Pathway to Japanese Literature

Part One

“When it comes to prisons, many people immediately assume they are no place for good folk.” “Admittedly, if one were to exclude the small number of political offenders and those imprisoned under one or two statutes, then it is undoubtedly true that prisons remain no place for pure and blameless individuals to go.” “Then what of these so-called blameless individuals outside prison walls? Though they may remain ignorant of past and future sins, can we truly claim that in the present moment, they are all pure and innocent? Far from it.” “Among them there was the famous Flower Tampering Incident involving judges, and there was also the bribery scandal involving legislators.” “Though the revealed facts are few, similar deeds may currently be occurring in great numbers.” “No—they are indeed being carried out.” “To begin by taking examples from more familiar realms, there exist monstrous beings who scatter paltry sums of money about, greedily seizing exorbitant fees and interest rates as they suck the very lifeblood from the poor.” “Yet these are not criminals of sufficient worth to merit condemnation.” “But beyond those, there exist even greater criminals—those who idly occupy their posts, greedily devouring titles and stipends while beneath the guise of official privilege, they perpetrate all manner of improprieties.” “But above even these, there exist still higher ranks.” “Traitors who sell their nation, traitors who sell morality, traitors who sell religion—are these not the most unforgivable villains among all traitors?” “Yet when it comes to these grand traitors, they never commit such foolishness as becoming entangled in the openly cast web of law and crawling into that small box called prison.” “They parade about shameless before heaven and earth—nay, rather, as society's favored sons and decorated lords, they are welcomed with reverence, defiling these fair mountains and rivers of our divine land while strutting across this vast globe as if it were too cramped for their grandeur!” “Therefore, throughout heaven and earth, there exists no place one may go where criminals are absent.” “In other words, this mundane world—filled with detainees—may well be called one vast prison.” “It is merely that among them, those who are shallow in thought, lacking in wisdom, and clumsy in action are the ones cast into man-made prisons.” “Then to view prisons as nothing but dens of criminals—is this not a grave shortsightedness?” “Therefore, this humble one cannot bear to apprehend these petty—nay, foolish—truly pitiable individuals and brand them as criminals.”

And indeed, true to his profession, the one who was delivering such fiery rhetoric in the visitors' waiting room of Ichigaya Prison was none other than the Honorable Lawyer Igai Benzō—recently transferred from a certain prefecture to Tokyo. In rural districts he could not speak to their customs, but in Tokyo this was hardly novel oratory—yet given the prison waiting room setting where all gathered souls bore some connection to incarceration, even those who considered it mere bombast found themselves bowing their heads in earnest agreement. How much more profoundly affected were the country fathers wrapped in red travel blankets—honest folk compelled by their sons' misdeeds to venture into such intimidating quarters! All gasped in awe, gazing up anew at the Honorable Lawyer's countenance while whispering to companions, "What manner of man is this?" Amid this resounding success, Mr. Igai's posture grew ever more theatrical, heedless of two or three wry smirks at his side. In that instant, he recalled past political speeches that had stirred uproarious applause in his home province, and with a resonant "Ahem!" quelled the clamor,

“Moreover, is this not the visitors' waiting room?” “As for those confined—well and good—but what crime, pray tell, does the visitor himself bear?” “Is this not indeed what society deems blameless individuals—nay, one of the very pillars of public virtue?” “Were this the benighted age when they exterminated three generations for a crime—well and good—but in this enlightened era, to make even visitors wait in a building so filthy, so chaotic, so utterly inhospitable as if they too were criminals—is this not a blemish upon our age?” “Nay, particularly when among them are those like ourselves who attend here in fulfillment of our honorable official duties—is this not so?”

And yet—though he had clearly intended to declare this outright—the fact that this most admirable gentleman blunted his verbal blade at the final clause, mumbling indistinctly through clenched teeth, spoke volumes indeed. However, though the honorable lawyer had been watching with evident displeasure as such frequent exclamations of admiration inevitably led to digressive chatter of "But that's not our concern," he now suddenly discovered in the boy waiting at his side—whose very brow overflowed with such profound sympathy—a most promising youth.

“You’re a face I always see here—what matter brings you?” “To come so frequently out of admiration—remarkable.”

The boy who had been addressed as "you" appeared to be fifteen or sixteen years old; being small in stature, he looked no older than seven. With his sun-darkened face and black cotton haori, though his attire was coarse, he carried an air of unassailable dignity; his piercing gaze seemed to transfix those it fell upon. The lawyer glared piercingly down at the front of his face. “Ah, it’s that my father is here.” “Hmm, unconvicted or convicted?” "There’s no other way to put it but ‘convicted,’ since the final judgment was handed down yesterday." “What of it?”

The Honorable Lawyer welcomed the boy’s oddly confrontational demeanor with a smile. “Hmm, I see. That was unfortunate.” “What exact criminal charge was he convicted of?” The boy opened his mouth—not so much to answer Igai as compelled by his own welling emotions—the words escaping him unbidden. “Th-that’s where they’ve got it all wrong.” “The entire amount was indeed entrusted funds, but he had been granted the privilege of using them by their owner.” “Therefore, even if he had indeed misappropriated [the funds], it should have been subject to civil sanctions—but that man, acting with ulterior motives, suddenly brought charges before the preliminary court.” “Since they had long been on familiar terms, Father saw no need to obtain a written agreement as proof of their arrangement.” “In the end, they charged him with that disgraceful crime of misappropriation of entrusted property—a most regrettable outcome it has resulted in.” “They’ve truly falsely accused him, handed down an unjust verdict—he’s fallen victim to a splendid false charge!”

Seething with indignation and clenching his arm, he had unwittingly raised his voice; but upon exchanging glances with a guard standing nearby, he fell silent. The Honorable Lawyer deliberately brushed the ash from his cigarette, "Hmm, I see. Misappropriation of Entrusted Property? Ah yes, a common enough case." His tone had turned somewhat cold, yet his reason would not permit him to remain silent without reiterating his earlier brilliant arguments. "Now, now, there's no need to get so angry." "It's a minor offense—he'll be out soon enough." "Even if we consider the maximum sentence, it's still a known quantity."

The boy burst out angrily and looked up at the lawyer’s face, "Three years—for that man, it may not seem long." "But between a single day's Crime of Indecency and ten years' political crime—which would you choose?" "My father was at the very least a man elected vice-chairman of the prefectural assembly in his hometown—one who had served as secretary of a local political party." "He was a legislator in the early House of Representatives who represented part of the citizenry. Moreover, my family is a centuries-old established house known throughout neighboring prefectures." "That man—master of that house—being made to spend three years hence within prison walls under the name of Crime of Indecency: would you call those days brief? Would you call this offense minor for my father?" "My father's life and mine have been utterly entombed by this." "An indelible stain has been cast upon our honorable lineage." "And yet you still call this trivial? Hah!"

Moved by the boy's bone-rattling intensity and muscles taut with passion, the lawyer showed a degree of respect, his words now measured and polite. “Ah—I misspoke. You’re absolutely right.” “Though I presume you’ve filed for a retrial?” “Of course we did! Twice we appealed—wasting two years in that detention cell before today’s final verdict.” “I see.” “The current judges are utterly blind.” “They see no evidence beyond ink on paper.” “That’s why I’m determined to master the law—to rescue innocent countrymen from this injustice.” “How long... how long does becoming a lawyer take?”

“There’s nothing particularly troublesome about it—four or five years should suffice.” “Now then, where exactly is your hometown? The Tohoku region? Or perhaps Southwest?” “It’s Tohoku.” “Then would that be Miyagi or Fukushima Prefecture?” “Well, roughly that area.” Just then, as the guard’s voice barked—“Visitor for Ōmura Kōsaku: Ōmura Ichirō!”—in a tone verging on derision, the boy clicked his tongue sharply, offered a curt nod to the lawyer, and stormed out with resolute purpose.

After the boy left, the Honorable Lawyer mused to himself. "Hmm, Ōmura Kōsaku, was it? Ah yes, I had forgotten. That's right—that's the one. When that boy was in the country, he was seven or eight years old—so he shouldn't remember my face. He's an admirably principled fellow—I must ask him about it next time we meet. Since I've been considerably indebted to the Ōmuras."

Part Two

Adjoined to a funeral supply shop in Kanda's Kamakura Riverbank district stood the equally white-painted signboard of Igai Benzō's law office—affiliated with Tokyo District Court—its name neither fully concealed across the capital nor entirely prominent, recognized more through greengrocers' timely payments than rice or sake merchants' credit pleas, yet frequented enough by litigants to make one marvel at Tokyo's conveniences. The mistress, thoroughly steeped in Tokyo's virtues through her provincial-accented speech and carriage—now somewhat shed of rural coarseness—felt her social standing faintly elevated. Unaware of sharp-tongued San's bathhouse whispers that "her country pride still showed through like a single unbleached bolt," the mistress trusted San as her chief confidante. She reveled in renewed accounts of her husband's triumphs—his recent five-thousand-yen lawsuit victory hinting at ten-thousand-yen cases to come—treating her ears to festive delights. That she refrained from double-layered arrogance San chalked up to ingrained rural humility—a service flaw yet employment advantage. Had the mistress known servants appraised their masters' worth behind closed doors, she might have shuddered at Tokyo's ruthlessness through this lone revelation. Yet her blissful ignorance preserved that lingering provincial scent—a merciful providence indeed.

Therefore, from the entryway attendant above to the kitchen staff below, proper service should not have been difficult to perform if properly executed. What a vexation—this Ōmura Ichirō, one of the live-in students, an uncouth fellow. This alone somehow failed to meet the mistress's approval; San found it utterly laughable that he had again incurred a reprimand. "If you'd simply let the mistress maintain her airs, she'd stay agreeable—but since you keep opposing her, you're only harming yourself," she said. "You may wield your tongue more deftly than your hands, but that's precisely what sustains this household," San imparted these complete teachings of military stratagems without expecting tuition—yet Ichirō neither expressed gratitude nor bowed in acknowledgment. "That is women's work—the likes of me can neither perform such tasks nor have any intention to do so," he retorted. "If my true nature displeases you, then so be it—I won't take orders from your sort," he declared with mulish obstinacy, brushing her off—a response that grated on her nerves intensely. Abandoning direct confrontation, the mistress instead disparaged Ichirō at every turn—this too she counted among San's loyal services—yet remained as indifferent as ever to adjusting even a collar's fold. Through it all, San bitterly resented being the sole true Edokko amidst such provincial sensibilities.

The mistress had just seen Master off at the entrance. As for the study's cleaning—this alone she did not entrust to the housemaid's hands—Her Ladyship deigned to tidy what had become her own charge. As if bearing the air of one who had completed some grand task, she plopped down beside the brazier in the middle room. "Ah, how weary I am," Her Ladyship murmured as she took up her long pipe. This manner of conduct still seemed not to suit her quite yet.

Noticing San had arrived, Her Ladyship watched with approval as the maid—who until moments before had been taking a breather in the scullery—suddenly sprang up to busy herself by the sink in a flurry of activity.

“You should rest a bit too—since he went to Yokohama today, he likely won’t return before evening.” “Since lunch won’t be needed, you may rest easy.” San vigorously wiped her freshly wetted hands. “Oh, is that so? That explains why you left earlier than usual, I thought. Well then, with the master away today, shall I do the laundry or such?” “Ah, I do want you to handle it eventually, but I suppose it can wait a little longer.” “Since the weather’s so unreliable.”

While saying this, Her Ladyship looked toward the garden, her gaze alighting upon the Master’s desk.

“Oh! Right—I’d forgotten completely! He did say to have the mail dispatched.” “Is Ōmura here?” “Yes—how might I... just a moment.”

She stood up and called “Mr. Ōmura! Mr. Ōmura!” while sliding open the entryway’s fusuma panel, “Oh dear—he’s gone off somewhere again.” “He’s not present at all.” “He’s always like this—you know how he is.” With this, San wore an expression calculated to provoke Her Ladyship’s displeasure. “So—he’s slipped out silent again?” “I truly don’t know what to do with that Ōmura.” “I expressly told him—‘No one will be here today’—gave clear instructions—yet he’s gone out without permission?” “It’s insufferable—no matter how ill-mannered one might be—there’s simply no man as impossible as him!”

Her Ladyship seemed to have completely forgotten about the mail because of Ōmura. San plopped her ample hips down heavily at the threshold.

“Indeed it is so—he truly is a most disagreeable person. If I may speak before you, madam, he orders us about this way and that—he acts even more high-and-mighty than Master himself! No matter which household you look at, there’s never been a student like that—not in any respectable establishment. I too have served in many residences with live-in students, but someone like Mr. Ōmura is a first for me. That’s precisely why when I first came to serve at this household, I assumed there might be a young master from your esteemed relatives in residence—but to have an ordinary student behaving like that… how could such conduct ever be tolerated?”

“Oh absolutely, absolutely! That’s precisely why I’ve always told Master so, but since he himself brought him here, he just keeps saying ‘Let him stay, let him stay!’ I’m truly at my wit’s end. What’s the point of keeping such a live-in student?” “Indeed, that’s precisely the case. He doesn’t even sweep the garden once, yet makes others tend to the very lamp he uses himself—what right has he to boast about his studies? It’s not even for Master’s affairs—he acts so self-important about being allowed to study here. But if that were all! Whenever you say anything to him, he swells up like a balloon! Madam needn’t keep such a student—there are plenty of better ones available. Why don’t you tell Master that?”

Where on earth could she imagine such a student existed? Her Ladyship tapped her pipe briskly as if this were self-evident. "It cannot be helped, no matter how much I have told him." "Oh, but why ever would that be?" Her Ladyship appeared impatient as she poked at the pipe's bowl with fire tongs. "Well you see—it's not for any particular reason—though Master has never been indebted to that boy's parents or anything of the sort—but since they were acquaintances from the same province, he cannot help but condescend to look after him."

“Well I never—does even someone like him have parents?” “Hohoho! What a foolish thing to say, San. Everyone has parents, does one not?” “But you’ve never mentioned anything about his parents either. Though of course, he’s hardly the sort of kind soul who’d share such matters with the likes of us.” “Naturally that’s how it stands—they might as well not exist.” “You don’t say! So even if they were his parents, they wouldn’t take him in?”

“What do you mean? That’s not it—his father’s in prison, you see.” “Oh my, oh my, oh my! Madam, so he’s a thief’s child! My, what a shock! That explains it!”

For a long moment, San remained stunned, caught in some manner of internal debate, before abruptly adopting a dejected tone. “Madam, I’ve done something rather foolish—my coin purse was most certainly taken by him.” “A coin purse? What about it?” “Yes, it went missing the other day.” “Hmm—when you said you bought that on the street the other day, did you show it to anyone?”

“Well, I had put a bit of small change in it, but since it hasn’t turned up at all, I can’t say for certain.” “But you—didn’t you say you’d lost that the other day?” “Well, I had resigned myself to having lost it... but hearing you say that, it does seem rather odd.” “But truly, you see, I have no recollection of ever losing it!”

This San appeared to keep careful mental record of every item she ever claimed to have lost. Her Ladyship too had finally been drawn in. “Well now, there’s no denying that.” “Think carefully—I can hardly believe it myself, but if it comes down to it, we’ll have to investigate.” “After all, his father isn’t exactly a thief, but they say he embezzled money and ended up in prison.” Just then came movement from the adjoining room. Her Ladyship called out “Who’s there?” A voice snapped back like a biting retort: “Ōmura.” Realizing it must be him, Her Ladyship fled into the inner chambers while San scrambled toward the kitchen sink—only to collide headlong with Ichirō barging in—“Aieee!” At the shout—“You fool! Open your eyes and look!”—San, wronged by both collision and undeserved scolding despite her injury, felt her resolve to resist blaze fiercer still.

Part Three

Rather than intervene in the fierce clash between Ichirō and San—alas for Her Ladyship who should have undertaken mediation—she instead allowed matters to fester. What was this? Always parading San about as her standard-bearer—and upon San’s shoulders lay Her Ladyship’s sorrow, radiant yet pitiable in its falseness. Ichirō would weep himself to sleep nightly, yet even in dreams found no respite from those venomous whispers. How dare they label me—this Ichirō—as possessing thieving instincts! Casting all else aside for this singular outrage, he kicked off his midnight bedding and rose—strength enough to uproot mountains notwithstanding—yet the wretchedness of his dependent status drained all power to argue justice before Master. "You wretched hag—just you wait," he seethed, fists clenched around azure clouds of ambition, though he knew they’d mock this as grasping at vapor. Bearing shame’s bitter dregs, he stewed in silent fury. If any trace remained of that wordless resolve—so incongruous with the tenderheartedness expected from one of such unyielding principle—San’s slander now exploited this perceived flaw mercilessly. From Rikimatsu the rickshaw puller to Oseka the scullery maid, all eyed him askance. This ceaseless indignity became unbearable—he rose to protest, only to find Madam’s symbolic clapper at his feet, its mute reproach layering frustration upon frustration until his righteous anger scattered aimlessly. Igai could not possibly be ignorant of those calumnies denouncing me so viciously! If ignorant, he proved incompetent; if knowledgeable, heartless—in either case unfit to be called teacher! Once this resentment took root, his sidelong scrutiny warped beyond reason. From the first, Igai had orchestrated events; though Ichirō believed himself unaware of the man’s designs, he now stood stripped of all respect for his mentor. Even setting aside Madam’s prior lawsuit—here lay the crux—Master awaited evidence before judgment, as befitted his profession. When Exhibits One through Three were marshaled as reference, Master’s demeanor made plain his continued disdain for Ichirō. The humiliation of defeat stung his unyielding spirit. Should even this man abandon me, what azure ambitions would ever bask in sunlight here? Were not all mountains and peaks left for my conquering? Though he might cleave through a hundred trials and brave a thousand perils—though destiny promised bold strides across the realm—this stalwart’s departure demanded witness. A worthy foe showed his back with ease—yet Ichirō, who’d slipped past Madam and San undetected, found nothing hidden from Master’s gaze. In July’s swelter where ditchwater seethed—when equilibrium fled all things—indeed, amid the clamor of fair-weather geta clacking, they expelled from that place a nineteen-year-old youth of fiery mettle.

Part Four

In Iidamachi's certain district stood a latticework residence set back from the street—its frontage measuring three ken in depth—a modest dwelling proportioned accordingly. From behind the Iyo bamboo blinds came the plucking notes of a shamisen, causing those taking an evening stroll to pause and peer in through the cool shade. On the shallow veranda hung ferns dripping with emerald freshness; alongside them, Gifu lanterns cast faint shadows in the dim light. The forty-year-old woman's crisply defined collar revealed its stark whiteness unconcealed. Somewhere in her retreating figure—through which the inevitable end of her kind seemed to show through—passersby perceived a creature too conspicuous to disregard, tilting their heads contemplatively as they passed. Across the way, neighborhood youths gathered on low stools mocked openly. Even in this summer when verdant leaves delight, to be so captivated by leaf-clad cherry trees that one pays no heed to fresh blossoms at his side—truly, what a heedless man! Would he not turn his attention to the daughter, fairer than her mother? Such pointed concern—if one possessed enough care to have even passersby inquire after the girl, then surely the true nature of mother and child would have been investigated thoroughly. Yet making a fuss over such trifles would betray a woman's life devoid of masculine resolve—scarcely lasting three days. With cooking errands and junk dealers coming for Masamune's empty bottles, their circumstances were plain given their trade; the only mystery lay in the whereabouts of the money box. Now, the whereabouts of that money box weighed on my mind. Even had they pursued it, there was nothing to be done—for even the government refrained from collecting income taxes here while demanding an end to unnecessary inquiries. Truly, the son overseeing matters was earnest.

Just then, a man approached, wrinkling his nose at the scent of cheap perfume. After settling payment upfront, his thin haori fluttering into view—the moment he slid open the lattice door and stepped inside, the notes of the shamisen abruptly ceased.

"Oh, Mr. Nakai! You've arrived at last. Do come straight up." The one who tossed the Hasshihara fan was that forty-year-old woman.

“Ah, Madam, Young Lady.”

Nakai bowed with exceeding courtesy. "Oh my, this truly is an unrelenting heat. I’ve walked here with utmost diligence, you see." Having offered this excuse, he flapped his sleeves to fan himself, then pressed a silk handkerchief—oozing affectation—against his smooth forehead. Here stood a man who appeared to make his living by ingratiating himself with widows of uncertain provenance while dabbling in sundry trades. "I’ve settled everything properly." "However, your residence enjoys excellent ventilation."

As he ostentatiously surveyed the area, the middle-aged woman acknowledged his antics with a light chuckle.

“Mr. Nakai, spare me such talk about this being a ‘residence’.” “In all honesty, our current circumstances make me blush.” “Though I suppose it technically counts as a residence…” “Not at all—you are entirely correct.” With this, he deliberately lowered his voice, striking the pose of contrived solemnity. "Truly, this is such a fleeting world. "Though I must say 'even this' would be impertinent—for us it remains a most splendid residence—though your perspective is not unreasonable." “Ah, had this been a proper world—”

At this, the middle-aged woman waved her hand dismissively.

“Oh now now—spare me those old-fashioned platitudes; you’ll have me weeping.” “Enough of that—you’ve been flourishing lately. Surely you’ve visited the Kabukiza Theatre several times by now?” “Do regale us with such tales.” “We mustn’t wallow in gloom.” “Heh heh heh—what a grave blunder! I’ve committed a most dreadful faux pas.” “My... my enthusiasm rather outpaced propriety.” “The vital matter ends up trailing behind while forbidden topics leap ahead—this too becomes tonight’s taboo, ho!”

He slapped his own forehead with his palm and, with an exaggeratedly comical gesture, shifted his knees forward. “In truth, I came bearing news slightly more favorable to your ears—though ultimately it circles back to the Kabukiza Theatre.” “Heh heh heh—if I may be so bold—might I inquire whether Madam and Young Lady have yet finalized engagements to either party?” At this favorable news, the middle-aged woman leaned forward intently, clapped her hands as if struck by sudden recollection, and abruptly ordered the maid to fetch ice and accompaniments—her pragmatic air as household mistress stood unmistakable. Nakai settled himself with an air of triumph.

“In truth, regarding that matter—it is...” “I hesitate to mention names, but there is a young lord from a certain newly ennobled family—” “Hmmmmmm...”

With this favorable reception from the very outset, Nakai grew increasingly emboldened.

“In truth, this Young Lord is an esteemed adopted son, you understand.” “As for his wife’s young mistress—she remains not merely fifteen and naive.” “Her disposition being of rather... particular inclinations, she proved quite incapable of fulfilling wifely duties—so the matter stands.” “As one would expect of a discerning lord from newly ennobled stock, his understanding came swiftly.” “His Lordship declared there should be no reserve—‘Keep someone to serve as your wife’s substitute close at hand.’” “To this frank decree, the Young Lord—being an adopted son unburdened by familial obligations—found it stated as aligning with his own wishes, yet—” “Thus matters being so arranged, the Young Lord cannot thoughtlessly summon such persons to the estate—precisely why affairs stand thus—therefore the mistress must perform not merely ornamental duties for public show, but in truth discharge all wifely obligations: managing clan relations, overseeing distributions to subordinates, and maintaining domestic order.” “His Lordship’s intentions verge on seeking a proper wife—a mere concubine would never suffice for such purposes.” “Depending on the lady’s qualities, they wish her treated not as a concubine but virtually as a proper wife—fully acknowledging this condition—I have thus been commanded to procure someone suitable, nay rather, a young lady of respectable upbringing.” “I must concede this is entirely reasonable—indeed, I too have pondered deeply how best to fulfill this request—yet once matters reach this stage, difficulties arise, for I find myself charged with what amounts to a grand mediation.” “It’s not precisely a concubinage arrangement—though styling her as a proper wife presents certain complications—hence the delicate nature.” “Heh heh heh—I assure you this absolutely does not concern your esteemed daughter.” “I merely wondered whether among your honored acquaintances there might perchance be such a person.” “Heh heh heh—this truly proves a most challenging quest.”

The middle-aged woman paid no particular heed to his repeated expressions of concern about the term 'concubine.' "So what if she's a concubine? Even concubines—" "In that case, it's practically the same as being a proper wife, isn't it?" "So what about it? What sort of financial arrangements are we talking about here?" "Well now, that's something we can settle through discussion in any case." "Given that this concerns a Young Lord from an aristocratic family—one who went abroad for study two or three years past and now bears some impressive Western-style title in katakana script beyond our humble understanding—he currently receives a most sufficient personal allowance. When combined with the official stipend his parents shall provide, I must say even supporting two or even three people in comfort lies well within their means." "In any case, without those terms we'd never reach an agreement—heh heh heh—but rest assured I'll manage that side of things."

To their mutual surprise, the conversation proceeded smoothly, and when the refreshments were laid out before them— “That’s a fine deal, isn’t it? “Here, have a drink.” “I’ll join you as well.” With that, she took a sip and passed it to Nakai. Then the two began their secret negotiations over drinks—pressing forward here, holding back there—nodding in frequent mutual agreement.

“Then depending on that reply, I shall take this daughter to the Kabukiza Theatre. And ensure there are no oversights on your end.” “I assure you this is fully understood. Though Horikoshi’s Sukeroku may be his lifetime masterpiece in that play, our Lady Agemaki here will outshine even that success—I’ll make the crowds roar with approval!” “Ohohoho, you’ve been compliant for ages. So that photo from before has finally proven useful today, you see.” “This is rather harsh criticism—though I must say, for one addressed as Madam, you do not usually employ such a forceful tone.”

“That very statement proves your boorishness.” “Even when facing the master’s countenance, we must present ourselves with unyielding earnestness from our side.” “Ah, this humble one must profusely apologize—Nakai Saisuke, not one to be outdone in such matters, has today learned his first valuable lesson.” “Ohohoho—you’re not as much a fool as you seem.” “Never mind that—just be lenient there.” “But of course—your esteemed directive goes without saying.” “Then Madam, I shall take my leave here. Tomorrow at dawn I will visit the other party, settle the date with the teahouse, and in due course pay my respects once more.” “Since he favors those of most dignified bearing, I must advise that on the appointed day, the young lady make her appearance in resplendent attire.”

Even such impertinent words were forgiven by the avaricious mother and daughter, their faces wreathed in smiles. Their manner of addressing "Lord Sōsō" had been specially tailored with unprecedented care. Even the housemaid understood their schemes, repaired geta clattering about as she worked.

What a gathering of utter fools. From a three-tatami room bent at a right angle emerged a law student—his mouse-like appearance made peculiar by an uncommonly patterned yukata stained with grime, sleeves rolled up—who plopped down heavily in the center of the main room and glared around at the innocent dishes and bowls: a guest ill-suited to this household.

Part Five

Now, as for identifying this man—the very manner of introducing Ōmura Ichirō demanded writing with utmost formality. Incidentally, an outline of his circumstances required recording herein.

Ichirō’s father Kōsaku—as he himself had previously stated—had been Miyagi’s undisputed scion of an old landowning family. Had he but maintained that station, he would have ranked among the prefecture’s highest taxpayers—yet this man of means possessed an unseemly vigor for one of inherited wealth. His undoing came when Meiji 20 and 21’s political tides surged nationwide—those grandiose schemes of Great Unification billowing like cloth to envelop aspiring statesmen—thus sweeping him into unfamiliar waters where every fellow passenger proved some influential figure: men whose comings and goings newspapers specially chronicled as patriots yet who hungered like starved tigers for gold—before Kōsaku they fawned obsequiously—refusing to yield an inch in their attentions. The pleasure of occupying honored seats among politicians before a certain Count differed entirely from being called “master” by tenant farmers like Yomosaku and TaGohei. Having achieved overnight prominence as a political dandy—swelling with self-satisfaction—he relocated his family to Tokyo’s Shiba district—attending this club’s meetings and that society’s preparations—drawn into endless funding discussions—yet these alliances requiring none but his own sleepless efforts became his foothold in southern circles. He who had undertaken campaign expenses across east and west—that bold dreamer squandering his fortune in an eye’s blink—left behind his twenty-third spring—having secured one of three hundred seats in political battlefields where allies and enemies mingled—yet losing any chance to sever karmic ties with ill-fated comrades through this cursed bond—still dedicating loyal resolve to the nation—all while Kyoto-bred newspaper hacks mocked him—peddling courtroom transcriptions as charming imitations of provincial speechifying—such intolerable indignity. The newspapers’ accounts condemned even his provincial kin—once praised as paragons—as mere eccentrics—their duplicity exposed—To awaken society’s conscience—to become its moral bellwether—this grave duty rests upon my shoulders! Startling such vermin shall come when party cabinets reign and I at least occupy a vice-minister’s seat—yet striving harder only multiplied expenses—months arose where eight hundred in annual stipend proved insufficient for mere living costs—His wife—having accompanied him from their homeland—voiced proper concern—What could women and children comprehend? The master-hero rebuked her in one breath—leaving no rebuttal—Their house’s decline grew unbearable to witness. These mounting worries accumulated into no small hardship. He showed no pity for her distress—declaring a statesman’s wife displaying such timidity could never accompany this great man henceforth. He lectured her about Western statesmen’s wives—listing elaborate names she’d never heard in his previous discourses. Though understanding nothing—she feigned agreement to placate him—yet inner turmoil raged unquelled. As for His Lordship—“These past three or four years some demon possessed him”—she gasped in fevered deathbed ravings. This too—the pathos of her indirect sacrifice for state affairs—His Lordship dismissed as not worth mentioning. Long had he maintained Oaka as his Akasaka concubine under secret council pretenses—she being an aging ex-geisha whose thick skin suited such roles—Yet here stood the very man who denounced clan cliques—His Lordship himself—proving no exception to that old adage about wild lotus blossoms though scorning classical hypocrisy. This “insight” of plucking her from common stock—“that our humble household cabinet already reshuffled”—became something he proclaimed half-jestingly yet half-earnestly.

Thus, while Oaka had effectively become Ichirō's mother, the strong-willed boy—still young—utterly refused to address her as such. Oaka tried by any means to force a mother-son relationship, but he resisted this, resolved never to call her "Mother". In the spring of his thirteenth year—the year following Oaka's ascension as legal wife—he petitioned his father to let him reside at a Chinese classics scholar's private school. If he rarely returned home, then though emotions might swell in both their breasts, fortunately no severe conflicts arose, and for a year or two the Ōmura household maintained an appearance of undisturbed peace.

During that time, Oaka did everything as she pleased, indulging in luxury to her heart’s content, yet paid no heed whatsoever to Ichirō’s affairs. As for Ichirō’s sister Toku—being a girl—she had been tamed to her stepmother’s will. Exploiting the child’s comely features, Oaka molded her into a doll-like substitute for playthings: a blank thread dyed to her preferred hue, preparing to eventually offer her up as wife to some suitable gentleman—such was her scheme. Whenever occasion demanded, Madam—as the legislator’s wife—all but declared “this is how it must be,” even invoking the master’s name to peculiar extremes; the domestic policies accompanying her diplomatic maneuvers formed yet another reckless gambit. Arrogance proved fleeting—his four-year term had swiftly expired, the funds for re-election campaigns becoming mired in ethical quandaries. With survival overriding principle (“spine sacrificed for belly”), desperate stopgap measures eclipsed all scruples. When creditors uncovered the rot festering beneath his unmanageable debts, opposition party vultures pounced. Their orchestrated litigation thrust him into prison—a downfall unforeseen.

Kōsaku’s electoral defeat marked the final collapse of his life’s work—the household thrown into turmoil, Ichirō’s scholarly pursuits shattered. The youth devoted to books - in springtime when willow strands sway desolate - could repeatedly read of human bonds thinner than paper, of names belonging to those who stride through life upright. Though he harbored no ambition to gain worldly acclaim, his heart anticipated startling the rabble of sneerers and revilers through future achievements. For the sake of a great name, he resolved to endure firefly-and-snow hardships - yet lacking cultivation of a noble man's virtues, this obstinate endurance of temperament grew ever more pronounced: such was the crucible of his circumstances. Since departing Igai's residence that day - being one with no home to return to - he clung to this desperate rationale: that ultimately it was his father's household, so what strangeness could there be in a son going to eat there? The stepmother’s residence—ordinarily a festering wellspring of resentment—had now crystallized into its purest form. The small latticed door he now visited—where his father’s hardships went unheeded as the mother-daughter pair wanted for nothing; where life persisted along Furukawa’s banks through commerce drawn from the flowing waters.

Part Six

Refusing to call her “Mother,” he fixed his gaze on Oaka’s face. “What manner of man is this?” “Is this not the height of disrespect? To make Toku a concubine?!”

Recognizing this as a personal affront against her, Oaka deliberately adopted an icy demeanor. “What does it matter? Whatever.” “Don’t you know about that?” “What would I know about someone like that?” “Hohohoho, there you go again with your usual antics.” “That’s, you know, the bag merchant who was always coming around back when we lived in Shiba.” “What’s this ‘bag goods’?” “In any case, it’s hardly a legitimate business, is it?”

“Oh how tiresome. A bag seller is a bag seller.” “Whether it’s the peddler’s business or the lawyer’s trade, I know nothing of such matters—but in any case, your father knows him well.” “……” “I can’t say if this displeases you, but he at least inquires most conscientiously.” “Even those outsiders who once showed us such favor don’t so much as look our way now.” “That’s precisely the problem.” “Because that scoundrel has designs of his own.”

“What use would that serve? Given our current circumstances.” “Don’t think me a fool—I know that much myself.” “It’s not as if she’d become someone’s mere plaything.”

Ichirō fell silent for a moment, then advanced the conversation a step.

“So what is it? Are you finally going to send Toku off as a concubine?” “What else can I do? If we don’t do that, you— Wouldn’t both our mouths go dry?” “This is outrageous! Then why don’t you send her as a proper wife?” “Hohohoho, you’re still so green behind the ears. That’s only natural—even if you fancy yourself quite the grown-up, you’re still not old enough to enlist in the military. No matter how you stack it up—with Father in that state, we can’t handle even one piece of luggage. So what—does some fine gentleman want to take her as his bride?”

“There certainly exists one—if only the conditions were acceptable.” “How remarkably astute! To think you’ve grasped that everything hinges on unacceptable conditions.” “Very well then—indeed, were it a police constable or elementary school teacher of your imagining, even such a match would count as heaven-sent.” “Do you fancy this girl’s entire life pitiable? Now left solitary—who shall sustain me? You—do you still delude yourself this house harbors hidden riches? Know that we cannot even sustain our present idleness.” “Until now, our continued residence here owes solely to my solitary management.” “With your return adding a third mouth—how precisely do you propose we navigate tomorrow’s needs? Have you spared this no consideration?” “Or perhaps—having wasted two years at that lawyer’s—you mean to single-handedly sustain me through your own prowess until Father’s return?” “Resolve this alone and I’d gladly abandon plans for Toku’s concubinage—nay, alter course this instant. Now—your answer!”

A menacing figure preying on weakness; though despised, bearing the name of mother; thin arms unworthy of the title—clenched tight and slick with oily sweat. “Th-that’s impossible; I’m still an apprentice.” “There, you see? Then you can’t manage it either.” “If you’re in training, then act like it—why won’t you leave matters to me?” “Th-that I do entrust to you—I’ve entrusted everything all along.” “But Toku is my sister—Father’s daughter.” “How could you possibly send her off as a concubine?!”

“How amusing—let us hear this.” “Then what? Are you trying to shame me?” “If this disgrace must be borne, then I shall bear it.” “True enough—I was indeed a concubine first, and worked as a geisha besides.” “But now—do you mean to say this person who passes as Ōmura Kōsaku’s wife is not Toku’s mother?” “Then let us hear this crucial point!” The blustering advance met its match in sharp retorts. “Of course that’s right—you are not my mother. This Ichirō has known as much from the start.” “If you don’t regard this house as having a mother, why have you returned here so shamelessly?”

“Of course I’ll leave—I’m leaving right now!” As Ichirō kicked up the tatami mat—his departure amounting to a symbolic purification—the mother maintained her perfectly composed expression while feigning obliviousness to her own unease; and when his sister stealthily tugged his sleeve, Ichirō suddenly recalled. “Hmph, Toku! You’re coming with me!” “Oh, Brother, no!” “There’s no need for such anger.” “Just apologize to Mother already!” “You fool! Aren’t you my own sister?!” “Then Brother should stay right here!”

“You fool! Can’t you grasp this? You colossal idiot—you unfeeling brute!” “What choice do I have? It can’t be helped.” “If I followed Brother somewhere, who knows where I might end up?” “What did you say?!” “So you wouldn’t care even if they made you a concubine?!” “There’s simply no alternative.” “You… You’re sullying Father’s name!” As he kicked her down in furious abandon, Oaka—who had been awaiting this moment—thrust herself between them. “Go on, go on—kick her harder! “Kicking Toku is just venting your spite on me—go on, go on—give her your worst!”

Part Seven

Even amidst the swirling dust of the bustling capital, far removed from the Yotsuya drill ground—where traces of Musashino still lingered—and the soldiers’ residences, in the grassy thickets near Gontahara, there lay a student who camped out. He rose before the birds could herald the dawn and adjusted his thoroughly damp collar disgustedly.

“Ah, how pointless—truly regrettable. The world was vast and people numerous—yet everywhere they suffered adversity—someone like me must have been rare indeed. Last night I had fled Iidamachi and raced some two ri in desperation to an acquaintance in Aoyama—that bastard must have known full well my circumstances—yet hadn’t even suggested I stay over. Thinking it would be pathetic to beg, I tried camping out—but it still didn’t feel too good. I supposed I really must go somewhere with people after all. That was right—I too was human—a body of flesh and blood. I mustn’t let my health suffer—that would be no good. But wait—with nothing to my name—I’d still be a dependent—being a dependent was so dispiriting. What was I to do? No—that wasn’t it—adversity tempers the soul. Yes yes—I who had been granted such trials must indeed have been the Heavenly Emperor’s favored child. This body was surely destined to bear immense responsibilities. When I considered this—I couldn’t treat my body so casually. Hmm very well—from this moment—I would try exercising patience. This was where Zhang Liang had offered the sandal you know. Otherwise nothing worthwhile could ever be achieved you know. The real problem was Kōsekikō—would such a fellow even exist in this modern world?”

And so, aimlessly wandering until he found himself behind Akasaka Detached Palace, someone tapped his shoulder from behind—softly. “Ōmura, you’re up rather early.” “Where’ve you been?”

Though also part of the same military cadet contingent, this one appeared markedly resourceful. His new indigo-splashed single-layer robe—its hem cropped short—bore at the waist a white metallic cloth wrapped in layer upon layer, forming a mound that resembled nothing so much as a pale fence threatening to collapse outward. “Hmm—you?” Ōmura wondered at his own feeble response.

“What’s wrong?” “You’re making a dispirited face, aren’t you?” “Hmm.” “Are you unwell?” “Hmm.” “Another ‘hmm’? Quit your groaning.” “What on earth is the matter?” “It’s nothing. I’m walking.” “Ha ha ha ha! You—you’re off your rocker. “You have to pay better attention, y’know?”

“Why?” “Why, you—look at your face! You look like you’ve crawled straight out of the weeds!” “Hmph!”

And Ōmura was slightly startled. "H-how do you know that?" "How could I not know? I'm looking right at you." "Hmph! So you saw where I came out of, did you?" "Ha ha ha ha! You fool—that's not what I meant." "It's an adjective." "Oh? If that's how it is, then that's how it should be said." He seemed somewhat relieved in demeanor, yet his heart still chided him. "You—is it truly an adjective?" "It's obvious."

The military trainee had casually remarked, yet in a manner that felt eerily unsettling. “Truly, you’re not right in the head. Where are you going? I’ll walk you.” Ōmura found it bothersome to walk alongside him while being stared at so intently. “Oda, you go on ahead—I’m in a hurry.” “If you’re in a hurry, I’ll hurry too. That way’s more convenient.”

Walking briskly together, they still found it difficult to suppress their camaraderie. “You truly look unwell.” “Why don’t you come to my place instead?” “I’m staying at Kunino’s place now.” “Huh... Kunino... you mean Kunino Tameya?” “That wouldn’t be Huang Shigong, would it?” “What’re you talking about?” “It’s Kunino. You know about him, right? The Kaimei Party one.” “Of course I know.” “That’s why I’m asking.” “You shouldn’t even need to ask.” “Professional lawyers may be lenient, but since that approach isn’t in vogue, it’s just letting their potential go to waste.” “But when it comes to politicians acting like daimyo—even a child knows that, don’t they?”

“That’s right—I want to confirm what sort of man he is.” “Hmm, I see. Then I understand.” “He’s an extraordinary man, I tell you.” “The world mistakes him for some Destruction Party member, but toward us? He’s every bit the gentleman—a paragon of humility beyond belief.” “Truly cherishes his students.” “That’s why anyone’d gladly lay down their life for him.” “Why, even this uniform I’m wearing—”

And Oda deliberately tugged at his sleeve to show it off. “Mr. Kunino recently pawned his watch to buy these for us.” “He got matching uniforms made for ten students.” “Isn’t that something? That’s why we’ve resigned ourselves to walking around with these chains.” “How about that? Even Igai couldn’t pull off something like this!” “If I’d stayed there all this time, I’d still be putting up with nothing but my wife’s nagging.” “You’re still the same as ever, aren’t you?” “No, I’ve changed.”

“How have you changed?” “Have things gotten any better?” “Ah... I left.” “That’s impressive! “So where are you staying now?” “Nowhere.” “You say ‘nowhere,’ but there must be some place where you sleep and wake up.” “There isn’t.”

“Don’t mess with me—I’m not here to beat you down.” “Th-that’s exactly why you shouldn’t say such things! Am I such a despicable man? Well then—last night I slept at the military grounds.” “Hmm, I see. That explains it. So when I said I crawled out from the grass—that’s why you jumped, huh?” “Hmm.” “Ha ha ha ha! This is uproarious—truly an absurd tale! At last I can rest easy. To tell the truth, I’d grown somewhat concerned because you kept making such nonsensical remarks—but if that’s how it stands, then fine! No problem now. And do you have somewhere to go?”

“No, that hasn’t been decided yet.” “Oh, is that so? In that case, why don’t you come with me to Mr. Kunino’s place in Kanda? To tell the truth, I went to relatives in Aoyama yesterday and ended up returning late last night when I was supposed to be back earlier, so this works out nicely for covering my tracks. No—this concerns my own circumstances. More importantly, you—there likely isn’t another man like Mr. Kunino out there. If you’re willing to stay, I’ll put in a word for you.” “I wonder... aren’t you overestimating him?”

“Why? Anyway, just come and see for yourself.”

As they walked and talked, their feet had already passed before Gakushūin and were now approaching Yotsuya Mitsuke. The gnarled old pine trunks along the moat’s edge—their branches bathed in dawn’s light with blue-green hues as if to scoop up the morning glow—bore an air as though welcoming me. Ōmura, having here escaped those murky confines, let out a faint cry of triumph that made Oda slowly turn to observe. “What do you think? This Yotsuya Mitsuke stands as our Xiapi’s Yí Bridge!” “And since today’s Huang Shigong proves rather inept—what say you to Zhang Liang going to his residence instead?” “Ha ha ha ha!”

Part Eight

In all the world, there existed nothing as unsupervised as a household without its mistress. The stately residence had torn shoji screens, flooring imprinted with footprints worth more than ten coppers drawn endlessly in sand, and a shoe-removal area where toothpaste-spattered saliva mingled indiscriminately—yet none dared criticize such a dwelling, cowed by Kunino's name. Yet when Mr. Kunino revered this as the very banner of austere purity, were there any who truly embodied such ideals? Ichirō, guided by Oda without need for elaborate persuasion, had been permitted to join Kunino's circle—his father's name having evoked pity—yet... At first, during those days of reluctant half-belief he spent in doubt, he indeed found no discrepancy from what Oda had said. Harmonious informality reigned between superiors and subordinates—seemingly lacking etiquette yet fundamentally respectful—for when the disciples' hearts submitted... When provisions allowed, they caroused like beasts—in the span of a single night transforming wine pools and meat forests from fable to reality, draining every drop of pleasure to its dregs—yet no walls stood between master and disciples. In times of scarcity when even a mere student lacked coin for bath fees, there was an equitable satisfaction in Mr. Kunino chewing vegetable roots at his evening meal—nor did discomfort arise though one might go ten days unbathed through summer's swelter. When I first came to this house and he saw my shabby summer kimono, he unhesitatingly gave me a new one to wear—yet now, whenever laundry was done, he himself went wanting for clothes. How could this possibly be seen as calculated scheming? As his heart gradually began to thaw, new seeds of admiration—ceaselessly, day and night—took root and multiplied. In Ichirō's chest surged a gratitude he had never before known—and with it rose an unsettling disquiet. That simply won't do—directing such sentiments toward a worthless human being like myself! Terrified that the reactive resentment and hatred he had experienced to the point of disgust would come accompanied by... The battle between myself and my own mind—a solitary wrestling match to no avail—and alas, even this too before the master's benevolence: tumbling down, tumbling down. With his resistance crushed, his chest—rigid as ice even in summer—sweltered with admiration and gratitude, threatening to melt away entirely.

Come now—Ichirō, who would not yield even after one or two defeats, still faced a formidable foe in confirming his ironclad plan spanning years. He poured cold water into his chilled eyes; the more he strained to see, A battle that offers me no advantage—there is nothing but to endure and outlast. Ichirō sat with doubt’s core hardened firm, arms folded and eyes shut tight— If this be sorcery—so be it! However he might plumb sentiment’s depths and exploit human frailty to ensnare others with such mastery, I shall tear away that mask! Here too he concealed his thoughts, yet Mr. Kunino remained ever composed—no trace of schemes or stratagems to grasp, wearied by his monotonous studies. After dozens of days—though unsatisfied—he had obtained and scrutinized the results. That which he had presumed sorcery proved naught but noble thought—impartial fairness, self-abandonment to love others. Having reached sudden enlightenment, Ichirō resolved—even were this but self-interest’s most cunning guise, then so be it. His name rings true and his deeds shine bright—I must take this man as mentor. Most bewildering of all was Ichirō’s transformation—that singularly obstinate man of peculiar disposition—who through repeated metamorphoses became before Tameya boneless and selfless, reduced to mere flesh pulsating with so-called passionate blood.

Rather than that, Ichirō—having found leisure amidst others’ peace—devoted himself solely to legal texts, pressing only toward his own future. Rather than his fellow students, it was the political activists who jeered—

“Hey Ōmura! Back at it with your books again?” “Quit this idiotic nonsense!” “What’s the use of you huffing and puffing to start rowing now?” “Even if you become some patronage-backed lawyer or volunteer to get appointed judge, you’d still be bottom-tier among commissioned officials!” “What can you possibly accomplish with such pitiful guts while under Mr. Kunino’s banner?” “At least try rehearsing political speeches!” “Three inches of tongue can move heaven and earth!” “Me? I couldn’t tell you when I last opened a book!” “Still, when party cabinets take over and Mr. Kunino becomes Foreign Minister or such, I’ll at least get appointed ambassador to Britain or France. With all the coming reshuffles, they might even hand me a cabinet seat someday!” “Since you’re so keen on books, why not study international law? Maybe they’ll make you some secretary! Ha ha ha ha!”

Though he would not yield even in facial expressions to Mr. Kunino, stroking down his tiger-like whiskers and sneering—this was the Commander, a veteran activist in this house. This house’s veteran activist was none other than the Commander.

Oda, true to form faithfully,

“I won’t say this is truly ill-intentioned, but do pay some heed to the scenery around you.” “When Mr. Kunino keeps so many students like this, it’s not out of any desire to produce scholars from his disciples.” “To put it bluntly—preparing political activists who can respond to emergencies is one purpose here. Why don’t you try practicing swordsmanship?” “Then doesn’t that make those officials you’re always denouncing—the ones holding positions without merit—guilty of the same conduct?”

It seemed they could place great emphasis on—perhaps even a future police superintendent. One of the cynics stepped forward. “You’re all misunderstanding Ōmura’s character—that’s why you’re spouting such disrespectful nonsense.” “Was not Ōmura’s strict father—who stood upon the political stage yet deliberately avoided factions of political criminals, choosing instead to concern himself with commoners’ petty offenses—precisely such a ‘great man’?” “Thus this esteemed son now stands beneath Mr. Kunino’s influence, deigning to pursue a career of bureaucratic advancement—” “By adopting a policy of earning three hundred days’ worth of legal stipends, is he not a ‘great man’ who yields nothing to his esteemed father?”

They roared with laughter—a common occurrence these days.

For Tameya - who had valued Ichirō's unyielding spirit and appointed him over senior disciples, who had even entrusted his cherished daughter's textbook reviews to this protégé - the envy this bred meant that whether in triumph or despair, this was indeed a world where sneers lurked at every turn.

Part Nine

The Ichirō of old would have taken offense at such matters, but now transformed by Mr. Kunino's unspoken virtue, he had sheathed his edge. Let them laugh if they will; let them revile if they must. I have my own path to follow. He remained steadfastly hunched over his desk. With no mistress to reproach his incompetence nor San burdened by students' gossip, there was fortunately no feminine curse—though. The fifteen-year-old young mistress who had lost her mother took pleasure in reading. Ichirō might be unrefined but unlike other students wasn't boisterous. Delighted by his meticulous responses to her questions she came to adore him as "Ōmura". For Ichirō who had always regarded women as adversaries this became an incomparable nuisance. Her innocent purity—a winter plum blossom of dignified spirit—bore an air of braving frost. She too would one day resemble her teacher. Once accustomed it proved no great burden. He resolved to make this small service part of repaying kindness. As his inherent earnestness reemerged her favorable impression grew. Mr. Kunino though consumed by state affairs found this evening unexpectedly free of visitors and summoned Ichirō specially. This first face-to-face meeting with his revered mentor left him wordless. His body tensed like a maiden before her lover. Another might sprawl carelessly—but where place these clenched fists? With effort he found concealment beside his knees—an action requiring all his strength.

Mr. Kunino spoke in his usual detached tone.

“How about it? “You seem to be studying quite diligently. “As I’ve been constantly occupied, I haven’t asked—but how fares your honorable father’s health?”

The man remained as he ever was; his words carried their customary weight. Ichirō involuntarily shed a single scalding tear. “Yes, he appears to maintain good health.” “I see. That’s most satisfactory.” “During elections, rather despicable methods tend to be employed, you know.”

After Mr. Kunino, recalling something or other, had been most deeply moved—

“So then—what exactly do you intend to do?” “Yes, though various fancies do occur to me, I find myself compelled to assume responsibility for my father’s affairs.” “My immediate plan is to establish myself as a lawyer; matters beyond that I shall determine in due course.” “Quite reasonable.” “Abstract theorizing and fruitless endeavors serve no purpose.” “Yet I am aware your true ambitions lie elsewhere.” “Advance step by step—thoroughness is paramount.” “Rest assured I shall extend every possible protection.”

Though their exchange had not gone beyond this, each utterance pierced straight to the heart of the matter. Ichirō found more courage in these few words than if he had gained a million allies. Truly, there was no one outside this teacher who understood him. He engraved deeply in his heart that he must certainly do something in the future to repay this recognition.

Part Ten

Several months and days passed after that without bringing any change to Ichirō’s circumstances. His inner world too passed in tranquility. The political scene had abruptly transformed—every last member of the trusted People’s Party now scrambled for government appointments. The overturned tracks of the front cart failed to serve as warning for the rear cart—the Enlightenment Party—as they all rushed to trample the small wheels of karmic cycles. They turned others' despair into their triumph, rushing toward the gates of success—which front cart did that disgrace resemble? Though none could distinguish crow from rook, none mistook heron for crow—their shadowed hearts laid bare before society, this single rumor never ceased. Unlike the fabled steed’s bones, even a patriot’s demise proved remarkably useful. Even in death, their pelts remained intact—animal pelts fetched prices tenfold higher when sold, yet how pitiable that a person’s worth only diminished. Though morning and evening brought society’s rumors to Ichirō’s ears, To think that he would lend an ear to impassioned political debates—such was not the way of youth in these times. Father’s release from prison must be drawing near. Deliberately feigning indifference and maintaining an innocent expression, Ichirō found yet another intolerable report resounding in his ears. That was Kunino Tameya—the one and only teacher whom Ichirō relied upon, whose noble principles he looked up to, and whose moral stature he admired. It was a report that he was to be appointed vice-minister of a certain ministry and had accepted the position.

Though startled by every rustle and crane's call into suspecting Mr. Kunino's integrity, to doubt his mentor's principles would betray the profound trust he had been granted. Even Ichirō—who had deliberately laughed off Oda's whispered warning before walking away— Found himself unable to fully forget it, his eyes now scrutinizing every detail within the estate. Perhaps it was imagination, but more elements seemed askew each passing day—yesterday compared to its predecessor, today compared to yesterday. The man who once mocked Ichirō's lack of passionate lamentations now wore an unmistakable look of satisfaction. That evening brought Asano Wataru—the famed political fixer rumored to control personnel appointments through his mediation between activists and government—for an extended private discussion with Mr. Kunino. Drawn by some pretext, Ichirō found himself lingering in the reception room's corridor. Through paper screens leaked fragments of their confidential exchange.

“Well then—shall I have them issue the appointment order?” “That’s right.” “But wait four or five days.” “There’s some business I must conclude first.”

The conversation ceased at the sudden stillness of Ichirō—who had been eavesdropping—as he froze mid-motion. When Mr. Kunino demanded, “Who’s there?” Ōmura resolutely declared his surname. He pivoted toward the apprentice’s room—in that precise instant when he sought to solve this monumental riddle.

On Ichirō's desk lay yet another letter—one that threatened to shock him to death.

“What—Father has passed away? In prison—such wretched shame—”

Still gripping that single letter, he dragged out a futon from the closet. He pulled the futon over his head and spent all night long letting out anguished cries of grief and indignation.

Two days later, not a single newspaper in the entire capital carried even a few lines of sensational text in size-two type within their margins.

Last night around nine o'clock, Mr. Asano Wataru was ambushed while in his carriage at ――. Due to a lightning-fast strike from above and the rapid firing of a pistol, the villain failed to achieve their objective and immediately vanished without a trace. According to the coachman’s account, it was a man of activist bearing whose facial features closely resembled those of a certain Ōmura—an apprentice under Mr. Kunino Tameya. Further details await subsequent reports.

Mr. Kunino Tameya stood holding this newspaper, utterly dumbfounded, when— Miss Ume came rushing in, her face drained of color.

“Father, I hear that Ōmura’s matter has appeared in the newspaper.” “Yesterday morning, when he was leaving, he handed me this letter.” “When my matter appears in the newspaper within two or three days, please give this to Mr. Igai.” “Until then, never let it leave your hands—keep it safely stored,” he said. “Since he had asked me so earnestly.”

As she presented it, he nodded gravely and unfolded it to read.

It has long been said that what scholars value is moral fortitude; one without moral fortitude is no scholar. Now the tides of time surge toward extravagance; men's hearts parade opulence. Thus do the scholars of this realm cast aside the moral fortitude they should prize, prostrating themselves beneath golden radiance. This gold becomes the toxic draught that paralyzes scholarly spirit, the smelting furnace that transmutes moral integrity. That today's scholars flock together to flatter power and curry favor with influence stems not from pursuing merit or renown, but rather from their impatient craving to first obtain gold. Their circumstances—how pitiable! Their principles—how despicable! Yet not one soul in this land devises means to reverse this decline; instead they fan these very trends, flinging wide their gates under the pretense of recruiting talent, luring renowned scholars with gold to co-opt them into their factions, seeking to employ them as pawns. Ah, this copper stench—no, this mineral poison—infects all it touches, rotting away scholars' noble integrity and unsullied virtue. How can such lamentation be borne? How much more when these pernicious effects hinder society's progress and obstruct national prestige's expansion—by no means trivial matters—must we not swiftly eradicate the verminous traitors before our eyes, revive enfeebled scholarly ethos, awaken society from its stupor, and resolutely execute our strategy to purge treachery? Humbly considering that the Teacher's exalted virtue truly makes him peerless among statesmen—through humility he subdues others, through diligence and frugality he leads the multitudes. Furthermore, with his strategic governance and unyielding principles—in these present times—if we exclude the Teacher, whom else could we await? Moreover, do there not exist those watching for any chink to assail your renowned virtue and noble principles?

Now, the nation truly faces manifold crises—in domestic governance and foreign diplomacy alike—where matters demanding a hero’s great skill number hundreds upon hundreds yet remain unaddressed. Moreover, should you err by even a hair’s breadth in the critical timing of advancing or retreating from public affairs, you would share the same path as those weak-willed and ineffectual lot, leaving naught but derision for posterity. How could you not exercise utmost caution and vigilance even in the smallest actions or briefest words? You must implement strategies for enduring governance and strive to win over the people’s hearts. Where the people’s hearts gather and Heaven’s Mandate turns—there shall the great opportunity present itself. Seizing that moment, implement grand governance, expand your noble ambitions, and plan fundamental reforms—is this not still too late? I know a fledgling like myself has no place offering counsel; yet knowing this, I still speak—for I profoundly await [the time] for the realm’s sake.

When I reflect upon having privately studied under your esteemed guidance, I bear an immense debt. Yet through rash actions and violent uprisings, I recklessly betray this profound mentorship. I make no light account of this crime's gravity. That I nevertheless persist in these extreme acts—enduring personal disgrace to voice humble sincerity and dare offer counsel—serves solely to repay but a fraction of your profound tutelage. I beseech your understanding. A certain disciple, weeping blood, reverently kowtows.

Though bearing traces of unsteady penmanship, vitality still dwelled in Mr. Kunino's eyes—eyes that knew Ichirō. With desolate countenance he heaved a prolonged sigh and soliloquized: "Ah... What waste—to have broken such youth."

Whether those echoes lingered or not, the political strategists of court and country did not visit Mr. Kunino again. Thus did the scene within Mr. Kunino's residence remain exactly as it had been before. Malicious rumors had yet to cease entirely. His political standing remained even then a subject of public doubt.

However, Ichirō had long since been captured by the authorities, and his shadowed history of half a lifetime was interred beneath the charge of attempted murder. Could it be that his oft-declared aspirations had culminated in such a reckless act—ah, was this but some fleeting childish game? The wandering clouds spoke not; the coursing waters held their silence. Alas, public judgment had already congealed. "What a fool! What monumental imbecile—he has sullied post-Restoration Japan's civilization!" There remained two or three remarks from ladies of standing. "He proved far more dreadful than we'd ever imagined." "If we'd kept him about longer, who knows what might have befallen us?"—this very refrain still echoed seventy-five days later among those who claimed to have heard it along Kamakura Riverside and Iidamachi's lanes. (The World’s Japan, July 1897)