Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

“Your footsteps are too loud.”
“Don’t get spotted.”
“Hide! Now!”

No sooner had a sharp voice risen than scattered black shadows flattened themselves against the base of the wall.
The shadows were five.

As if sucked in, the five black shadows that had merged into the black plank fence remained utterly still, suppressing breath without moving.

Chirp, chirp - the sound of insects permeated the air.

The night in Kyoto was already autumn.

Meiji Year 2!
The blood-stained winds that had long raged seemed to sweep eastward—ever eastward—with the grand decree of the Meiji Restoration, making Kyoto believe at last a peaceful autumn had arrived after what seemed an age. Yet now, suddenly, a putrid wave of killing intent surged forth once more.

The five were assassins.

The target was Masujirō Ōmura, who had taken lodgings within those black-planked walls. Long ago, this country doctor from a remote village in Suō Province had practiced medicine without ever seeing his clinic thrive, but riding the stormy winds of the Restoration, he rapidly rose to prominence—now wielding de facto military authority as Vice-Minister of Military Affairs.

When it came to military affairs, Ōmura—who could nearly be called a genius—upon being granted this crucial post of Vice-Minister of Military Affairs at the new government's core, increasingly demonstrated his strategic acumen and unleashed his boundless talents in all directions.

The proposal of the Universal Conscription System was one of these.

The second was the proposal to establish an arsenal.

Putting aside the arsenal establishment plan for a moment, the Universal Conscription System proposal—which sought to wrest military authority from the hands of the samurai class, a privilege they had long held—immediately sent shockwaves across the nation.

“There’s a limit to this arrogance.”
“What’s the point of making townspeople and peasants shoulder firearms anyway?”

“What becomes of family lineage?”
“And what of our samurai class’s esteemed lineage?”

The very patriots who had overthrown old authorities in celebration of the new regime—who had boasted of creating a realm of Equality of Four Classes by toppling those family lineages and destroying those esteemed houses—were now the first to voice astonishing indignation.

To those voices were added discontent, jealousy, and conspiratorial scheming, giving form to a terrifying assassination plot.

“Slaughter that bastard!”

“Ōmura and those Chōshū bastards have overextended their reach.”
“That quack doctor rising to Vice-Minister of Military Affairs is the height of absurdity!”

“Slaughter that bastard and the government collapses!
“Cut that bastard down!
“Lop off that bastard’s head!”

The voices of curses and jealousy gradually coalesced, and the conspiratorial blood-oath faction plotting government overthrow—Gentarō Dairaku, Yūrin Tominaga, Mafumi Ogawa, Kenji Komatsu, Genbei Takada, Keiji Hatsuoka, Kyōsuke Okazaki, and their ilk—first began to stir.

The five were handpicked operatives raised by Gentarō Dairaku himself, having received their orders directly from him.

Their captain was Naoto Koujiro, with Kaoru Kokubo as deputy leader—men such as Kojirō Ichihara, Kanemaru Tomita, and Risōta Ishii who possessed no skill beyond killing, reckless men who cared nothing for their own lives.

Once they took aim, these were not men who would fail to strike. Having trailed Masujirō Ōmura—who had come up to Kyoto with a small guard detail to survey land for establishing an arsenal—the five had journeyed far to target his head.

“What should we do?”
“Captain.”
“Should we storm in immediately?”

Even before drawing their blades, Kojirō Ichihara—the man with the flattened nose—seemed to already be writhing at the scent of blood. Sniffing repeatedly with that misshapen nose like a dog, he gently tugged the sleeve of Koujiro beside him and whispered.

“The bastard has a habit of savoring his evening drink. Timing our strike when the liquor takes hold might prove wise—though perhaps we should watch a spell longer?”

“Indeed…”

“That’s no proper answer! If we wait, we wait; if we strike, we strike—decide now before they sniff us out!”

“…………”

However, Naoto Koujiro gave no reply.
Flattened against the plank fence like a watchtower guard, head bowed motionless while idly toying with pebbles at his feet—then suddenly he snickered and spat out words.

“Strange business, this…”

He let out a loud “Ha ha ha” laugh.

Though all were assassins, Naoto Koujiro was a peculiar kind of assassin.
Up to now, those Naoto had killed numbered no less than eight.
Yet among them all, not a single one had been someone he resolved to kill of his own volition.
All eight—every last one—had been kills commissioned by others.

It was this that Naoto now recalled.

“How trivial,” Naoto muttered. “Kill Ōmura and that makes nine. Ha… The world’s full of strange trades, I tell you.”

“This isn’t a joke!” Kojirō snapped, his flattened nose twitching like a hound’s. “What mad talk is this? Their personal guards number thirty at minimum! Swordsmanship aside, they’ve got firearms—ranged weapons! If they catch wind of us, there’ll be no room for error! Do we storm in now? Or wait?”

“Steady,” Naoto drawled, still fiddling with pebbles. “When Naoto Koujiro marks a man for death, that man’s already dead. No need for such haste—Kanemaru.”

“Huh?”

“What’s this ‘huh’? It’s still too early to play at being townsfolk. You ever gamble with hanafuda?”

“I have, but—”

“Know why they call twenty monks ‘widow-killers’?”

“Not at all—”

“Don’t you know? A man who presumes to cut people down can’t be lacking even that much learning. Monks seduce parishioners’ widows—hence ‘widow-killer’—Ah ha ha…. I once tried to woo that widow when I was sixteen, but since then, I’ve never once taken initiative on my own. Supposedly for the good of the nation, I suppose—not that I’d know. Even though I don’t hate them or even want to kill them, when you really think about it, it’s a strange business—just going around cutting people down because others ask me to.”

“Nonsense! After all your grand talk—have you suddenly lost your nerve now, Captain?!”

“…………”

“After coming all this way to Kyoto, if we let Ōmura’s head slip through our fingers now, we’ll have no face to show Master Dairaku!”

“…………”

“Ah, damn it, Captain!—The light on the second floor’s gone out!”

“…………”

“He may have noticed!”

While letting the urgently spoken words wash over him, Naoto kept his head bowed in silence, scuffing at the pebbles beneath his feet with clattering taps—then suddenly snickered again before slowly lifting his face to speak.

“Well then—shall we go cut him down?”
“Kojirou!”
“You’re worked up.”
“Move forward!”

Following Kojirō Ichihara’s sudden dash forward, black shadows scattered away from the wall. Afterward, Naoto lumberingly crawled into the inn’s earthen floor.

II

“Where do you think you’re going!”
“Kindly wait!”

“…………”
“Who are you here to see, sir?!”
As the inn’s maids tried to block the five strangely masked figures, the assassins clattered up the stairs without a word, their muddy shoes still on.

Afterward, clattering his geta, Naoto also lumbered up to the second floor.

Having finalized the site selection, established plans for founding a military academy alongside the arsenal, and completed drafting its blueprints, Ōmura—now relaxing with relief—had moved to a rear room overlooking the Kamo River. Just as he was about to take his first sip from the cup, poised to finally enjoy a drink...

With his nostrils flaring like a boar’s, Kojirō leaped in—and immediately the Captain bellowed a thunderous challenge.

“Quack doctor! Straighten up!”

However, quack doctor though he was, this physician was no ordinary one.
This was no ordinary quack doctor, but one of astonishing audacity—a man who had rushed breathlessly through battlefields from the Suppression of the Shōgitai to the Aizu Campaign.

“So they’ve come… How many…”

Glancing back briefly, Masujirō drained the cup he’d been sipping from in hearty gulps before quietly drawing the sword at his side.

Their mettle occupied different orders of magnitude.
Pressured, Kojirō faltered—

“Move!”
“A footsoldier like you couldn’t touch me.”
“I’ll handle this!”

Pushing through, Naoto lumbered forward still wearing his geta, then bared his teeth in a yellowed snarl and said.

“Any last words?”

“There is.—Let me hear them.”
“What name may I ask?”

“Naoto Koujiro.”

“What?!”
“So that’s it!”
“Naoto!”
“So you were hired after all!”

Hearing this—perhaps having realized “This bastard!”—as Ōmura tried to seize his sword and rise, Naoto’s blade flashed out in a swift draw-strike.

Though he had expected perfection—this blade that had felled eight men without fail—it swayed inexplicably through empty air.

Yet the second strike found its mark.
Slicing clean into the raised right knee, the steel sent Masujirō staggering forward in collapse.

As if signaled by this, clattering, clamorous footsteps rushed up the ladder stairs.

“Ah! Captain! Guards! The guns are here!”

It seemed the emergency had been signaled, for Masujirō’s retainers came rushing up with their gun muzzles aligned but tangled like ropes.

“They’re here! That bastard’s a real problem! Get out now!”

He had no time to deliver the third finishing strike.
With a crash, they kicked down the shoji screens in unison, and the five men scrambled to outpace each other as they fled along the back roof.

They gave chase, and crack-crack—gunshots rang out.

At the same moment, a black shadow came tumbling down to the riverbank—and before one could even process the sight, another shadow pitched forward.

There was no way to tell who fled where or who had been struck down.
Eerie gunfire echoed across the riverbank’s darkness for a time, aimed at the shadows desperately fleeing through it—but when at last those shadows seemed to vanish, the gunfire too ceased abruptly, leaving the surroundings hushed as if severed by a blade.

III

How much time had passed?—From that moment on, the riverbank fell utterly silent, not even the faintest ripple disturbing the water’s surface.

Though the fleeing shadows had presumably gone far—or so it seemed—a sudden splash broke through from within the swamp-like darkness, followed by a lingering presence that seemed to survey the surroundings, until at last a deep voice welled up.

“Seems clear now.—Hey”

“…………”

“Hey! I’m talking to you!”
“Is there no one here?!”

“I’m here.”
“Are you all right now?”

“It’s safe. Get out quick.”
“Who’s there?”

“It’s Ichihara, sir.”

“Kojirou!”
“You’re soaked through too, huh.”
“Is there no one else left?”

“No, there’s one here on this side too.”

With loud splashing through the water, another black shadow drew near from beyond midstream.

It was Kanemaru Tomita.

He too had evidently been crouching motionless in the water submerged up to his neck—droplets now fell steadily from the tip of his long sword’s scabbard at his waist.

“It seems Kokubo and Risōta were taken out.”
“Just to be sure—call for them.”

“Vice-Captain!…”

“…………”

“Sekikō!… Risōta…”

They called out while searching, but not even a splash rose from anywhere.

With the gunfire, it had indeed been those two who tumbled down.

“Poor things…”
“What’s the meaning of this—Kojirou and Kanemaru being the ones to survive?”
“You’re the ones who should’ve died instead.”
“It can’t be helped. I’d at least like to cut a lock of their hair to take back—but if we go lumbering out now, it’s still dicey.”
“Anyway—retreat to Kurayami’s nest.”

Koujiro—who had taken point along the riverbank—suddenly cried out and pitched forward.

“Damn it! Even as I say that—I’ve been hit too!”
“Captain! Wh-wh-where... Where exactly?!”

“It’s my leg.”
“The left side’s gone numb and throbs with pain!”
“Check it!”

In his frenzy, he hadn’t noticed—but it seemed he’d taken a bullet while fleeing across the rooftops—blood now oozed steadily from his left heel.

However, there was no time to tend to it.

The town that had fallen utterly silent suddenly—as if remembering itself—erupted into a clamorous stir from every quarter, and in the blink of an eye, an eerie chorus of voices surged forth.

No sooner had this registered than innumerable lantern lights flickered into view—swaying, vanishing, reappearing—guarded by clusters of five or six shadowy figures each as they emerged here and there along the banks.

Having received reinforcements from the Kyoto garrison, it seemed they had launched a full-scale search.

“It’s dangerous! Lean on my shoulder! With these Anbai search parties, they’ve probably spread through the entire city. Get moving—now!”

“Are you quite all right?”

“It hurts, but we’ll keep running as far as we can. Head that way!”

Enduring the pain, Koujiro clung to both men’s shoulders and crawled north along the riverbank.

From Nijō Riverbank, if one climbed to the opposite shore, there were immediately two places to hide. They were two places: that hut renowned as Hiden’s outcast hut, and the Satsuma Residence. Of course, if they could have hidden in the Satsuma Residence, it would have been an impregnable fortress; but even rushing into that hut in Hiden—which was said to be perpetually packed with one hundred fifty to nearly two hundred outcasts—still made for a robust temporary refuge.

“Search the bank!”
“Any lights visible?!”

“…………”

“How’s it look?
Anyone lying in wait?!”

“No—it’s clear. No sign of anyone.”

“Alright—up you go!”

They had thought there was no one—yet those who had extinguished their lights were crouching motionless.
Toward the three who had abruptly shown their faces,

“Who goes there?”

A sharp challenge rang out.
But they didn’t let him finish.
Both Tomita and Kojirō had been itching to strike.

With a swish, blue light flashed from both sides.

That proved their mistake.

They’d thought there was only one guard, but another had been crouching nearby.
In that instant, the shadow broke into a stampeding run, blaring a shrill whistle while sprinting.

Simultaneously from all quarters of town came footsteps like fluttering wings drawing near.

“Get into the hut! That black building on your left—the outcast hut! Hide there!”

Enduring foot pain like grinding through bone with a drill bit, Koujiro drove his two men onward before plunging headlong into what should have been their refuge.

Yet, for some reason, that hut stood utterly empty. Though it was said that nearly two hundred outcasts usually swarmed there, not a single human shadow—let alone a lamplight—could be seen.

Meanwhile, the search party’s footsteps scattered flickering lantern lights into the distant darkness as they clattered closer, seeking the sound of whistles.

“What rotten luck!”
“We’d never make it to the Satsuma Residence.”
“Isn’t there somewhere we can hide?!”

In their frantic search, the eyes of the three men came to rest—quite unexpectedly—on a wooden gate across the road.
The wooden gate stood gaping open, as though silently urging, "Crawl in here."

They had no time to discern what manner of house this was or who might dwell within. Like startled hares, the three flew from the hut and rushed into that wooden gate.

From what seemed to be a small tatami room deep within, a faint light filtered through. The three men were frantic. Like moths drawn to flame, they plunged headlong toward that light.

Yet at that very moment, Kojirō froze in his tracks.
Kanemaru froze too.
Naoto, who had rushed in last, gasped and froze in place.

Indeed, it appeared to be someone’s mistress residence, for beneath that lamplight sat a strikingly beautiful woman who seemed freshly emerged from her bath. With only a single thin underrobe draped over her shoulders, she sat with one slender knee raised, diligently applying her makeup.

As she turned, the woman’s sharp eyes glared fiercely at the three men.—In that instant, Kojirō rubbed his hands together like a grasshopper and spoke.

“We’re being chased! Hide us!”

There was no weighing right or wrong. Without hesitation, they leapt up into the tatami room and searched about until spotting the well’s rope bucket hanging in the dark earthen kitchen beyond. Competing against one another, Kanemaru dashed over, grabbed the ropes on either side, and slid down into the well to conceal himself.

Following after, Naoto searched about in confusion but found nowhere left to hide.

The only thing that caught his eye was the bed beyond the folding screen in the adjacent room.

“They disappeared around here.”

“This house reeks!”

“Get in! Get in!”

The voices outside carried an air of imminent intrusion.

Naoto rushed into the adjacent room as if driven.
—However, at that very moment, his legs froze involuntarily.

The bed was indeed a bed, but within its plush bedding, two pillows peeked out side by side as if proclaiming, "The master’s coming—we’ve been waiting!"

As he hesitated and fumbled about, suddenly the woman snickered and pressed in.

"Hopeless men."
"You mustn't cause me such trouble again."
"—Off to bed with you now."

She said this in an unexpectedly coquettish voice, then—as if suddenly remembering—scattered handfuls of face powder over the blood droplets spattered across the tatami room. Still clad only in her underrobe, she plopped down at Naoto's bedside and with exaggerated impatience ran her pale arm through her hair.

It was a close call.

As the search party came clattering in, they all began shouting abuses.

“They’re here!”

“Three here!”

“Did you hide something?”

“Search the house!”

No sooner had fierce eyes glinted beneath the voices than a man who seemed to be their leader stomped forward, glaring at the black-shaven pate in the bedding as he barked at the woman.

“Who is this?!”

The woman said nothing—

“Answer me! If you stay silent, we’ll strip you bare!”

As they laid hands to strip her bare—the woman remained calm.
Silently brushing their hands away with a faint smile in her eyes—as if saying this state of undress alone should make things clear—she seductively slid her raised knee toward Naoto's face while speaking.

“How improper.”
“The master was exhausted and has fallen fast asleep.”
“Do you want another beating?”

“Idio—”

As if slamming something down, the man barked.

It was beyond mere foolishness—there was simply no other way to put it.

"You... you damn fool! Cut this nonsense out!"

Despite the scattered face powder and the man’s incongruously half-shaven pate—details that would have raised endless suspicions if questioned—the search party members appeared overwhelmed by the woman’s bold declaration about sharing the bed. Clamoring with indistinct protests, they went rushing back outside.

At the same time, the woman’s attitude changed abruptly.

“The master will come pursuing us. If he arrives, there’ll be worse trouble than with these men. Get away quickly now!”

“Master! Master! It’s safe now. Their footsteps have faded! This is our opening. Make your escape now!”

Having crawled out of the well, Kojirō and his companion pressed him urgently.

However, Naoto—strangely enough—did not move.

“Creepy.”
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re not dead… are you?”

The woman, growing suspicious, tried to peer closer,

“How indecent! What are you doing?!”

With eyes narrowed to slits, she leapt back with a start.

As if savoring the scent that pierced his nostrils, Naoto pressed his face firmly against her pillow and grinned slyly.

“Disgusting!”
“After I risked myself to hide you, how dare you pull such vile tricks!”
“If you want that so badly, take it!”
“The master will arrive any moment!”
“Get out this instant!”

“My apologies! My apologies!”
“Ha ha...”
“Just couldn’t resist the fragrance, you see.”
“Count yourself lucky I didn’t steal more.”
“Give my regards to your master...”

Acting nonchalantly as he crawled out, Naoto left with a grin.

Four

They had successfully evaded danger.

Following the wall of the Satsuma Residence straight through to Kamiokazaki, Kōan-in Temple—which these assassins had dubbed their Kurotani nest—lay practically a stone’s throw away. It was a temple they had established as their base, having obtained a letter of introduction from Dairaku Gentarō that counted on its abbot should anything go wrong.

The abbot seemed to have vaguely grasped their purpose in coming to the capital, but whatever might be said—they had just cut someone down and fled here. Fearing their bloodstained forms might be witnessed, the three wound furtively through the temple grounds toward the inner sanctum, drawn stealthily into the back room adjacent to the memorial hall they’d rented as their den.

“Worked our bones to dust.”
“This far in, it’s our castle now.”
“Kanemaru.”
“There’s still some left, yeah?”
“Hand over that flask.”

Pulling it close as if drawing it in, Kojirō noisily gulped down mouthfuls in rapid succession.

"How about it?"
"How about you, Master?"

"……"

"Won’t you have some, Master? There’s still a good two gō left."

Yet Naoto did not so much as glance their way—limp against the wall, he listlessly clutched both knees to his chest, eyes shut tight all the while.
That face spoke not so much of conviction as of utter exhaustion with everything under the sun.

“What’s wrong? What is it? —Is your leg wound hurting?”

“………”

“Is the wound—is that wound causing you pain?”

“Settled already.”

“This is troubling. We want to treat it but have no ointment, and rousing the abbot would arouse suspicion—but there’s sake. Shall we wash the wound with this?”

“……”

“If you permit, I’ll wash it.”
“If pus forms, it’ll be troublesome.”

“Kanemaru—help.”

As if fiddling with a toy—they pulled out the leg and vigorously scraped off the caked blood and mud.

With a forceful scrape, the wound gaped open.

Into that wound, the two took turns splashing sake.—Though it should have seared like a blade, Naoto didn’t so much as grimace, his bleary eyes fixed on the wall as he kept leaning there.

He seemed to have had his mind seized by something.
Kojirō—his flattened nose wrinkling with a smirk—said:

“That’s it.—In the thick of this madness, even Master here sniffed out something wild.”
“Must’ve remembered that woman’s stink from earlier.”

“…………”

“I put her into the futon where she doesn’t let anyone but her master sleep.”
“It’s a paper-thin difference, but given how you’ve forged this karmic bond, it’s no different than adultery.”
“One good threat there, and that woman might become useful.”
“If you’re so lost in thought you can’t feel the sake burning, we might as well make it count.”
“How about we go give her a proper shove right now?”

“You fool!”

“So I was wrong?!”

“…………”
“There’s something fishy about that face of yours.”
“Don’t tell me that woman’s propped-up knee is flashing before your eyes?”

Without paying any heed, Naoto kept his eyes shut, but suddenly sat up and—with a sneer—spoke mockingly.

“Seems I’ve let the hoop slip a bit.”

“What hoop?”

“The hoop of resolve.—Ōmura Masujirō definitely didn’t die.”

As if startled, Kojirō and the others sharpened their gaze.
In truth, the two had also noticed it.

“I’m the one who targeted eight and finished all eight with a single strike.”
“—Right? Isn’t that so?”

Naoto’s face turned ashen, as though redrawn.

"But for the ninth—Ōmura—it took two strikes."
"And those two strikes missed the vitals and went into his knee."
"The problem lies in that first strike that went wide."
“Eight men I’ve cut down—eight men all cleanly finished with a single strike of mine that never once wavered. So why did that blade go wide into empty air back then? What do you lot make of that?”

“……”

“A knot in a man’s heart—now that’s a truly frightening thing.”
Being asked to kill over and over—how absurd—that thought which flashed through me before breaking in was what made my hand go wild.

—Naoto Koujiro was already in decline.
“When I said the hoop had loosened—that’s what I meant.”

“Then why don’t you just stop thinking such worthless thoughts and start cutting people down?”

“Even if you say ‘Then do it already,’ if I could make myself think that way, there’d be no problem—but I can’t.”
“You lot—think it through properly.”
“In Chōshū, three men—asked by that lunatic Yamagata Kyōsuke—cut down those old guard bastards.”
“What do you think that Yamagata Kyōsuke has become now?”
“Isn’t he His Excellency of the Army and High Steward, whipping horses’ rears now?”
“I was asked to take out two more for Itō Shunsuke—and that Itō’s over there puffing himself up about maybe becoming some Governor-sama or not.”
“Three more were incited by Katsura Kogorō—and who do you think that Kogorō is?”
“His Lordship Kido Takayoshi, councilor and marquis, ain’t he putting on airs like he single-handedly crafted this new regime?—And here I am, who cut down folks to make those bastards rise, still stuck in this caterpillar-like killing trade.”

“No! That’s not true! Captain! You keep calling it absurd, absurd—but those eight we killed, we killed them for the nation’s sake, didn’t we!”

“Didn’t we, didn’t we—well I killed eight too, but this ‘nation’ business? To me it’s like stepping on wind in a dream—no stench, no sound, not a whisper of it. Heh… What nonsense.”
“Just once! Without being asked, hating them proper—me raging, hating this very me down to my core—I want to cut someone down just once!”

“Then just kill them!”

His ashen face blazed, eyes slitting upward.

"Fine then!"

"By all means! When Master here's the one who's made a name as a killer, who cares who gets cut down?"

"………"

While glaring fiercely and staring intently at the two men’s faces, he abruptly flopped down and spat out his words.

“The times have changed, damn it all! Back when I killed without hatred, they praised me for saying I’d killed—but now even if I kill out of hatred, it’s me—the killer—who’ll become a wanted man across the land. —Do whatever you please. I’m sleeping. You lot do as you damn well like.”

“No!”
“Master!”
“If you sleep without treating it, the wound will fester!”
“At least let me wrap something around it.”
“You mustn’t sleep like that!”

“Shut up! Don’t touch me!—If it rots, then let it rot…”

He pushed them away and lay down, staring as if at some distant point—eyes wide open and unblinking—without moving a muscle.

V

After that, even when four days had passed—even five—Naoto did not rise.

Whenever they thought him asleep and peeked in, his eyes would be wide open and unblinking, barely touching his meals.
Gradually, Kojirō and his companion began seething with edgy impatience.

"What should we do... Captain?"

“……”

"If we flee Tokyoward then flee—if retreat west then retreat—unless you damn well decide quick, our guts'll turn to water."

“Set things up however you damn well please.”

“Even if you say it’s fine, Captain—until you somehow resolve your determination, the two of us can’t do a damn thing about it, can we? We swore to share both life and death—even down to the last grain of yam—didn’t we? Could it be you’re just lying around because that leg wound’s gone bad?”

“Who knows.”
“This won’t move either…”

“Even if you say it won’t move, sir—it’s not like we can lie here for three or five years. If we can escape, then let’s escape; if not, then let’s face that too—we want to settle on a clear-cut resolve! What on earth do you intend to do, sir?”

“Regrettably—as for intentions, at present I have none whatsoever.”
“Plan whatever damn plans you want—go right ahead.”

His tone suggested he’d abandoned everything—sunken eyes staring wide and unblinking, not so much as a flicker of a smile.

The two men festered.

While making bitter faces and whispering between themselves, Kojirō resolutely rose to his feet and pressed Kanemaru to speak.

“If we’re caught, we’ll face it when it comes.”
“Let’s go reconnoiter!”

“The situation in the city?!”

“That’s right. Even if we cower here, daylight won’t last. If we can escape, it’s wisest to flee immediately—let’s split up and investigate. I’ll check Ōmura’s lodgings and sniff out the city’s mood. You scout the security at West Gate, East Gate, South Gate, and along the highway.”

“Right then. Let’s move out! —Understood? Captain. Since you told us to plan as we please, we’ll scout things out and act accordingly. Don’t you dare throw a fit about it later.”

Having declared their intent, the two men ventured audaciously into the city despite the lingering daylight heightening their peril.

Yet Naoto uttered neither assent nor dissent.
As though engaged in ascetic training to attain idiocy, he remained fixedly staring at one spot without so much as shifting his posture.

Unbeknownst to them, the once-high sun had fallen, and a pale dusk began to creep in.
At the same moment, soft footsteps drew near.

Kojirō had returned.

Peering in, Kojirō said with a triumphant look.

“Don’t worry, Master. Ōmura will die.”

“Is he going to die now? Or is he already dying?”

“They missed the vital spot—but the wound’s deeper than expected. Eight or nine chances in ten he’ll die. Shouldn’t that please you?”

“Hmph…”

“Don’t just ‘hmph’ me. Does it displease you that Ōmura’s dying?”

“Doesn’t matter—for better or worse, I’m Naoto Koujiro, the master assassin who carved his name.”
“If we’d finished him proper as our reputation demands, that’d be worth crowing about. But him maybe croaking now? Nothing to cheer there.”

“Then you should’ve just cut him quiet back then.”
“Even if Ōmura lives, as long as they don’t sniff out who did it, no shame sticks to you, Master.”

“What drivel’s this?”

“I’m talking about how when you sliced Masujirō, you bellowed ‘Naoto Koujiro!’ like some showman.”
“All because you had to announce yourself—they know the killer’s name! Warrants circulating! Our whole faction exposed! In the city now, even knee-high brats gossip about us like we’re maggots!”

“Idiot! Announcing my name when I struck him—what’s lacking in that? It’s precisely because I was commissioned to kill him that I made clear my origins and intentions when I struck! When I cut someone down out of true hatred, I don’t spout all that nonsense. I’ll cut them down without a word.”

The clang-clang of ominous horse bells interrupted their arguing voices, faintly carrying over from beyond the temple grounds. As they turned suspiciously, Kanemaru came barreling into view with urgent momentum.

“The path’s clear! Master, ready yourself to depart at once! —Kojirō, you too! Make haste!”

“Can we escape?!”

“We’ll slip through! The Tōkaidō route. By some error, a curious rumor’s spread—they say a man matching your description fled down the Tōkaidō from Kameyamaguchi last night with two comrades. Thus they’ve relaxed the coastal checkpoint’s guard. This is our opening. We’ll trail close behind the pursuers and enter Tokyo undetected. No complaints now—you agreed to this. Judging the journey too arduous for walking, I’ve discreetly procured post-horses. Mount up this instant!”

There was no time for objections. Rushing up as if prodded and swiftly gathering his belongings, Kanemaru—acting on his own initiative—lifted Naoto’s body.

However, at that same moment, both Kojirō and Kanemaru involuntarily cried out in shock.

Over five days, the bullet wound in his heel had thoroughly festered.

What’s more, it had become entirely coated with pus and swollen into a painfully red mass that looked excruciating at a glance.

“That’s why I kept telling you to tend to it properly,”
“Letting it rot this long—I’m appalled.”
“Does it hurt?”

“You can’t withstand that swelling.”
“Can you endure it?”

“Our pact was no complaints.”
“No complaints.”
“Deal with it as you please...”

He resembled a man stripped of volition.

One would have thought it must have been unbearably painful, yet Naoto remained still in Kanemaru and the others' arms, not moving a muscle.

Six

Damply deepening into dusk, the September autumn evening in Kyoto was profoundly lonesome.

Threading through the twilight’s deepening gloom, the fugitives slipped out of Kyoto as if gliding, muffling the clang, clang of their bells.

Naoto did not speak a single word.
Not only did he lack will—he was like a piece of luggage that merely had breath passing through it.

If told, "You must be hungry—will you eat?" he would eat in silence.
If told, “You must be tired—shall we stay?” he would stay in silence.

Yet even so, it was strange. As the horse walked, the luggage on its back seemed to walk naturally as well—on the fourth evening since fleeing Kyoto, having detoured from Minakuchi through Sekigahara and crept along hidden paths, the three fugitives finally reached Nagoya’s old castle district.

A desolate autumn rain fell intermittently at dusk.

“A shabby inn would dampen our spirits.
Find a thriving-looking one.”

“How about that third one over there?”

“Indeed, that’s a proper establishment.
Since it’s troublesome, let’s change horses here.
From tomorrow we’ll use palanquins.
We must switch conveyances frequently or they’ll catch our trail in no time—that inn there.
Master.
We’re lodging here.”
“Hey, inn workers! We’ve got an invalid here!
Lend a hand!”

Entrusting everything to them, Naoto was silently carried into the inn they had chosen, exactly as the two directed.

“What shall we do.”
“Master.”
“Will you take dinner right away?”

“Or perhaps—since we just need to avoid soaking your wound—would you like to take your first proper bath in ages?”

Throughout the journey, he hadn’t so much as made a pained face, but tonight alone, he could no longer endure.

It hurts. I want to sleep…

Without uttering a word yet evidently throbbing with pain, he lay limply on his side while furrowing his brows in agony.

Immediately, thick nighttime bedding was brought in.

However, no sooner had he lain down than—
as if suddenly detecting a long-forgotten scent—he fixed his gaze while sniffing repeatedly, when abruptly Naoto’s sunken eyes, which had lain powerless moments before, began to gleam ominously.

It had reached him.
That scent—the woman’s scent—the skin’s scent he had unexpectedly caught while fleeing and hiding that night, the hair’s fragrance, the lingering perfume of a woman—whether from the pillow or the night robe’s collar—had faintly wafted over.

“Kojirou!”

“Yes…”

Naoto sat up abruptly, laughing pallidly as he suddenly declared:
“Shall we buy geisha?”

“Huh? …Geisha!”
“What’s gotten into you all of a sudden…?”

“Doesn’t matter.”
“’Cause I want to buy some, so I’m buying them.”

“In your ailing condition, Captain—do you mean to acquire courtesans?”

“I won’t get ’em myself—’cause even if I wanted to, I can’t get ’em. So I’ll have you all buy ’em, let ’em make a ruckus by this pillow, and pretend I bought ’em myself. Got a problem with that?”

“Heh.
“See, this is why—our Captain here can be difficult and intimidating at times, but we just can’t bring ourselves to ditch him.—You hearing this?”
“Kanemaru.”
“This situation’s blowing up!”
“While His Lordship’s orders still hold—call ’em, call ’em now!”

“Understood.”
“How many shall we summon?”

“Since His Lordship says I can’t get any myself, the two of us’ll have to make do.—Innkeeper!”
“Innkeeper!”

Suddenly, the gathering came alive.

Sake arrived.
The lights multiplied.

Trays were brought in.
As the very colors seemed transformed, glowing brightly, two pale faces soundlessly slid into the scene.

“Well, well. Look at these beauties!”
“Beauties!”

“For Nagoya, this is quite something.”

“The one over there on the futon playing enko—that’s our lord.”
“His Lordship’s bored sick in bed—summoned geisha and orders you lot to raise hell by his pillow.”
“None o’ that formal crap.”
“Drink up! Sing out!”

“…………”

“How’s this?”
“Master.”
“The view’s improved, hasn’t it?”
“I’ll drink!”

“Mmm... mmm...”

“Has your mood lightened some?”

“Mmm... mmm...”

“My deepest apologies.”
“Women, liquor, sweet talkers—the Captain never falls behind others in such things—but with that ailing body of yours now, you’d hardly keep up.”
“Utterly pitiful—swarming like a beehive—it’s been ages since I drank, so Kanemaru’s drunk now—hey, you women!”
“Sing something!”

“…………”

“They won’t sing.”
“Then strum something lively—jangling and clanging away!”

“…………”

“Hey.
“The sound’s starting up now—come on, lively, lively! Strum strum clang!”
“So we’ll drink in his place, make merry in his place—so our lord can feel like he’s bought himself some geisha, see?”
“You all need to get into the spirit and strum away even louder!”
“That’s it—"
“That’s it—keep that racket going!”

Here in the heart of Nagoya.

Had they gone on about all they lacked—

The Captain lay ill and womanless.
Kanemaru’s speech slurred.
“Clang-clatter-clang! Clatter-clang!”
As excitement peaked，the restraints began slipping loose.

“How’s this? Captain! Kanemaru has become thoroughly drunk—I’ll dance!”

Kanemaru staggered to his feet—suddenly—then lurched this way and that, swaying unsteadily as he began a bizarre dance that was neither proper dancing nor swordplay.

“Swish-swish! Whistle-whistle-whistle!”

’Tis the prevailing Assassination Ballad of our times!

Robes cling to arms; hairy shins turn slick.

What stains these sodden sleeves?

Behold—Kii Province’s Honnō-ji!

How many shaku deep runs its moat?

If I strike you not down, my self cannot stand!

Will you stand? Will you strike?—Hah!
Slash!
Ahaha….

“No more.”
“Captain.”
“I’d like to perform a song with this courtesan.”
“Fine then.”
“Come here.”
“Woman.”
“Let’s head to that room over there!”

He collapsed against her, wrapped his hands around her neck, and yanked hard.

Kojirō also came around.

“There you are.”
“Now, now—you mustn’t get angry about that.”
“Captain.”

“Go on, go on, Kanemaru—there must be another room.”
“Come!”
“Woman!”

As they tried to stand up and stagger forward, Naoto’s temple pulsed blue where he watched motionlessly.

In an instant, his eyes hardened.

At the same time, his hand crept slowly toward the weapon at his knee.

He grew furious.
Hatred surged within him.

There was no logic.
There was no reason.
The brazen conduct of those two men—who, exploiting their inability to walk, now flaunted their pursuit of pleasure—made his hatred flare up.

“Stop!”

“Wh-what’s this?!
What’s happened?!”

To the faces of the two men—turned in shock and suspicion—fierce eyes flew.

“You fools! What’re you doing to me?! You showing off?! Trying to make me jealous?! Come at me then!”

“Th-th-that’s insane! Didn’t you tell us to get geishas right before your eyes, right by your bedside?! We did exactly as you ordered! What’s wrong with that?”

“Shut your mouth! Even so, there’s a line! Line up, all of you!”

“Y-you’re… going to cut us down?! You’re going to cut down your comrades? Your companions? Your own subordinates who’ve shared your hardships?!”

“Comrades? Don’t make me laugh!”
“If I get angry, I’ll cut down anyone.”
“If I detest them, I’ll cut down every last one—come along!”
“You fools!”

A blue light flashed sideways—and in the same instant, blood gushed forth from the backs of Kojirō and the other man.

Still clutching the bloodied sword, Naoto staggered out into the drizzling rain.

As if lying in wait, scattered shadows lunged.

“Naoto Koujiro! Bind him!”

However, Naoto no longer ran.
As if reveling in the joy of having slain in true fury, he staggered into that black crowd where death awaited.

On November 5th of late autumn, Masujirō Ōmura met his end from the wound inflicted by Naoto.

Naoto, now captured, saw genuine pleas for clemency arise from Saigō Takamori and his allies—yet in cruel irony, fell victim to Yamagata Kyōsuke’s hardliners advocating execution, and soon mounted the firing squad platform.