere Jiemon do against the Edo-exempt scar between the eyebrows? Go have fun flirting with Kikuji later. Wahahaha! Making me wait six days—I’ve been itching with impatience. There’s no telling when I’ll be back, I tell ya.”

He rode out from Honjo Nagare Gesui at dusk.

He arrived at Koshimoto Jiemon’s mansion in Bancho when it was already nearing the hour of the first watch.

Although he was an upstart, he was nonetheless drawing a substantial stipend of a thousand koku. Given that his position as Head of the Inner Storehouse allowed him to freely accept bribes—a profit-making role exempt from corruption charges—everything from start to finish was ostentatiously extravagant. “Lord Saotome has arrived.” “Well, well, welcome.” “Please, this way.” “Allow me to guide you.” “Please, after you.” As three or four underling samurai came rushing out in a disorderly manner, the overly elaborate welcome didn’t sit well.

The tatami room they led him to was no place to let one’s guard down.

There was sake. There was a candlestick. Eight or nine men lined both sides of the main hall in disorderly fashion, with Jiemon planted imposingly at the front. The moment Mondonosuke appeared, he slid forward from his seat and welcomed him with unsettling courtesy, hands pressed to the floor. “Welcome, my lord.” “The food and drink stand prepared as you see here.” “Please, this way…” What manner of feast was this—spear-garnished dishes, white-blade appetizers? With a dismissive “Splendid!”, the Bored Man thudded heavily into the room and planted himself squarely at the tatami hall’s center.

Nine

That late at night...

The area around Honjo, nearing the late Hour of the Ox, was enveloped in a silence akin to the land of the dead.

Thinking he must have returned by now—surely it was time for his return—they waited without sleep for their brother’s homecoming. Yet Saotome Mondonosuke, having stormed into Bancho’s Koshimoto Jiemon mansion, showed no sign of returning no matter how long they waited. Left guarding the house, Kyoya and Kikuji naturally found their anxiety mounting. “He’s rather late, isn’t he? “What could have happened?” “Is he all right?” “………” “Why do you remain silent?! “Even though Kikuji is this worried, do you feel nothing at all? “We ought not to be strangers anymore—no, since Kikuji’s brother should be your brother too, would it not be proper for you to share this worry with me?”

“It is precisely because I am worried that I, Kyoya, have been thinking about various things since earlier.” “How could you! If I was worried, couldn’t you have at least given a reply? You’re hateful……. Lately, you’ve grown somewhat cold toward me, haven’t you? Such a heartless person you are—”

“Ouch! Ouch! What are you doing?! You’re pinching me there—doesn’t that hurt?!” “No, I’ll pinch you! I’ll pinch you! I’ll pinch you even more!……”

Even sharing the same concern, the manner in which these two worried was anything but peaceful.

But Saotome Mondonosuke—the very man they needed—still hadn't returned, no matter how much time passed. The sky grew pale, and at last, night began to break into dawn.

However, there was still no trace of him.

“What could have happened?” “No matter how capable my esteemed brother may be, his return seems rather late.” “Moreover, given the background of the one who invited him, I cannot help this foreboding in my chest.”

“Where is the document from Koshimoto that arrived last night?” “Kindly lend it to me for a moment.”

He reread it, but all it contained was this: “One such as myself could never hope to be your match. As a token of our newfound acquaintance, I humbly offer a cup of crude sake. Should you deign to visit my humble residence...” and so forth. If you thought it was nothing, then it was nothing.

If one were to suspect some scheme at play, it wouldn’t be entirely unthinkable.

Suddenly, the color of blood rushed to Kyoya’s face.

“Make your preparations!” “Will you go?!” “Even if we wait here idly, our worry only mounts. There’s no telling whether some grave matter has arisen. I shall accompany you!”

With Kikuji—who had tightened her scarlet silk patterned with deer-spot tie-dye into a striking obi and carefully concealed a dagger within her breast—in tow, the two figures hastened from dawn-lit Honjo toward Bancho along the road. Even though the sun had just risen, June in Edo was already sweltering as if they had stepped into a steam bath from the early morning.

“That’s it! That’s it! “That large mansion is the one.”

“No matter what occurs, you must not panic.” “You must not draw yours until Kyoya draws his!” Shielding Kikuji behind him, he cautiously approached the gate. But inside the mansion was deathly still, with not even the chirp of a bird to be heard. From the eight-character gate swung wide open to the main entrance, water had even been sprinkled to settle the dust—yet there were no traces of bloodstorms, brawls, or staged combat scenes, nor indeed any sign of commotion whatsoever, leaving the grounds eerily still.

However, precisely because of that, Kyoya and Kikuji’s anxiety grew even more intense. This silence was no ordinary silence. It almost seemed as if they had already ensnared Mondonosuke and even finished tidying up afterward.

Kyoya's eyes were imperceptibly tinged with a faint yet beautiful murderous intent.

“Hear me! Hear me!” ……

“I’ve come on urgent business! Is there no attendant here to receive me? Hear me! Hear me!” When the young samurai finally placed his hands there in greeting at the second call, Kyoya showered him with a voice trembling with murderous intent.

“If you dare call this a bluff, I won’t show my hand!” “I have come from Saotome’s mansion.” “You there—identify yourself!” “Ah, I see.” “Welcome to this sweltering heat.” “Please wait a moment.” No sooner had he disappeared into the back than he reappeared, placing his hands on the ground in a bow—his words now carrying an eerily exaggerated politeness. “My lord is currently attending the castle on urgent official business, but he left instructions upon his departure.” “It is possible that members of the Saotome household may come to receive you.” “As per my lord’s message that should you come, I am to guide you cordially—this humble one shall now provide escort.” “Please, do not hesitate to proceed that way—”

What he pointed to was a palanquin.

Nor was it any ordinary conveyance. Both were black-lacquered mansion palanquins bearing family crests. “You still intend to scheme?!” “Scheme? What do you mean?” “You too have plotted with this hand!” “Do you intend to scheme against us both?!” “Such a thing is utterly inconceivable! “As you see, those palanquin bearers are mere servants, and your guide is this humble person alone. There exists not a shred of evil plotting.” “His Lordship Saotome arrives most satisfied regarding a matter requiring discretion—thus I humbly guide you there.” “Pray enter without suspicion.”

“Alright! I’ll ride it! Lady Kikuji—you mustn’t let your guard down!” “You either!” After waiting for them to board, the palanquin began moving slowly with the young samurai leading the way.

10

Following the embankment to Gogomi Gate, then taking the road right along the moat from there, turning left again just before the Mito residence—it seemed the palanquin was heading toward Dentsū-in Temple. Though their destination was strange enough, they kept vigilant watch from within the palanquin, peering left and right at every moment—yet there was no sign of anyone emerging.

The place they eventually arrived at was, as expected, Dentsū-in. Founded by Priest Ryōyo and holding a 600-koku fief due to housing the grave of Tokugawa Ieyasu’s birth mother—the temple’s founding matriarch—Dentsū-in boasted structures including the Kaizandō Founder’s Hall, Benzaiten Shrine, Gaikuzōsu Inari Shrine, Jōnenbutsudō Meditation Hall, Sutra Repository, three subsidiary temples for unclaimed graves, and a hundred northern dormitories. As the foremost among the Jōdo sect’s Eighteen Kantō Seminaries, its grounds formed a sprawling complex of such grandeur that words could scarcely do it justice.

“As vehicles are prohibited from here onward, please proceed on foot.” “This humble one shall humbly guide you.” After making them stop the vehicle before the temple gate, the young samurai—wearing a knowing expression—took the lead and entered the profoundly quiet temple precincts. The place was a temple. It was a temple with graves.

Could it be we're already at the graves?! “Halt!” Kyoya, unable to suppress his growing unease, sharply called out to stop him.

“We have not come to inspect your corpses or new graves. If you dare misbehave, I’ll show no mercy!”

“Please remain quiet.” “As it is the lord’s command to guide you, this humble one is merely providing escort…”

Saying this in a hushed voice and paying no heed to their protests, the young samurai circled from beside the main hall to the rear—where a cluster of graves stood.

Just as they started in alarm—but the place he had guided them to was not there. Passing through the graves, he quietly opened the brushwood door there and stood smiling with his eyes.

“So this is where you were!”

“Indeed it is.” “This is Dentsū-in’s prized rear study hall.” “He should certainly still be present. My duty here concludes.” “Please take your leisure…”

Before they could fully process his abruptly spoken words, he had already withdrawn several rooms away.

There was no hesitation. Kyoya gripping his wakizashi and Kikuji her kaiken, they leapt onto the high veranda and threw open the latticed doors from both sides with a clatter—Ah! Startled, the two of them stood frozen. The so-called study hall was in name only—every visible element from the ornamental screens and bamboo blinds to the armrests and cushions exuded the sensual charm of a hidden room in a secret teahouse.

Moreover, beside the ornamental partition stood a woman. She appeared to be twenty-two or twenty-three years old. Her pale, drooping eyebrows brimmed with mysterious allure threatening to overflow—her flesh voluptuous, her eyes languid—yet she was no ordinary woman. Her figure, demeanor, lavish cosmetics—whether she served a person of status or was a favored concubine—marked her as someone extraordinary. There upon the woman’s lap lay Saotome Mondonosuke with unsettling composure—his crescent-shaped scar notorious in Edo lightly resting against her—as if proclaiming earthly paradise resided here while he leisurely indulged in his lap-pillowed dream. But more puzzling still was the woman herself. Contrary to expectations of shock when seeing the two intruders burst in tense and wary, she deliberately wrapped her arms around Saotome Mondonosuke’s neck and smiled like an alluring blossom—as though parading her conquest of his affections.

Needless to say for Kyoya, his sister Kikuji’s flustered state was positively ghastly. Even if her brother Saotome Mondonosuke had engaged in womanizing, visits to the pleasure quarters, and occasional dalliances with the women of this world to stave off boredom, this—such an outrageously excessive act as consorting with a woman of unfathomable background in a hidden chamber of the temple’s rear study hall—was a first. Kikuji’s beautiful willow-leaf eyebrows arched upward without her realizing.

“What is the meaning of this! Brother!”

“……” “What is the meaning of this disgraceful spectacle! Brother!” “Could it be you deigned to worry and came all this way to fetch me? What is the meaning of this indecorous appearance!” While keeping his head pillowed on her lap and half-opening his eyes to gaze languidly—truly, a brother like this was one of a kind.

“Well, well,” “You doll-like ones came clinging and cooing, did you?” “Ah ha ha….” “What they call a lap-pillow stipend.” “Observe closely for your edification.” “This is how one dallies according to the way of male-female yin and yang.” “How now? Does jealousy prickle you?” “Ah ha ha ha!” “Then let us take our leave…” He stood up with nonchalant grace, utterly unruffled. “That was indeed quite the feast.” “Should fate permit, I would borrow your lap again.” “With this, I take my leave.” “You two—we depart.” “Follow.”

He slipped out quietly.

一一

What was suspicious was the woman’s background.

Kyoya and Kikuji pressed closer from both sides, their eyes and faces 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 vixen is she?" "Call her a vixen and your tongue will swell." "That is none other than—" "What manner of being is she?" "Koshimoto Jiemon's daughter—the shogunate's beloved concubine, Lady Omon—that is."

“Huh?!….” “H-honestly?! Is it tr-tr-true?!” “No falsehood here.” “Did that startle you?” “Quite the beauty.” “Especially the plumpness of her knees was exceptional.”

Far from exceptional—this was beyond any such ordinary consideration. Given that he had used the lap of the shogunate’s beloved concubine as a pillow, even if it were Saotome Mondonosuke—the renowned scarred lord of Edo—the matter could not possibly be resolved without consequence.

Both Kyoya’s face and Kikuji’s face lost all color.

“This has turned into quite a predicament! If this matter were to reach His Excellency’s ears, what would become of us?!” “There’s naught to be done—first comes seppuku.” “You knew this and still dared to engage in such frivolous play?!” “Naturally. The right knee belongs to the shogunate, the left knee to Mondonosuke—in matters of love, there’s no high or low. They say a beauty’s knees can topple nations. If seppuku settles it, ’tis a bargain first off. Come here. Come here. Fret too much and you’ll wrinkle that precious face of yours. You lot observed the lap-pillow technique well enough. If you’re keen, return to the mansion and practice.”

“What jest are you speaking of?!” “This is no ordinary opponent we’re dealing with, I tell you!” “Even if it is the shogunate—if something were to happen—” “...” “You!”

“...”

“Brother!”

“...”

“My lord!” In their shared anxiety, Kyoya and the other floundered as they pressed in from both sides, but Mondonosuke was already reclining with his head propped high. Upon returning to the mansion, he lay down as if to enjoy last night’s lap-pillow once more, and even began to emit a light snore.

“This has turned into quite a mess….” “Given your demeanor when visiting the Banchō mansion earlier and when being guided there—combined with Lady Omon being that Jiemon’s daughter—this undeniably matches Koshimoto’s orchestrated scheme.” “Though my lord claims to be currently attending to urgent business at the castle now, I cannot help but worry—without doubt, some dreadful messenger from the castle will arrive at any moment!” “You! “… .” “And yet here you lie with this detestable appearance of yours, Brother.” “Though I am so deeply concerned for you, here you sleep so soundly—what could this mean?” “Brother!”

“...”

“Brother!”

He showed no sign of waking up. His deliberate composure made it appear as though he were waiting to receive the messenger of calamity that would undoubtedly arrive at any moment.

But it was strange.

Despite Kikuji and her companion trembling in anticipation—"Any moment now, any moment now"—there was no sign of any messenger that looked the part, not just within the castle grounds but from anywhere else at all.

In Mizunosato Honjo, where water swallows the sun, twilight arrived at last. When dusk crept into Saotome Mondonosuke’s parlor where he lay reclining with his head propped high—showing no intention of rising—a hesitant voice suddenly announced a visitor at the entrance. Kyoya jolted out immediately, and almost before one could blink, he returned pale-faced and shook Saotome awake. “You!” “You!” “…” “He’s come!”

“Has he come?”

“It is not merely that he has come. Lord Inspector General has arrived in secret!” “There are many Inspector Generals. Which one?” “Who?” “It is Lord Mizoguchi Bungo-no-kami who has come.”

“Well now, Lord Bungo.” “The schemer’s arrived, eh?”

Saotome Mondonosuke finally got up. The Inspector General was stationed in the Hibiscus Chamber with a stipend of 3,000 koku, his four colleagues all being hatamoto. At times serving as the eyes and ears of the senior councilors, and at others as those of the shogunate itself, their duty as overseers was to keep watch over all matters of governance—scrutinizing the conduct of daimyo and hatamoto alike. Among those four, Mizoguchi Bungo-no-kami was renowned throughout the land as a strategist. “Show him in here.”

True to form, Saotome Mondonosuke withdrew one knee and took the lower seat. Guided onto the cushion arranged in the upper seat was Mizoguchi Bungo-no-kami in incognito attire, a quiet light visible in his eyes. “Welcome…” Before Saotome Mondonosuke’s eyes—which had greeted him with a silent nod—Bungo-no-kami suddenly thrust forth a short sword without a word, his voice quiet.

“I shall lend you this. Grace your final moments, Saotome Mondonosuke.”

“Ha ha ha….” “Ah, so you’ve come to collect on last night’s lap-pillow debt?” “It was quite a fine knee.” “Truly, one knee worth five thousand koku—a most puzzling command to commit seppuku, wouldn’t you say?” “That mouth of yours is detestable. “What is this nonsense about one knee being worth five thousand koku?” “Edo’s eight million koku rest upon the shogunate’s beloved lap.” “The unspeakable impropriety of your illicit relations has reached the august ears of the shogunate.” “If this were made public, your fate would go without saying—but out of concern for Lady Omon’s honor, I, Mizoguchi Bungo-no-kami, have come thus in secret to recommend you take your own life.” “I shall not make this unpleasant for you.” “Make it a clean seppuku, then.”

“Ahahaha! So five thousand koku was too modest a valuation? Then this counterfeit eight million koku lap of yours—by that measure, last night’s single knee must have been worth four million koku! No wonder that ample warmth felt like a peerless rarity in this world!” He showed no trace of fear. His crescent-shaped forehead scar glinted ominously as he calmly replied.

“What if Mondonosuke refuses seppuku?” “It’s obvious! By tonight, a decree from the shogunate will surely arrive—you’ll face summary execution, your stipend confiscated, and your house extinguished!”

“How unwise of a schemer like you to say such things.” “If Lady Omon and her father Jiemon conspired to knowingly plan this illicit affair, what would you say?” “Knowing full well this setup was coming, I deliberately borrowed your lap pillow.” “What will you do if I refuse seppuku no matter what?” “So you refuse…”

It was sudden. No sooner had a cold light flashed in the depths of Bungo-no-kami’s eyes—which had seemed calm—than he vanished straight toward the entrance, evidently having some second phase prepared.

In an instant.

There was an ominous tension. Outside the entrance that had fallen completely silent, there suddenly arose an unusual, restless commotion. One... Two... Rustling, rustling, rustling—the eerie sound grew louder as it approached from the entrance into the room. It was no ordinary sound. It was unmistakably the sound of footsteps filled with murderous intent. The number of people was by no means small. It was indeed the sound of close to eight or nine people. However, Saotome Mondonosuke remained composed. His crescent-shaped forehead scar glimmered intermittently as he waited with the stillness of a forest, smiling faintly—and just as expected, seven, eight, nine, nearly ten faces appeared.

Clad in haori and hakama, gripping long swords all in black as if coordinated—though they had not yet drawn their blades—a faint yet unmistakable murderous intent was visible in their eyes, in the contours of their faces. Moreover, they were all young. From what could be inferred, they seemed to be none other than skilled retainers under Inspector General Mizoguchi Bungo-no-kami's command. As the ten men—five on the right and five on the left—knelt on one knee in eerie silence and lined up flanking Saotome Mondonosuke on both sides, Mizoguchi Bungo-no-kami himself advanced with a fierce glint in his eyes to block the way, then suddenly commanded in a cold, decisive tone.

“Rise!” “Stand? What for?” “No matter how you protest, the crime of adultery is now inescapable.” “You shall now proceed to the castle and submit to the shogunate’s direct judgment.” “Bungo commands this by the authority of the Inspector General.” “Rise at once!” “Hoho, I see. The winds have shifted quite suddenly, haven’t they?”

A cold smile flashed across Saotome Mondonosuke’s face. Just moments ago, they had thrust a short sword and demanded ritual suicide by disembowelment. When he declared he wouldn’t die, they abruptly shifted tactics to invoke the direct judgment of the shogunate. Their opponent was none other than Chie Bungo—a man renowned as a master strategist. The appeal for direct judgment at the castle was nothing but a pretext from the very beginning; behind it lay preparations for a terrifying scheme. First and foremost, the very act of forcing someone to commit suicide was undoubtedly a scheme to obscure right and wrong and bury matters from darkness into darkness. Even now, deep within Bungo's heart, that dreadful scheme was undoubtedly still at work.

That was precisely why he had lined up ten unleashed agents around him, undoubtedly lying in wait for any opening. “Even the renowned strategist has aged, I see. Kyoya!” “Kyoya!” If that was how it would be, then they too had their stratagem prepared accordingly. Saotome Mondonosuke turned with a faint chuckle and, catching sight of Kyoya’s bloodshot eyes peering through the gap in the sliding doors—poised to leap out at a moment’s notice—quietly commanded him. “The forelock shave. Prepare it.”

“Then does that mean you will be proceeding to the castle?!” “Indeed. Saotome Mondonosuke has no desire to die. To receive direct judgment from His Excellency the Shogun is not something I would wish for. Quickly prepare the basin.” “But our opponent is Jiemon, who has ties to the shogun’s beloved concubine. There’s a saying that one cannot prevail against a crying child and a magistrate. No matter how innocent Your Excellency may be, should they twist white into black and leave you unable to prove your innocence—what resolve have you prepared?”

“If one who is innocent cannot pass through this world as innocent, then I’ll simply escape to the afterlife from this realm.” “His Excellency has been waiting.” “Hurry up.”

He calmly sat up straight and extended his neck before Kyoya. However, he showed not the slightest lapse in vigilance. If they attacked, he would open with a flash—not even showing his draw—keeping his long sword pulled close to his side as he glared sharply, watching the movements of the ten men. Kyoya too remained vigilant as he shaved the forelock. “It has grown quite long.” “How does it compare to yours?” “What of this humble one’s?” “Like nose hair.” “Nothing but jokes—if you keep spouting such nonsense, you’ll end up getting hurt.”

Scritch-scritch went the razor as Kyoya shaved, yet his eyes remained fixed on the ten men surrounding them. With one stroke, then two strokes of the razor, as the forelock turned bluish, Edo’s famed scar between the eyebrows gradually emerged with stark clarity. That glistening scar between the eyebrows! Before long, the shaved forelock turned a cold bluish hue, and the crescent-shaped scar that had emerged with stark clarity seemed to quiver with anticipation.

“It has grown even more magnificent, if I may say so,” said Kyoya, his voice filled with reverence. “I find myself utterly captivated.” “Then are you taken with me?” Saotome Mondonosuke teased. “You and your jests again,” Kyoya protested, his cheeks flushing slightly. “You’re quite off the mark.” “Nonsense!” Saotome barked, though his eyes glinted with mischief. “I’ll pinch you raw, you impudent whelp! Kiku! Kiku! Is Kikuji not about?” He suddenly shifted tone like a spring storm. “Kyoya, you vexing creature—when I said you dote on your brother like a lovestruck maid, you dared call it mistaken! That’s your punishment.” With a dramatic swirl of his underrobe, he commanded: “Stop gawking and help me into my kimono—quickly now!”

It was a demeanor that acted as though no one else existed. Inspector General Bungo-no-kami glared furiously, but there was nothing to be done. Despite holding no official post yet commanding a 1,200-koku stipend—one who nominally belonged to the ranks of direct shogunal retainers—preparing to proceed to the castle and appear before His Excellency required the customary forelock shaving. Seeing no grounds to protest even if they wished to hurry him along, the man alternated between standing and sitting, fidgeting restlessly as he waited—all while Saotome Mondonosuke maintained his leisurely composure.

“Even a packhorse driver needs proper attire. If only those courtesans were here—I’d want them to see this.” “The palanquin. Prepare it.” “As for your attendant, Kyoya will—” “Nah. Won’t be needing that. Instead, I’ll bring along a slightly unusual attendant. It should be in the storehouse. Bring the horse’s chest ornament and attach it to the palanquin.” “Chest ornament?” “It’s the chest ornament for the horse. Kiku—you know where it’s kept. It should be stored together with the armor chest. Since it’s an important item, take care not to mishandle it.”

He issued an unexpected order. A "chest ornament" referred to a front decoration adorning warhorses' chests during military campaigns. The object itself was peculiar enough, but what made it doubly perplexing was the directive to attach this very same oddity not to a horse, but to a palanquin. Moreover, he meant to employ it as part of his formal retinue.

While they harbored suspicions and hesitated, “You’ll understand once you bring it.” “Make haste.”

He urged them on and had the two carry it from the storehouse. It was a magnificent paulownia wood box. On its surface were brush marks still fragrant with the scent of ink.

“Bestowed by. Chest ornament. House of Saotome” They were such weighty characters. It was no ordinary item.

The fundamental mission of the Eighty Thousand Koku Hatamoto had been to protect the shogunate's direct retainers steadfastly in times of emergency. Setting aside the Four Heavenly Kings—Ii, Honda, Sakai, and Sakakibara—as exceptions, since the era of the Divine Lord there existed one hundred horsemen known as the Okage-gumi among those Eighty Thousand Koku. These Okage-gumi were none other than shadow warriors meant to serve as body doubles for the shogunate. The tides of military campaigns resembled the capricious sky—now raining defeat, now shining victory—and until triumph was certain, one had to steel oneself for potential routs and retreats. The Okage-gumi stood prepared in advance precisely for such contingencies. Their matching armor, helmets, surcoats, and uniforms went without saying—identical horses, identical harnesses, even identical official hollyhock crests. Should the shogunal retainers ever face total collapse in battle, these hundred indistinguishable riders would let the shogunate slip unnoticed into their ranks, allowing it to escape to safety—such was the duty of these living decoys.

The family lineage and status of Saotome Mondonosuke—who took pride in his emblematic forehead scar—were indeed counted among the hundred horsemen of that Okage-gumi, itself emblematic of Edo’s Tokugawa shogunate. Hence, the chest ornament that appeared the moment the lid was removed was a single magnificent piece adorned with purple twisted silk threads and resplendent silk tassels throughout. It bore a crest. The eight million koku might of the shogunate—the official hollyhock crest—appeared to rise glittering from those tassels.

With a start—as if cut down—the faces of Bungo-no-kami and his subordinates pressed themselves to the blue tatami mats. When it came to this official crest in the realm, it could not be compared to grass and trees bending to the wind. While Bungo-no-kami and his men lay prostrated like thin paper, Saotome Mondonosuke—having Kyoya reverently hold the ornament—repeatedly chuckled with evident satisfaction as he approached the palanquin in the garden, then personally reached out to gently adorn its front with the decoration.

The mystery had now been resolved. The opponent was a master of cunning strategies, renowned for their sharp wit. The journey was dangerous. If there was a plot to seize the moment and bury them from darkness into darkness, then without a doubt, ambushes must have been prepared at some point along the journey that could not be let down one’s guard against. Spears were another option. Bows were another option. And then there was Tanegashima. There was simply no way to guard against this. The reason he had gone to the trouble of having the horse’s chest ornament attached to the front of the palanquin was precisely to avoid attacks from projectile weapons. Truly, the official hollyhock crest—an impregnable fortress before which even the realm prostrates itself—were even a fragment of it to be affixed to the front of a palanquin, would cease to be a mere palanquin. It was now equivalent to the shogunate’s own palanquin.

If they were to take aim at this and fire a shot—with a muffled pop—Bungo-no-kami’s troubles would extend far beyond mere seppuku. The clan would be thrown into chaos; nine generations eradicated.—Sure enough, as it became clear there had indeed been some scheme planned for the journey, Bungo-no-kami’s face rapidly paled. “Ahahaha… Behold the official crest. Behold the crest indeed. I do so want to see the fool’s face. Lord Bungo, I appreciate your efforts in accompanying us. Now then, let us proceed. Move the palanquin!”

It was a reassuring sight. The silent official crest with its purple silk tassels—renowned through ages for its august authority—swayed thickly within the flowing light held by the leading attendants, and the palanquin quietly began to move.

13

The prescribed route from Warigesui to the castle crossed Ryogoku Bridge, ascended through Odenmacho, proceeded through Honcho via the fourth, third, and second districts, and finally reached Geba-dome through Tokiwabashi Gate—such was the established order.

The road was dark. If they were to strike, now would be the perfect moment.... Just as they were approaching Ryogoku Bridge—exactly as anticipated—assassins lay in wait. No sooner had a black shadow flickered into motion beside the official notice board at the bridge approach than what appeared to be a short gun barrel slowly protruded forward. However, upon the palanquin hung none other than the peerless ironclad bulletproof crest. It was no ordinary procession. The eight million koku might of the shogunate passed through. From Bungo-no-kami’s palanquin following at a distance behind, a hand flinched out in panic, and while flustered, restrained the shadow.

At the same time, a short rod resembling a gun barrel withdrew as if suspicious.

“Bwahahaha.” “Behold the official crest, behold the crest indeed. I do so want to see the fool’s face.” “Lord Bungo, I appreciate your efforts in providing both escort and security detail.” “Move along!” At Saotome Mondonosuke’s explosive voice, both Mizoguchi Bungo-no-kami and the ten shadows lapping at their heels seemed to uniformly gnash their teeth—but with the object of their ire now adorning the palanquin, there was nothing they could lay hands on.

The palanquin reached Ōdenmachō at nightfall, ascending through Honcho’s fourth district, third district, and second district toward Tokiwabashi Gate.

That corner.

To the right was a guard post, but to the left stood a charcoal storehouse with bamboo fences encircling an enclosure - making this stretch ideal for assassins to lie concealed. Their contingency plan after failing at Ryogoku became clear when two more shadows flickered into view from behind the bamboo latticework. The glint of short-barreled firearms confirmed their intent. Yet no sooner had they appeared than Bungo's panicked hand shot out from his trailing palanquin once more, frantically signaling them to stand down.

“Bwahahaha.” “Behold the official crest. Behold the crest indeed.” “I do want to see your foolish face.” “Lord Bungo, I do appreciate your efforts in providing such meticulous security preparations.” “Move the palanquin!”

With a booming laugh that seemed to shake the very air, Saotome Mondonosuke’s palanquin swayed its way toward Tokiwabashi Gate. Once past this point, they would be within the castle grounds. The route remained secure all the way to Geba-dome. Yet what gnawed at him was Lord Bungo’s scheme. This plot—to bury truths from one darkness into another, entombing all clarity in eternal secrecy—whether born of Lord Bungo’s own machinations or engineered through Koshimoto Jiemon’s meddling, could not be dismissed lightly. Should Jiemon truly be pulling strings from the shadows, having even ensnared the Inspector General—charged with eradicating evil and upholding justice—as his pawn, then utmost vigilance was imperative. Doubtless, whispers had already reached the Shogunate’s ear—his own innocence warped beyond recognition, last night’s incident bloated with lies until it resembled some unforgivable romantic transgression toward Her Ladyship Omon.

Saotome Mondonosuke tightened his core and calmly stroked his abdomen. This was the shogunate, where black passed as white. Moreover, with every frown and smile of hers capable of toppling nations, a she-demon stood in attendance.

From Shimomori Bridge, they followed the garden path to the right toward Nakanoguchi. That marked the renowned Nakanoguchi Ōgenkan of Edo Castle’s main keep. “Inspector General, Lord Mizoguchi Bungo-no-kami, has arrived at the caaastle…” “Next, Lord Saotome Mondonosuke, proceediiing…” It was an extraordinary nighttime summons to the castle. Guided by summoned castle priests through grand corridors and middle corridors—turning at each junction—they were led to the Central Deliberation Chamber adjoining the Chamberlain’s Office.

Saotome Mondonosuke’s seat was positioned far back on the left. To the right, where Koshimoto Jiemon should have been waiting, there was no trace of him whatsoever; though this was supposed to be a shogunal audience requiring confrontation between both parties, the seating arrangement clearly indicated a one-sided trial. Pressuring the priests into making arrangements, Bungo’s face turned deathly pale. His countenance showed terror at his failure to bury matters from darkness to darkness. Though they had petitioned for His Majesty’s direct judgment, should Saotome Mondonosuke receive a verdict and successfully prove his innocence, the Inspector General’s authority would crumble completely. The very pit dug to curse others now gaped beneath one’s own feet.

Within the castle grounds, the night's chill tightened its grip with penetrating intensity, not a single stifled cough breaking the silence.

Saotome Mondonosuke's face was pale and clear, with only the scar between his eyebrows gleaming. It seemed the shogun had retired to the inner palace, as priests' faces kept appearing and disappearing while they engaged in urgent whispers with Lord Bungo's ashen countenance. Then, before long, a voice boomed down the corridor toward them.

“His Majesty is now present!” To the right and left, as Lord Bungo and Mondonosuke prostrated themselves with a start, what scurried out was a red-and-white mottled dog—none other than the Dog Shogun’s beloved pet, attended by two castle pages serving as caretakers. “Lord Fifth Rank, this way, this way.” “Your seat is right here.” Though merely an ordinary dog in appearance, its status as the eight-million-koku shogunate’s cherished companion magnified its prestige. With its long tail and Fifth Court Rank insignia visible, Lord Fifth Rank settled daintily beside the shogunal dais wearing an expression of perfect comprehension—just as rough tatami-shuffling footsteps heralded the stern visage of Lord Tsunayoshi, the Dog Shogun himself.

At that very moment. “Insolent wretch! How dare you show your face here?!”

A crackling thunderous voice came crashing down upon Saotome Mondonosuke’s head. His Lordship’s temper appeared to have truly reached its peak. There he remained standing imposingly without taking his cushion, growing increasingly restless, when an even greater thunderbolt unexpectedly struck from an unforeseen quarter. “Bungo as well?! What is the meaning of this?! “You blithering fool!” “Hah—” “Ha?! Don’t you ‘hah’ me!” “What is the meaning of this?!” “Why—why—why did you keep Saotome Mondonosuke alive and bring him here?!”

It was an unforeseen decree from His Lordship. Saotome Mondonosuke gasped sharply. There must have been a secret order to bring him here after beheading. It was precisely because such an order existed that keeping him alive and bringing him here had become grounds for reprimand. From how the winds were blowing, it went without saying that Jiemon’s reach had already extended even to the shogunate itself—should there be even a single misspoken word, His Lordship’s countenance would grow increasingly hostile, and it was all too clear that a fearsome imperial decree would descend.

However, Saotome Mondonosuke remained prostrated with profound composure, his expression calm as ice, holding his voice in perfect silence. Over his head, the shogun’s sharp, piercing voice—still standing imposingly—came crashing down once more. “Detestable! “Detestable!” “Even if I call you detestable, you’re a detestable wretch!” “You insolent wretches!” “Raise your head!” “[……]” “Why won’t you raise it?!” “Raise your head!”

“[……]”

“You refuse to raise it!” “You insolent wretch!” “Do you imagine your position as a direct hatamoto remains intact with this?!” “You worthless fool! From Jiemon, I’ve heard every detail of your outrageous conduct.” “How dare you regard Omon!” “Detestable even to name!” “Raise your head!”

However, Saotome Mondonosuke deliberately maintained his silence and remained prostrated deeply and quietly. It was a wise strategy. In his current state—standing imposingly without even taking his cushion, his temper having flared to such extremes—there was no chance anything said would reach his ears. Knowing this, should he attempt excuses, those very words would only further provoke his wrath—and once provoked, it was all too clear that without even distinguishing right from wrong, only a decree of pure hatred would descend: seppuku, dismissal, execution by his hand, or an imperial death sentence.

Everything would have to wait until His Lordship’s temper subsided. To await the softening of His Lordship’s countenance, he deliberately maintained silence, deliberately kept his face lowered, and continued to prostrate himself profoundly and quietly.

The strategy had succeeded. Gradually, His Lordship’s temper seemed to subside, and first he took his seat. “Tea!” “Tea!” “The tea can wait for now!”

“Your Excellency…” His Lordship’s mood had settled after partaking. Once the dryness in his throat subsided, His Lordship’s temper would settle as well. As expected, though his voice still carried a harsh edge, it seemed His Lordship’s temper had settled, for a decree now came forth.

“If you have an explanation to offer, I’ll let you be heard.” “Raise your head!” “Ha…”

The time had come.

When he quietly raised his face, a resonant and auspiciously calm voice flowed out. “Your refreshing countenance—unlike any seen before—brings Saotome Mondonosuke utmost joy.” “What! “What do you mean by ‘refreshing countenance’?! “Does my enraged visage appear refreshing to you?!” “This peerless serenity—though Saotome Mondonosuke anguished over Your Excellency, who commands all military authority under heaven, potentially letting your noble heart be swayed by heeding the slander of worthless sycophants—this unchanging composure proves you remain the unrivaled enlightened lord of divine Tokugawa lineage, filling Saotome Mondonosuke with profound delight.”

“Silence!” “Fool!” “What do you mean by ‘sycophants’?!” “Who are you referring to?!” “Namely, Koshimoto Jiemon and Lady Omon—both are sycophants who cannot bear to serve under heaven.” “Silence!” “Silence!” “How dare you call Lady Omon a sycophant?!” “Lady Omon is my beloved woman—an utterly adorable creature.” “I won’t permit you to call her a fool!” “That very act proves their sycophancy—disturbing Your Excellency’s noble sight serves as nothing less than definitive evidence.” “Your Excellency is a splendid enlightened lord—the very lord we direct hatamoto retainers take pride in—”

“Silence! Silence! Will you not be silent?!” “No—Your Excellency is an enlightened lord, an enlightened lord worthy of pride throughout the realm. Saotome Mondonosuke has ever contemplated this and that—” “Did I not command you to be silent?!” “No—to serve under Your Excellency, a splendid enlightened lord unrivaled in the realm, is the greatest joy one could know.” “Female demons, as they are called, are often beautiful things—while Your Excellency’s favor is understandable, should even a lord as enlightened as Your Excellency mistake right and wrong because of this, it would be a grave matter indeed. I humbly beg Your Excellency to discern this clearly…”

First an enlightened lord, second an enlightened lord—he pressed on with nothing but "enlightened lord" repeated endlessly. It was a wise strategy. If he were called an enlightened lord rather than a fool, the heart of the lord of eight million koku must surely have been in a most agreeable state. His Lordship’s countenance had indeed softened. “Then, are you saying that everything Jiemon has stated is false?” “It is as Your Excellency’s will dictates.” “Though I know not what falsehoods have reached Your Excellency’s ears, Saotome Mondonosuke—a hatamoto of Mikawa lineage—has not so corrupted his heart as to commit such brazen impropriety with Your Excellency’s beloved concubine, however formidable her reputed charms may be.” “All of this is Koshimoto Jiemon’s fabricated schemes—I humbly beg Your Excellency to discern this with your wisdom.”

“But Jiemon claims you grew somewhat intoxicated and began dallying with Omon!” “These outrageous slanders all stem from schemes to frame Saotome Mondonosuke with crimes he did not commit.” “As Your Excellency well knows, that man was originally a baseborn black hoe laborer who—grown arrogant with power and heedless of his current station—first stirred trouble through illicit infatuation with a lowly courtesan from the pleasure quarters.” “The woman called Koyoshi, jealous of her serving another, strayed into improper conduct which Saotome Mondonosuke unexpectedly noticed and aided—much to Jiemon’s irritation—whereupon he incited Your Excellency’s beloved Lady Omon to summon this humble one to Denzuin Temple, that place beyond all propriety, and engage in trifling play and lap-sitting—acts most unseemly to speak of—all under Your Excellency’s indulgent gaze.”

“Why did you dally?!” “Even if this were Jiemon’s scheme, Omon is my beloved woman.” “Knowing this, why did you dally again?!” “It is for the sake of the realm and Your Excellency’s governance.” “You fool!” “How could the shogun dallying on his beloved concubine’s lap be for the sake of the realm?!” “Such unscrupulous persons—a father and daughter conspiring to force impropriety—if left unchecked, would grow emboldened by Your Excellency’s favor and scheme beyond all measure. Knowing this, Saotome Mondonosuke borrowed Your Excellency’s indulgence: all to voice counsel on Your Excellency’s behalf. That even this humble one’s tainting of that indulgence would inevitably reach Your Excellency’s august ears was certain—thereby allowing me to prove my innocence, beseech Your Excellency’s judgment to distinguish right from wrong, and purge those treacherous officials near the throne. To cleanse such treachery is for the sake of the realm—for Your Excellency’s governance.”

“You fool!”

“Huh?” “I declare you a fool!” “What blessed fortune—Saotome Mondonosuke is indeed the greatest fool under heaven. However, this fool is no mere fool. We Mikawa-born hatamoto are all fools—fools who would gladly lay down our lives for Your Excellency’s governance and the sake of the realm. Saotome Mondonosuke swears by heaven and earth that this one’s person is blameless. Should Your Excellency’s doubts remain unallayed, I would not hesitate to confront Lady Omon here and now.”

“A confrontation?” “Ha! Should even that fail to dispel Your Excellency’s doubts, I would not hesitate to confront those monks of Denzuin Temple themselves. Your Excellency is an unrivaled enlightened lord—I humbly beg Your Excellency to discern this clearly.” “In any case, you are unscrupulous wretches—un—unscrupulous wretches!” “I am deeply humbled. Whether it is Jiemon’s unscrupulousness in forcing impropriety to disrupt the realm, Lady Omon’s unscrupulousness in lending what should never have been lent—her indulgence—or this Saotome Mondonosuke’s unscrupulousness in defiling that indulgence while risking Your Excellency’s wrath to voice counsel… the judgment of right and wrong lies solely with Your Excellency’s discernment. Should Your Excellency’s edict declare Saotome Mondonosuke unscrupulous, I would not hesitate to commit seppuku or accept summary execution. I humbly beg Your Excellency’s direct judgment.”

“………”

“With all due respect, how does Your Excellency’s wise judgment find this matter?” “Detestable.” “No—We’ll hear no more! We feel unwell.” “Unsightly.” “Be gone!”

With Saotome Mondonosuke's pure and blameless words that had rectified right and wrong, the target of His Lordship's anger vanished. He glared without particular cause, seethingly suppressing his directionless rage, but then kicked aside the bedding to rise and vanished roughly behind the bamboo-screen partition. However, it seemed he truly had no outlet for his indignation. He stomped back and began to berate [them].

“Bungo—you too are an unscrupulous wretch.” “What you’ve stated differs considerably!” “You detestable wretch!” “Be gone!”

Having started to leave, it seemed that lingering unease still hadn't cleared from his chest.

“Jiemon is unscrupulous.” “Omon is unscrupulous too.” “No—Omon is adorable.” “What’s detestable is the lap!” “You fools—!” “Would any fool dare borrow my precious lap as a substitute for counsel?!” “Even if I were to lend it, it’s only natural they’d hesitate.” “Those Mikawa-style hatamoto are as stubborn as mules.” “Take care henceforth to refrain from Omon’s lap alone.” “Goi, let’s go.” “Come.”

The dog was happy because it had no lap. With a flick of his curled tail, Goi scampered off after the shogun, who had vanished in evident irritation. Saotome Mondonosuke's innocence was finally recognized. Bungo’s face turned deathly pale.

Regardless of whether Jiemon’s schemes were involved or not, the Inspector General could not escape responsibility for his misjudgment. "You detestable wretches—be gone!" Such was the entirety of His Excellency’s edict—yet depending on interpretation, it could be taken as condemning those incapable of discerning right from wrong, or even as a shogunal will commanding seppuku. Moreover, Bungo too was of the same hatamoto lineage; when he reflected on his reputation as a man of wisdom, he must have burned with shame at his own ignorance.

He hung his head without a word and remained sunk in silent gloom.

In contrast was Saotome Mondonosuke’s cheerfulness.

“My good attendant—you’ve had quite the ordeal.” “You too are a hatamoto—truly, hatamoto are all great fools.” “‘Troubled by their stubborn bones,’ in His Excellency’s words.” “Let’s brew some candy into tea, I say.” “Monk!” Saotome Mondonosuke took his leave. “Please lead the way.”

Swish, swish—the rustling of hakama echoed crisply through the grand nighttime corridor.

14

Outside, it was nearly ten o'clock.

Dark.

Great Edo was enveloped in a thick darkness, like a black cloth spread out as far as the eye could see.

“Attendants!” “This is Mondonosuke.” “Are there no attendants here?”

“Ah!” “Welcome back, my lord.” “You’ve returned safely indeed.” “This forehead scar now.” “Even when visiting the castle, it makes a fine protective charm.” “His Excellency remains ever the wise ruler—I should say we avoided belly-cutting after all.” “Proceed slowly.” “And your chest?” “Fools lost enough to emerge may yet remain.” “Keep moving forward just as you are.” Having ridden leisurely from Shimomori Bridge and approached Tokiwabashi Gate, the road grew darker still once they passed through.

The night wind blowing across the moat drifted softly, softly swaying the willow threads, while an eerie presence seemed to press against their bodies for no discernible reason. Just as they were about to turn along the moat toward the distant town, it struck without warning.

There was killing intent. It was the killing intent of ambush.

It was no ordinary killing intent. It was the assassins' killing intent lying in ambush. The killing intent crept closer with squelching footsteps, then sharply pierced Mondonosuke’s chest. It was an instant.

“Ah! My lord, there are ruffians here!” Faster than sound. Before the attendant bearers could cry out, Saotome Mondonosuke’s body had already swiftly leaped into a fierce stance, pressing close to the palanquin while peering through—spears, spears, spears, in all directions, from every quarter, nothing but spears.

Three. Four. Six. Eight. All were short spears.

Thighs braced, barefoot in black hoods, and in a stance not to be underestimated. In perfect silence, those eight spears pressed their tips toward him from all directions, relentlessly inching closer to Saotome Mondonosuke's person.

15 Who are you?— In an instant, Saotome Mondonosuke’s eyes flashed like lightning. Behold the family crest, behold the family crest—he had thought. With this displayed, no assassin however bold could possibly dare raise blades against him. Yet either they failed to see this crest upon his chest, or knowing full well, they launched this audacious night ambush. If indeed they recognized it yet attacked without fear, these must be assassins of no ordinary caliber. “Panicked fools! Can’t you see this family crest?!” “Make one careless move and there’ll be no undoing it!”

But they were undaunted. Did even Saotome Mondonosuke’s fiery rebuke fail to reach their ears? Though the Aoi crest upon his chest—vividly illuminated by lantern flames from those dropped by the bearers—stood clear, the assassins’ shadows did not so much as twitch. Not only that—in utter silence, inch by inch, they tightened their ring of encirclement. There was no strategy while surrounded on all sides. Seizing what seemed an opening, Saotome Mondonosuke flipped the palanquin aside in one swift motion and made a splendid leap through the gap—but in that instant, the spear-wielding assassins, whose encirclement had appeared to falter, quickly reformed into a crescent formation and pressed toward him once more, inch by inch in relentless silence.

The shadows remained eight. Moreover, their formation and stance were truly orderly—one might even say magnificent. No ordinary foes! Koshimoto Jiemon’s gang—a natural question to arise. But their formation was far too impressive. Then—had Mizoguchi Bungo-no-kami, who had incurred the shogunate’s displeasure, sent assassins to permanently silence Mondonosuke’s voice and cover up his schemes—? Saotome Mondonosuke's eyes glittered suspiciously. In his eyes that were sharply scanning the darkness, three more shadows suddenly came into view. From beyond the spear screen, one shadow flanked by two others drew close protectively, intently watching the situation.

"......?" Saotome Mondonosuke’s eyes probingly pierced beyond the row of short spears, fixing upon the three shadows ahead. The moment he discerned that central shadow standing abruptly with hands tucked in sleeves—composure itself one might say—before this murderous confrontation, what thought crossed his mind? A defiant smile bloomed across Saotome Mondonosuke’s face. At the same time, a deep voice rang out.

“Ah ha….” “Amusing.” “Then I’ll face you…”

He undoubtedly had some scheme in mind. A Yoshin-ryu Suigetsu striking stance—left hand at the dantian, right hand thrust upward! He intended to fight bare-handed. Moreover, even as he glared intently at his opponents, a bright smile lingered in the depths of his eyes. “Here I come! Though I may be unarmed, know this—Saotome Mondonosuke, direct shogunal retainer of Mikawa lineage, wields fists a tad more formidable than your gleaming spears.” “You’d best be prepared…” “......”

“No need to hesitate……nor hold back! Even if my crescent scar looks fearsome, it won’t bite you. Why not come at me with everything you’ve got?”

Had his bold words provoked them? The right spear gleamed sharply through the darkness and slipped past— “Hah!” With a cloth-rending battle cry, they lunged together—but Saotome Mondonosuke sidestepped into a half-body stance, their spear tips suddenly clamped beneath his arms. The extended spears couldn’t be carelessly released. The moment they let go, the weapons would rebound—knowing full well those dreadful spear-butt strikes would come next, trapped between retreat and advance, desperately clinging to their spears while flailing—

“Insolent—!” A spear from the left lunged in rescue—but again, it proved futile. At the final instant, Saotome Mondonosuke twisted his torso lightly, pinning even those spear tips beneath his right arm. “How’s that?! Using foes as instant shields—Saotome Mondonosuke’s secret technique of the Weaponless Victory school. To your liking, gentlemen?” “......” “Hold! Hold just so! Thrust now, and your comrades caught by two spears become dango skewers. Next comes another Saotome-style secret art for your edification—the Driving Drop technique. Here I come!”

No sooner had he forcefully readjusted his grip on the two crossed spears beneath both arms than he drove—both those at their tips and their very bodies—relentlessly toward the remaining six spear formations. With their comrades used as shields, they had no choice but to retreat.

“Clever! “Clever! Clever!” “Not letting go while retreating—now that’s the essence of strategy!” “There!” “One foot! There!” “Two feet!” “If even one of you breaks away, this spear butt will come visiting!” “There!” “There!” “If you thrust and attack, your comrades will be skewered like dango!” “There!” “There!” The six spear screens inched back toward the shadowy figure of their commander behind them, and the nine merged shadows shifted relentlessly toward the moat—.

“There! There! You’re almost at the moat now. A moat-water gruel picnic could prove a most diverting pastime. Crucian carp, carp, loach—if you prefer, newts and soft-shelled turtles might also be present.—There! There!” It was dangerous. Pressed back to the corner stone of the moat—the rearmost ones teetering on tiptoe—the entire human avalanche seemed poised to crash into the moat—in that very instant. ——Suddenly, a hoarse shout rose from behind the Bored Man.

“Don’t falter! You there! Push them back! Reinforcements! Reinforcements! We bring reinforcements! Pincer strike—now! Push them back!”

16 He whirled around with a start—they were there! How had they closed in unnoticed? They're here! About twenty thugs of unsavory appearance—likely underlings of this white-masked figure who seemed their leader—were clumsily aligning their pale blades. "Finish them! "As you see, reinforcements abound! "I know not your names, but we too hold grievances against Saotome Mondonosuke! "That man's breath must cease before dawn breaks! "We'll desperately lend our aid! "Faster, faster! "Attack! "Attack! "You lot attack too!"

At the instigating voice of the White-Masked Leader, the black mass of people moved swiftly. It was the decisive moment! The Bored Man seized one of the spears he held—thrusting it forward and yanking it back into his grasp—hurled his body diagonally through the fray. Slipping through to the flank, he assumed his stance and roared— "You impudent curs! You know full well I am Mondonosuke—dare you make this three-month-old wound weep like a sniveling rat?!"

Such godlike speed was his! Such fierce intensity was his! Indeed, the majestic aura of Great Edo’s Renowned Hatamoto, the Bored Man, blazed forth. The black mass of people froze in shock—in that very instant. From beyond the darkness came the sound of pattering footsteps accompanied by labored breathing—no sooner had they drawn near than—

“Hah! Made it... just in time!”

It was unmistakably Shimousa Jugoro.

Next, Kyoya—. Next, Kikuji—.

“Brother!” “My lord—!”

“M-My lord! A-Are you unharmed, my lord?! Thank goodness! Thank goodness! Y-you! Don’t let those ones over there get away either! Th-that moatside area I don’t know about, but th-that white-masked one over there—” “It must be Koshimoto Jiemon.” The white-masked figure twitched slightly. “You saw through me! That’s right. W-well, after I got word from Lord Kyoya that you’d been suddenly summoned to the castle, I figured this was another of Koshimoto’s baboon samurai’s tricks—wondering what fresh scheme they’d cook up next—so I staked out the front of the residence to watch. Then a castle page came rushing up, pale-faced, and suddenly the place started shaking—that baboon geezer put on a mask and hurried off toward the castle with the rabble he had there! After tailing them and eavesdropping, seems your arguments won out at the castle—lit a fire under the baboon geezer’s stash. Now this lot’s gone mad with desperation! Their grand scheme? Erase you from darkness to darkness tonight, then use Omon the fox’s sly words to sweet-talk His Excellency the Shogun all over again. Nasty business—their skills may be dull, but with these numbers… You might get yourself hurt! If you’d just dashed back to your residence a bit quicker, it’d have been to your advantage! On the way, I ran into Lady Kikuji and Lord Kyoya—who’d come out worried to meet me—and the three of us rushed here like fireballs. Now then, Baboon Samurai!”

Loathsome! With his mask torn away to reveal Koshimoto Jiemon’s true face, he twitched and stepped back once more.

“Come out, you runt baboons! Now that Shimousa Jugoro’s here, I won’t let ’em lay a finger on your lordship! With these hands that laid low countless whales on Kujukuri’s wild shores, I’ll send every last one of you to the afterlife! Come at me, you hell-bound bastards!”

“Hold, Jugoro!” Saotome Mondonosuke sharply restrained the agitated Jugoro. “There is a reason—stand back!” “Kyoya!” “Kikuji!”

“Yes!” To the two who drew close and stepped forward,

“I grant you permission to test your skills.” “A fine opportunity this is.” “The Yoshin-ryū striking techniques I’ve drilled into you daily—make ready to savor them to your fullest.” “Yes!” With both gallantry and youthful vigor, as the two braced themselves eagerly, Saotome Mondonosuke—as though wholly disregarding vigilance toward the moatside—pivoted squarely to face Koshimoto’s faction head-on. His piercing gaze seemed to bore straight through the white mask. “Koshimoto Jiemon… behold these eyes!”

“...” “What did I just hear from this man’s impudent mouth?!” “...” “Do you think the Shogunate’s governance can stand when one who even holds the esteemed position of Chief of the Inner Storehouse is insulted to this extent by a mere fisherman?!” “You—blinded by depraved lust—even drove your own sister, she who received His Excellency’s favor, to commit impropriety! And now you dare plot to murder this Saotome Mondonosuke and cloud His Excellency’s wisdom? What manner of outrage is this!” “Awaken!” “Reclaim your true self!” “If you but declare your intent to reform your nature—as one who shares this hatamoto station—I’ve no wish to escalate matters!” “What say you?!”

“Wh-wh-what are you—!” “I-I should just shut that mouth of yours!” A guttural howl burst out from within the white mask. “M-my sister’s charms—I thought they’d outshine yours! That was my miscalculation. No—rather, if *you* weren’t in this world, the reign would be mine and my sister’s!” “Do it!” “Do it!” “Y-you lot!” “—You lot over there!” “...”

“Attack! We’ll eliminate this nuisance tonight—no, better yet, strike while the iron’s hot! You’ve got numbers, we’ve got numbers—join forces and this one man’s nothing to us! Hurry up and charge in! Hurry up and charge in now!” Flaunting all the vulgarity of a Black Hoe upstart, he desperately shouted toward the forces at the moatside—but strangely, they did not move. The group at the moatside—for some reason—had at some point abandoned their spear stances and now stood silently watching this side. Koshimoto Jiemon’s irritation had turned desperate—

“H-have you lost your nerve?! Th-then since our fresh troops are attacking—follow behind! Now, charge! Charge! Rewards! Rewards, I say! Once this guy’s finished off, it’ll be mine and my sister’s reign! The rewards are yours for the taking—grab as much as you want! I’ll give you a thousand ryo! Charge! Charge!” The reward was a thousand ryo! They had been incited with the promise that they could take whatever they desired. The inhuman horde bared their ferocious fangs in unison, flashed their gleaming blades, let out a bizarre roar, and lunged at the trio of Mondonosuke, Kikuji, and Kyoya.

“Lord Kyoya! Stay focused!” “Lady Kikuji! Don’t you dare slip up now!”

Magnificent! Fluttering, fluttering—like butterflies dancing through a stormy grassland—Kyoya in his page attire and Kikuji in her long-sleeved kimono dodged through, dodged through the onslaught, weaving left and right no sooner than they moved— “Ah!”

“Ugh!” Thud—another one fell. Thud—another one fell. Truly fearsome were the Yoshin-ryu strikes forged through Saotome Mondonosuke’s training! Wherever the arms of those two youths extended—their movements deceiving even jewels in the night—the towering ronin figures collapsed one after another, scattering backward in disarray despite their demon-crushing bulk. Unable to endure, “The target is Saotome!” “Follow me!” Koshimoto Jiemon lunged— “You fools!”

He stood frozen before the Bored Man as if spellbound. They were terrifying eyes. Saotome Mondonosuke’s blazing eyes—piercingly terrifying—glared with lethal intensity.

“...” The terrifying eyes shifted forward—inch by inch— “H-help me!” As Koshimoto Jiemon screamed and tried to flee into the group at the moatside—something bizarre happened. A spear butt shot out from the very group at the moatside—striking Jiemon squarely in the solar plexus—and his body slammed onto the gravel as though hurled down. Simultaneously, figures in hakama trousers with imposing stances burst forth from the moatside group and began apprehending Koshimoto’s faction members one after another, caught off guard by this reversal. The one who leaped out was Jugoro.

“This has gotten real interestin’!” “Take a good look!” “You bastard!” Jugoro leaped out and tried to strangle Koshimoto Jiemon, “Stand down, Jugoro!” “Jugoro!” Saotome Mondonosuke’s commanding shout rang out. “Kyoya and Kikuji, stand down!” “Prostrate yourselves!” “Prostrate yourselves!” “Prostrate yourselves solemnly!” He himself also formally knelt in place, respectfully bowed to the commander-like figure remaining at the moatside, and—while maintaining an unchanged expression yet allowing a radiant smile to drift across his face—spoke.

“Your Excellency! By now you must have fully savored this Mikawa-born hatamoto’s true methods—the unblemished resolve of a purebred retainer.”

17

“Ahahaha!” “You vexing man!” “You saw through it, did you?!”

It was a refreshing laugh. The voice that spilled forth from the masked figure who had boldly stepped forward with laughter was, unexpectedly, that of Shogun Tokugawa Tsunayoshi himself. With his hands tucked into his sleeves, he stood before Saotome Mondonosuke, and his voice grew even brighter.

“Splendid! Truly splendid!” “No—when you were cornered at the moatside, We enjoyed it until sweat poured from Our brow.” “Ahahahaha! To have made the Shogun of all people savor it to that extent—you vexing Mondonosuke!” “Did you know it was We from the start and stage this whole performance?!”

“Your Excellency’s will be done!” “Hmm…” “With all due respect, the natural majesty inhering in Your Excellency’s bone structure—befitting the realm—I discerned clear as day even in the darkness of night, coupled with Your attendants’ spearmanship—all flawlessly aligned in the Shōhōgen-ryū restraint style! “Furthermore, their brazen disregard for the Aoi crest! “Thus I concluded Your Excellency wished to test this Mondonosuke’s Mikawa-honed methods and desired to savor them to your heart’s content—” “Did you let me savor it fully?” “Your Excellency’s will be done!”

“Hahahahaha! Truly, thou art a vexing man, Mondonosuke! Amusing. Amusing indeed. Ah, but no— While your earlier defense struck Our heart and We understood it well, what lingers unsettled in Our mind remains Omon’s misconduct. They say a woman’s duplicity torments even the wisest of men—and how true that rings! It suddenly occurred to Us—if We tested those Mikawa-born tactics you kept boasting of, Mikawa-born this and Mikawa-born that, Our irritation might clear. Thus did We bring Bungo and this rabble along for a cooling-off visit. Splendidly done! Mondonosuke! Magnificent! A sight to behold! Our heart has been splendidly cleansed.—Mondonosuke!”

“Yes, Your Excellency!” “I shall dismiss Lady Omon.” “Ha ha!” “Truly, this subhuman wretch—”

His displeased eyes, which had been running over Jiemon, shifted backward.

“Bungo! Bungo!” “Ha ha!”

Sliding out smoothly and crouching down was none other than Inspector General Mizoguchi Bungo-no-kami himself.

“Revive that maggot!” “At once!” With a sharp thwack from Bungo striking his back, Jiemon regained consciousness. He darted his eyes around in bewilderment—but upon realizing the figure standing before him was none other than the shogun himself—he gasped audibly, pressed his face downward, and prostrated himself into the gravel as though trying to burrow through it. “How dare you make this Tsunayoshi bear lifelong shame!” “I command Bungo to execute judgment.” “Moreover, they may well be tormenting the townsfolk through unknown means.” “Investigate without leniency.” “You’re an eyesore.” “Remove yourself at once!”

At the shogun's command—a single decisive order—Koshimoto Jiemon, bound with the sword cords of the shogunal attendants who had pounced upon him, his truly pitiable figure was dragged away through the faintly emerging moonlight toward Denmacho Prison alongside his entire cohort. "What a ridiculous fool!" "—Mondonosuke!" "Ha!" "A ruler's error is witnessed by all under heaven." "Well done making Omon plead on her knees to remonstrate." "I, Tsunayoshi, shall voice my thanks!"

Serene as a cloudless sky after rain, his voice now shone bright, bearing no trace of lingering concern over what had transpired moments before. A glint became visible in the eyes of the bored man as he looked up.

“Your Excellency!” “Tsunayoshi’s judgment—is this satisfactory?” “What can I say... what can I say—” It was for this august judgment that he had made his desperate journey to the castle. For the sake of all people under heaven, he had staked his life—and the wish he had harbored was fulfilled. Saotome Mondonosuke’s voice choked up with emotion. “What can I... Mondonosuke... possibly say...” “I can only... merely...” “Does your heart feel unburdened now?”

“Ha ha! A true sage does not replace wisdom with base desires! A splendid scion of the Divine Lord’s sacred lineage—what an illustrious sovereign! With Your Excellency upholding governance, peace reigns under heaven and all people find security! Illustrious ruler! Illustrious ruler! Mondonosuke’s joy mirrors that of every subject—no words could suffice!” “Enough! Enough! Keep spouting ‘Illustrious Ruler’ like some broken temple bell and you’ll bring down divine retribution, eh Bungo?” “Your will be done!” “We’d best withdraw before this flattery gives me night chills.—Ah, but how fine this evening air breathes! Tonight I shall rest content indeed! Bungo! Horses!”

“At once!” In response to the final signal, he swung up onto the shogunal horse that came galloping from beyond the bridge, “Mondonosuke, do come again from time to time to let me savor your admonishments.” “Farewell!” “Lord Mondonosuke, I offer my heartfelt congratulations on tonight’s success.” “We shall exchange formal greetings at a later date—”

Leaving behind a splendid nod, Mizoguchi Bungo-no-kami also mounted his horse. Clip-clop, clip-clop—with the pleasant sound of hooves, the shogun’s entourage proceeded into the depths of Chiyoda Castle. From among those seeing them off, a man’s choked sobs could be heard.

It was Jugoro.

He was happy. The joy that his sister’s modest romantic happiness—something he had considered utterly insignificant—had been saved from the relentless hands of evil through the shogun’s personal judgment burst through his sturdy chest.

“Are you happy, Jugoro?”

When they had finished seeing off the shogunate entourage, Saotome Mondonosuke's eyes urged Jugoro with a meaningful look. "Take that joy and quickly share it with your sister." "Let us withdraw together." "Kyoya!" "The Omon garment!" "Yes!" With Kyoya at the lead—presenting the Omon garment that the foot soldiers had abandoned in their flight—

Snugly drawing close was Kikuji. And then the Bored Man, Jugoro—.

The moon had risen.

As if to brighten and refresh people’s hearts, a bright shadow moved through the moonlight that had risen beyond the rows of houses.