Pathway to Japanese Literature

Part One “When people hear ‘prison,’ many immediately assume it’s no place for good people.” “Admittedly, if we exclude the small number of political criminals and those imprisoned for violating one or two specific articles, prisons are undoubtedly no place for the pure and innocent.” “If that’s the case, then are those outside prison walls—these so-called innocent public figures—truly all pure and blameless in the present, if we disregard their past and future? Far from it.” “Among them were the infamous Judge’s Flower Tampering Incident and the Diet Member’s Bribery Incident.” “Few facts have come to light, but countless similar deeds may currently be underway.” “No—they are indeed being carried out.” “To take a familiar example, there exist monstrous beings who scatter a paltry sum only to greedily seize exorbitant fees and interest, sucking the lifeblood of the poor.” “But these are not even worth censuring—they do not qualify as worthy criminals.” “Moreover, among even greater criminals are those incompetent officials who not only greedily cling to noble ranks and stipends but also commit various improprieties under the guise of unofficial perks.” “But higher still exist those.” “Traitors who sell out their monarch and nation, traitors who sell out morality, traitors who sell out religion—are these not the most unforgivable villains among all villains?” “However, when it comes to these great traitors, they would never do something as foolish as getting caught in the openly laid legal nets and entering that small box called prison.” “They carry themselves without shame before heaven or earth—no, rather, as society’s favored sons and decorated knights, they are welcomed, revered, polluting the mountains and rivers of this divine land and strutting across the vast Earth as though making it feel cramped.” “Therefore, throughout heaven and earth, there is no place one can go where criminals do not exist.” “In other words, this mundane world—filled with untried prisoners—may well be called one vast prison.” “It is merely that among them, those lacking foresight, deficient in wisdom, and clumsy in deeds are the ones cast into man-made prisons.” “Then, to regard prisons solely as dens of criminals—is this not a great shortsightedness?” “Therefore, I find it unbearable to label these small—no, foolish—truly pitiable individuals as criminals.”

And there, in the Ichigaya Prison visitors’ waiting room—as befitted his profession—the one holding forth with fiery rhetoric was none other than Attorney Inokai Benzō, who had recently transferred to Tokyo from a certain prefecture. In Tokyo—though not necessarily in rural areas—this was hardly novel rhetoric, but given the setting of the visitors’ waiting room, the gathered crowd, all with some connection to the prison system, found themselves swayed by sympathetic sentiments; even those who considered his words mere platitudes bowed their heads in earnest agreement. As for the country bumpkin father—compelled to visit this dreadful place due to his son’s recklessness—and those red-blanketed souls proclaiming their honesty through rustic attire, they all gasped in awe, craning their necks anew to gaze up at the Attorney’s face and whispering to companions, “What manner of grand personage might this be?” Amid this resounding success, Mr. Inokai grew ever more impassioned, heedless of the few bystanders smirking wryly nearby. Recalling in an instant those times when his political speeches had stirred thunderous applause in his home province, he quelled the clamor with a booming voice,

“And yet is this not the visitors’ waiting room?” “As for those inside the cells—leaving them aside—what crime have those who come requesting visits actually committed?” “Is this not indeed one of those so-called innocent public figures—in other words, one of the public at large?” “In barbaric times when they exterminated three generations of a criminal’s family—that I could understand. But in this enlightened age, to make visitors wait in a building as filthy, as chaotic, and as ill-treated as any criminal’s cell—is this not a blemish upon our enlightened age?” “Especially when among them are those of our ilk who have come here in the line of duty for honorary positions.”

And though His Excellency had clearly intended to deliver a decisive declaration, he ultimately blunted the edge of his rhetoric in its final passage, mumbling indistinctly as though choking back the words—a performance most befitting such an august personage.

However, whenever people were thus moved to admiration and digressed into trivial chatter—as if to say, “That’s not how wholesalers operate”—the attorney would watch with visible irritation; yet suddenly, he discovered in the boy waiting at his side—this fellow whose very brow overflowed with such profound sympathy—a most promising specimen.

“You’re a familiar face—what case brings you here?” “You visit remarkably often.”

The boy who had been addressed as “you” appeared to be fifteen or sixteen years old, though his small stature made him look no more than seven. His sun-darkened face framed by a black cotton haori and coarse attire gave him an unassailable dignity—though perhaps it was merely the effect of his piercing gaze. The lawyer glared piercingly down at the front half of the boy’s face. “Yes, my father is here.”

“Hmm, untried or convicted?” “There’s no choice but to say convicted—since the final judgment was handed down yesterday.” “What of it?”

The lawyer greeted the boy’s oddly confrontational demeanor with a smile. “Hmm, I see. That was unfortunate.” “What sort of criminal charge was imposed, then?” The boy opened his mouth less in response to Inokai than compelled by his own overwhelming emotions, speaking almost involuntarily. “Th-that’s actually wrong.” “The entire amount was someone’s entrusted funds, but he had been granted the privilege of using them by the owner.” “So even if he had properly expended them, it should have been subject to civil sanctions, but because of what that bastard did, he was suddenly indicted in the preliminary court.” “Since they were on familiar terms from the start, no written agreement had been obtained by Father.” “As a result, he was finally slapped with the defamatory charge of embezzling entrusted property—a truly regrettable outcome.” “He was truly falsely accused! He was given an unjust verdict! He’s been subjected to an outright wrongful conviction!”

He clenched his fist in extreme indignation and involuntarily raised his voice, but upon meeting the gaze of a guard standing nearby, fell silent. The attorney slowly brushed the ash from his cigarette, “Hmm, I see. Embezzlement of entrusted property... Well, that’s a common one.” His tone had turned slightly cold, but reason would not permit him to remain silent without reiterating his earlier brilliant argument. “Now, now—there’s no need to get so angry.” “It’s a minor offense—he’ll be out soon enough.” “Even at its maximum, it’s nothing significant.”

The boy flared up and looked up at the lawyer’s face, “Three years—for someone like you, that must seem no time at all.” “But between a single day of shameful crime and ten years of political crime—which would you choose?” “My father was, if nothing else, a man elected as vice-chairman of the prefectural assembly in his home province—a figure who had managed a local political party’s affairs.” “And he was a Diet member who represented some portion of the citizenry in the early House of Representatives—moreover, my family is a centuries-old established house that no one in the neighboring prefectures doesn’t know of.” “That man—the master of this house—is to spend three years in prison under the charge of a shameful crime. Do you consider that a brief period? Or a minor offense for my father?” “My father’s life and my own have been completely buried by this.” “Our honored lineage has been smeared with ineradicable filth.” “And even so, you call it a minor offense? Hah?”

At the boy’s demeanor—bones creaking, flesh quivering with intensity—the lawyer showed a measure of respect, his words growing more courteous. “No—that was a misstatement. You’re absolutely right.” “Though I suppose you will file for a retrial.”

“Of course we did. After appealing twice and pointlessly spending two years in an untried cell—that’s what today is built upon.”

“I see.” “The judges these days truly lack discernment.” “They cannot perceive any evidence worth considering beyond literal texts.” “That’s why I’m resolved to study law thoroughly and save innocent compatriots.” “How long would it take to become a lawyer?”

“There’s nothing particularly complicated about it. Four or five years should suffice.” “Where exactly is your hometown—Tōhoku? Or the southwest?”

“Tōhoku.” “Then would that be in Miyagi or Fukushima?” “Well, roughly that area.” Just then, as the guard’s voice barked out—“Ōmura Kōsaku, visitor: Ōmura Ichirō!”—in a tone akin to cursing, the boy clicked his tongue sharply, gave the lawyer a curt nod, and strode out with fierce resolve.

After the boy left, the attorney mused to himself.

“Hmm—Ōmura Kōsaku... Ah yes, I’d forgotten. That’s right—that’s the one.” “When that boy was back home—seven or eight years old—he wouldn’t remember my face.” “An admirably spirited fellow—I must ask him when we meet again.” “After all... I’ve been quite indebted to Ōmura.”

Part Two

Adjoined to a funeral supply shop in Kanda-Kamakurakashi, its plainwood signboard gleaming just as brightly, stood the office of Inokai Benzō—a Tokyo District Court lawyer whose name, though obscure across the capital, was known well enough by greengrocers who never missed a payment and rice-and-sake merchants whose pleas for credit were outnumbered by litigants’ frequent visits. “Truly Tokyo is a splendid place,” mused the Madam, her dialect and provincial airs barely scrubbed clean by the city’s polish, now fancying herself a woman of some standing. Oblivious to San’s sharp-tongued gossip at the bathhouse—where the maid derided her mistress’s country roots—the Madam believed San her most loyal retainer. She basked in tales of her husband’s latest triumph: a five-thousand-yen lawsuit won, soon to be followed by ten-thousand-yen litigation—a veritable feast for her ears. Yet for all this, she never grew arrogant; her rural humility lingered like a birthmark, which San dismissed as a servant’s flaw but secretly prized, for it let the staff gauge their master’s worth. Had the Madam known how servants appraised her husband’s standing, she might have gasped, “How dreadful Tokyo is!” But her blissful ignorance preserved that rustic charm—a small mercy indeed.

Therefore, from the student attendants at the entrance down to the kitchen staff, if approached properly, their duties should not have been particularly difficult. What a nuisance—among the student attendants was one Ōmura Ichirō, an uncouth fellow. This one alone somehow failed to meet with the Madam’s approval, and San found it laughable that he had once again incurred her reprimand. “If you just let that Madam have her way and act high-and-mighty, she’d stay perfectly content—but you’re only hurting yourself by opposing her.” “You’re better at working your mouth than your hands—though that’s precisely what makes this household run,” came the unsolicited wisdom, imparting the Six Secret Teachings and Three Strategies without compensation. To this profound kindness, Ichirō offered neither gratitude nor a bow in return. That’s women’s work. I can’t do such things, nor do I have any intention to. “If you don’t like me as I am, then so be it”—declaring with mulish obstinacy that he wouldn’t take orders from the likes of her, his stubborn rejection rankled bitterly. Rather than raising her spear, the Madam—who knew nothing of past grievances—continued to speak ill of Ichirō at every turn. Though she counted even this among San’s acts of loyal service, her attention never settled on matters as trivial as a collar’s drape. Resentful that everything fell to her alone, San fumed at being treated as nothing more than an Edo-born drudge.

The Madam had just had someone see the master off at the entrance. The cleaning of the study—this alone she entrusted not even to the maid’s hands; Her Ladyship took care of it herself. As though having accomplished some grand labor, she plopped down beside the brazier in the middle room. “Ah, how exhausted,” Her Ladyship took up her long tobacco pipe. This gesture still did not quite become her.

San, sensing someone’s approach, abruptly rose from her rest in the scullery and began bustling about the sink with renewed vigor—a performance of busyness that Her Ladyship observed with an approving gaze for its show of virtuous diligence. “You should go rest a bit. Since he went to Yokohama today, he likely won’t return ’til evening.” “I won’t need lunch, so you can rest easy.” San wiped her freshly wet hands vigorously. “Is that so? That explains why you left earlier than usual today. In that case, shall I do the laundry while you’re out?”

“Ah, I suppose I do want it done, but a little later will do.” “The weather’s been so unpredictable lately.” While saying this, she glanced toward the garden, her gaze brushing over the master’s desk.

“Oh! Right—I’d forgotten—he told me to have the mail sent.” “Is Ōmura here?” “Yes—shall I go check for a moment?” [She] stood up and called out “Mr. Ōmura! Mr. Ōmura!” while sliding open the entrance’s fusuma door, “Oh dear—he’s gone off somewhere again.” “The Madam isn’t here.” “Anytime… you.” With this, San made a face calculated to provoke Her Ladyship’s indignation. “So he’s done it again—slipped out without a word.” “He’s truly impossible—that Ōmura.” “I specifically told him there’d be no one here today—and yet he’s gone out without permission again.” “It’s so vexing—no matter how ill-mannered one might be—there’s simply no man like that.”

Her Ladyship seemed to have completely forgotten about the mail on account of Ōmura. San plopped her large hips down heavily by the threshold. “Indeed it is. He’s truly a detestable person.” “In Her Ladyship’s presence, no less—ordering us about this way and that, acting even more high and mighty than the master himself!” “No student anywhere—there’s simply no student like that one.” “I’ve served in many households with students before, 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 we’d have some young master from your esteemed relatives—but with an ordinary student like Mr. Ōmura, how could anyone possibly get by?”

“Oh absolutely, absolutely! That’s why I’m always telling the master this—but since he’s the one who brought him here, he just keeps saying ‘Leave him be, leave him be,’ you see. I’m truly at my wit’s end. With him like that, what’s the point in keeping a student around?”

“That’s precisely how it is, truly.” “He doesn’t even sweep the garden once, and makes others tend to the very lamp he uses himself—what right does he have to act so high and mighty just because he’s studying?” “It’s not even for the master’s business—he was flaunting being allowed to study for himself! But if that were all, I could let it pass. Yet whenever you said anything to him, he puffed up like a balloon!” “Madam, you need not keep such a student attendant—there are plenty of better ones available.” “Why don’t you try telling the master that?”

Where could Her Ladyship’s consideration lie in this? San imagined such a student might exist. Her Ladyship tapped her tobacco pipe sharply, as though this were perfectly natural.

“It can’t be helped, no matter how much I’ve told him.” “Oh, why ever is that?”

Her Ladyship, appearing impatient, poked at the pipe’s bowl with fire tongs while, "Why, you ask? Well, it’s not like he’s particularly obliged or anything. The master isn’t indebted to that one’s parents—no, not at all—but since they were acquaintances from the same province, he’s forced to look after him out of necessity." "Heavens, could even someone like that have parents?" "Ohoho! What a ridiculous thing to say, San. Everyone has parents, don’t they?"

“Well! But *you’re* the first to mention his parents—he hasn’t said a word about them himself. Though of course, someone like him wouldn’t be kind enough to share such things with the likes of us.” “Well of course that’s the case—it’s practically as if they don’t exist.” “Well! So even his parents won’t take him in, since he’s that sort of person?” “Oh, what nonsense—that’s not it at all. His father’s in prison, I tell you.” “Oh my, oh my, oh my, Madam! So he’s a thief’s child.” “Goodness, what a shock!” “That explains it!”

With that, San stood dumbfounded for a good while, engaged in some manner of self-questioning, before suddenly adopting a dejected tone. “Madam, what a trivial matter this has turned into! My purse was undoubtedly taken by that person.” “Huh? What about the purse?” “Yes, I lost it the other day.” “Hmm… Did you show me that purse you bought on the street some time ago?” “Yes, I did put a bit of small change in there, but since none of it has come back, I can’t possibly know.”

“But you—didn’t you say you’d reported that purse lost some time ago?” “Well, I’ve resigned myself to having reported it lost—but hearing it phrased that way does seem rather odd.” “Truly Madam, I’ve no recollection of ever reporting it missing.” This San appeared to mentally catalog every item she’d ever claimed lost. Her Ladyship too was finally drawn into the snare. “Well—there’s simply nothing to be done about it.” “You’d best consider carefully—I can scarce believe matters might come to this, but if pressed, an investigation becomes unavoidable.” “After all—while his parent’s no common thief—they say he misappropriated funds and landed in prison.”

Just then came signs of movement from the adjacent room. When Her Ladyship called out “Who’s there?”, a voice snapped back “It’s Ōmura!” in biting tones. Realizing the situation, Her Ladyship retreated into the inner chambers, while San—attempting to withdraw toward the scullery—collided head-on with Ichirō as he abruptly entered, resulting in a pained “Aieee!” At the shout of “You idiot! Open your eyes and look!”—having been unfairly struck and scolded by Toku, and with the pain of her wounded foot besides—San’s resolve to resist only grew stronger.

Part Three Far more intense than that were the daily clashes between Ichirō and San—alas, Her Ladyship who should have mediated instead. What was this? Always parading San about like a sacred palanquin bearer, while upon San’s shoulders rested Her Ladyship’s radiant sorrow. Ichirō wept himself to sleep each night, yet even in dreams could not escape those insidious whispers. To think they dared label this Ichirō as having a thieving nature! Setting all else aside for this alone, he kicked off his midnight quilt and rose—though his strength could uproot mountains, the wretchedness of being an inescapable dependent drained his power to argue justice before the Master. You fools! Just wait—with fists clenched around lofty ambitions, yet knowing they’d mock this as grasping at clouds, Ichirō endured shame with gritted teeth, his resentment voiceless. If only he could recall that silence—the unyielding resolve so unlike his feigned gentleness—San’s whispers grew bolder still; even Rikimatsu the rickshaw man and Oseka the scullery maid now eyed him strangely. The sheer indignity—he could bear no more and stood, yet beneath his feet lay Madam’s orchestrated rhythm, that unbearable frustration of being unable to strike back piling higher until it missed its mark. Inokai could not possibly be ignorant of these vicious whispers denouncing me. If not ignorant then unkind—either way, he lacks the stature to be called my teacher. Once single-minded spite took root here, his skewed gaze’s observations grew warped. From before that time Inokai had maneuvered events, and though perhaps misunderstanding his intent, Ichirō now came to lack even respect for him. Even without that—having long managed covert litigation, indeed pinpointing this weakness—the Master awaited evidence by professional duty. When Exhibit One, Exhibit Two, and San’s testimony were combined as evidence, their unfavorable view of Ichirō became clear. The vexation of Ichirō’s unyielding spirit. If even this man were as he seemed—what need for lofty ambitions when sunlight shines only here? Were not all towering peaks mine to scale? Though he’d brave countless trials—this great stalwart whose very departure seemed to shout *Behold! He shall stride across the realm*— A worthy opponent yet exposing his back to foes—Ichirō who hid from Madam and San could not hide from the Master.

In the July heat where even ditchwater bubbled—when all things lost their balance—indeed with the clamorous clattering of fair-weather geta echoing about, I was driven from that place: a nineteen-year-old hot-blooded youth.

Part Four

In some block of Iidamachi stood a latticed structure set back from the street—a modest dwelling whose three-ken depth matched its frontage. At the sound of plucked strings from behind Iyo blinds and across floorboards, those cooling themselves on strolls halted their steps to peer inside. On the shallow veranda hung ferns dripping with jade-green coolness; alongside them, Gifu lanterns cast shadows—dim though they were. A woman in her forties passed by—her crisply defined collar unable to conceal its stark whiteness—somewhere in her retreating figure the shadow of her fate showing through, compelling passersby to tilt their heads at this specimen they couldn’t dismiss. From floor benches across the way came the neighborhood youths’ derisive laughter. Even in this summer when verdant leaves delighted, to have one’s soul stolen by leafy cherry trees while ignoring the first bloom beside them—what hasty men they were! Did they not notice the daughter who surpassed her mother in beauty? Such pointed concern—had they shown enough kindness to inquire even of passersby about that girl, they would surely have investigated the mother and child’s origins thoroughly. Yet making fusses over such boorish matters—a woman’s livelihood devoid of masculine vigor—scarcely three days passed before cooking duties arose. When junk dealers came calling for Masamune’s empty bottles, their trade’s nature being no secret, only the money box’s whereabouts remained unknown. Well now—the whereabouts of that money box weighed on my mind. Even were it discovered, there’d be no helping it—after all, not even the government collected income tax on such things. They should cease their needless prying. One had to admit—the steward’s son took his duties seriously.

Just then, a man approached, the scent of cheap perfume wafting around him. Having sent someone ahead, a thin haori fluttering into view—the moment he slid open the lattice door and entered, the shamisen’s notes abruptly ceased.

“Oh, Mr. Nakai—you’ve come! Do come right up.” The woman in her forties tossed over a Haruno-hara fan. “Ah, Madam—young mistress.” Nakai bowed with unflagging deference. “This dreadful heat—I hurried here in such haste, you see.” Making this excuse, he flapped his sleeves to fan himself, then pressed a silk handkerchief—dripping with affectation—against his smooth forehead; he appeared to be a man who dabbled in odd jobs while leeching off some widow or other.

“This has quite refreshed me.” “However, your residence seems to have excellent ventilation.” As he theatrically surveyed the surroundings with feigned novelty, the middle-aged woman accepted this with a light chuckle. “Mr. Nakai, please stop with such talk about my house.” “Truly, I’d blush under my present circumstances.” “Even so, this does count as a residence, but…” “Indeed, you’re absolutely right.” With a theatrical pose as though he had just relented, he deliberately lowered his voice. “Indeed, this fleeting world.” “To call this would be impolite, but for us it remains a splendid abode—though it’s not unreasonable for you to think otherwise.” “Had society remained as it once was for you...”

As he spoke, the middle-aged woman waved her hand. “Oh now, enough with that old-fashioned flattery—you’ll make me cry.” “Rather than that—you’ve been doing quite well for yourself lately, haven’t you? You must’ve gone to the Kabukiza several times by now.” “Come on, just tell me about that.” “I can’t stand this dreariness.”

“Hehehe—this was a grave blunder, a great discourtesy.” “I’m afraid my dear, dear feelings simply took precedence.” “The crucial discussion ends up coming later, while the forbidden topic mistakenly takes precedence—I’m afraid this too becomes tonight’s forbidden utterance—there!”

He slapped his forehead with his palm and, with exaggerated gestures, thrust his knees forward. “In truth, I have come to discuss a rather promising matter, but ultimately, it all comes down to the Kabukiza Theater.” “Hehehe—if I may be so bold—might I inquire whether Madam and the young mistress have yet finalized engagements to any parties?” The middle-aged woman, intrigued by the promising talk, leaned forward intently. As if suddenly remembering something, she clapped her hands and briskly ordered the maid to fetch ice and some appetizers—a display of pragmatic hospitality. Nakai settled in, thinking he had his chance.

“Well, the matter concerns...” “I hesitate to name them directly, but there exists a young lord from a recently ennobled house—” “Hmmmmm.” From this initial exchange—her demeanor suggesting favorable reception—Nakai grew ever more emboldened.

“Actually, the young lord in question is an esteemed adopted son.” “Now, regarding his wife’s daughter—she isn’t merely fifteen and naive.” “Given her rather... particular disposition, she proves quite incapable of fulfilling wifely duties.” “Being seasoned lords of newly ennobled families, they grasped matters swiftly.” “‘I’ve no need for restraint,’ he declared. ‘You ought to keep someone close at hand to replace the wife.’” “With such frank instructions, the adopted son—free from reservations—came to act entirely at his own discretion.” “Under these circumstances, the young lord cannot thoughtlessly summon just anyone to his residence—hence the wife must serve not merely as a public ornament, but in truth manage affairs from social engagements with kin to overseeing lower-class matters, all while maintaining wifely decorum.” “For the lord himself, it’s as though he seeks a proper wife in intention—a mere concubine would never suffice.” “Depending on his discernment—understanding she may be treated not as a concubine but as a wife—I received his august command to procure a suitable candidate—nay, a refined young lady of good breeding.” “Admittedly reasonable—I too pondered deeply and resolved to assist—yet finding myself essentially tasked with playing grand matchmaker.” “She isn’t precisely a concubine—though ‘wife’ feels somewhat awkward—” “Hehehe—rest assured, I don’t mean your young mistress here.” “Might there be such a person among your acquaintances?” “Hehehe—no—it’s truly a most challenging search.”

The middle-aged woman paid no heed to his persistent unease about the term “concubine.” “What’s wrong with being a concubine?” “Then she’d be just like a proper wife, wouldn’t she?” “So what about it? How’s the stipend going to work?” “Well, that matter’s already as good as settled.” “Given that this concerns the honorable young lord of a noble family—who studied abroad two or three years ago and now bears some impressive Western-style title beyond our humble understanding—he currently receives a most generous personal allowance. Combined with the official stipend his parents are certain to provide, I daresay it would more than suffice to support two or even three people in comfort.” “In any case, this matter won’t be settled without your involvement—hehehe—no—well, I’ll handle that part myself.”

To their surprise, the conversation flowed smoothly, and when the delivered appetizers were laid out before them...

“That’s a splendid proposition,” “Now then, have a drink.” “I’ll join you for one too.” After taking a sip, she passed the cup to Nakai. From then on, the two engaged in furtive discussion—pushing drinks back and forth—nodding frequently in mutual agreement. “Then depending on their reply, I’ll take this girl to the Kabukiza Theater.” “And you’d better not slip up on your end.” “Rest assured—while Sukeroku’s once-in-a-lifetime hit play may draw crowds, our Agemaki here will steal the show with thunderous applause!”

“Hohohoho, you’ve known about this for ages.” “That photo from before has finally served its purpose today, you see.” “This is rather harsh reproach—for one addressed as Madam, you don’t typically use such crude language.” “That only proves your boorishness.” “Even toward my husband’s countenance, we must maintain utmost sincerity from our side, you understand.” “Ah, with deepest reverence—Nakai Saisuke, who never retreats from such affairs—on this very day has acquired his first piece of wisdom.”

“Hohohoho, you’re not as foolish as you look.” “Such things don’t matter—just keep that part lenient.”

“Of course, I shall comply with your esteemed directive.” “Well then, Madam—with this I shall take my leave. Tomorrow at dawn, I shall visit the other party to finalize the date with the teahouse. Once that’s settled, I’ll pay my respects again in due course.” “Since he favors rather solemn and dignified presentations, on the day itself, have the young lady go out adorned in full splendor.”

And so the mother and daughter—forgiveness for even rude words born of self-interest—wore smiling faces. Even the voice calling out “Madam” had been specially arranged for this occasion. The young maid too understood her role—*clack-clack* went the repaired setta sandals. What a perfectly matched assembly of fools. From the right-angled three-mat room emerged a student—unusually garish for such a rat-like figure—in a grime-stained yukata with sleeves rolled up, who planted himself in the parlor’s center and glared at the innocent dishes; a guest wholly mismatched to this household.

Part Five

Now, as for identifying this man—when it came to Ōmura Ichirō, his very introduction demanded treatment with utmost formality. Incidentally, it became necessary to document an outline of his circumstances.

Ichirō’s father Kōsaku—as he himself had previously stated—was, in Miyagi, an undisputed old-money landowning family. Had he merely maintained that standing, his wealth—sufficient to rank among the highest taxpayers—would have endured; yet he possessed an uncharacteristic vigor ill-suited to an affluent family’s complacency. His undoing came when the political tides of Meiji 20–21 surged across the nation: swept into the Great Unity movement’s grand but flimsy banner that lightly enveloped idealists, he embarked on an unseasoned voyage. Among fellow passengers stood so-called patriots—powerful figures whose comings and goings newspapers lavishly documented—yet who clustered around Kōsaku with sycophantic zeal like tigers eyeing sheep, refusing to yield even an inch of deference. In the presence of a certain Count, these politicians relished their positions as esteemed guests occupying upper seats—men who would never be addressed as “master” by tenant farmers like Yomosaku and TaGohee. Having suddenly transformed into an elite figure through sheer audacity, swelling with pride, he relocated his family to Tokyo’s Shiba district. Whether attending club meetings or preparing political organizations, every consultation demanded funds—yet only through his indispensability could these endless nights be endured, forging alliances that surged southward with unstoppable momentum. He who had undertaken even campaign costs east and west—whose heroic dream squandered his fortune in an eye’s blink—left ruin trailing through his twenty-third spring. On battlefields where allies and enemies clashed chaotically, having secured one of three hundred seats through bonds with ill-fated comrades yet still clinging to noble resolve to serve the nation, he suffered Kyoto-bred journalists mocking this devotion—selling courtroom transcripts as charming parodies of provincial legislators’ speechifying. The newspapers’ reports turned even relatives who once praised him as elite into condemners of his eccentricity—such was society’s fickle duplicity! Yet bearing duty as morality’s wooden bell, he resolved to startle these fools once securing a vice-ministerial seat in the coming party cabinet era. But striving harder multiplied expenses: months arose where eight hundred yen annual stipend proved insufficient for monthly costs. The provincial wife fretted, offering formal remonstrations—yet the heroic master rebuffed her: “Matters beyond women and children!” Leaving her speechless, she endured their household’s decline. Worries accumulated into no small distress. Deeming this unworthy of pity, he declared a politician’s wife showing such timidity could never accompany him henceforth. Invoking “Behold Western statesmen’s wives,” he lectured her with formidable names she’d never heard. Though uncomprehending, she feigned agreement to placate him—yet her heart remained unsettled. They said some monstrous affliction had gripped Master these past three years—words she’d utter in fevered night delirium until death. Even this pitiable sacrifice for national affairs became something Master deemed unworthy of mention. Long before this, he’d kept concubine Oaka sequestered in Akasaka—doubling as secret meeting venue. This seasoned ex-geisha’s thick skin suited his needs. True to his anti-clan faction reputation, Master spurned poetic conventions about “lotuses untended in wilds.” This brilliant selection from obscurity—proclaiming with jest-earnestness their household cabinet had swiftly changed hands—numbered among his boasts.

Thus, while Oaka had effectively become Ichirō’s mother, the strong-willed boy—from his youth onward—adamantly refused to call her such. Oaka tried with all her might to force him into a son’s role; he resisted this, his resolve never to call her "mother" remaining unshakable. At thirteen, the year after Oaka became the mistress of the household, he entreated his father and took up residence at a Chinese studies teacher’s private school. On the rare occasions he returned home, though the surging emotions in both their hearts swelled ever higher, fortunately no severe clashes occurred, and for a year or two, the Ōmura household maintained an appearance of undisturbed peace.

During that time, Oaka left everything to her own will, indulged in as much extravagance as she desired, and paid no heed whatsoever to Ichirō’s affairs. As for Ichirō’s sister Toku—being a girl—she had tamed her completely; taking advantage of her comely appearance, she molded her into a doll-like figure serving as a substitute plaything—a blank thread ready to be dyed in whatever hue she desired. Her scheme was to eventually install her as the wife of a proper gentleman. At every turn, Madam flaunted her status as the wife of Mr. Diet Member—stopping just short of declaring “This is what a politician’s spouse ought to be!”—even dragging out the Master’s name in the oddest contexts to bolster domestic policies that accompanied diplomacy, all part of her recklessly grandiose machinations. The arrogant do not endure—his four-year term swiftly expired, campaign funds for re-election choked by political maneuvers, forcing desperate compromises where one sacrifices back to save belly. In this reckless scramble born of financial deadlock, even meticulous deliberations frayed beyond mending. When opposition claws caught wind of his ruinous debts—their fangs bared in opportunistic assault—their incited lawsuit thrust him, against all expectation, into prison’s maw. Kōsaku, defeated in the election, faced the utter ruin of his life’s work—the household thrown into turmoil, Ichirō’s window of learning shattered. The boy devoted to books—in springtime when willow strands hung desolate—would read and reread tales of human emotions thinner than paper; though he thought of making a name for himself striding through the world, he held no desire for acclaim. Yet even as he aspired to startle the scornful rabble and endure firefly-and-snow hardships for future greatness, it was as though he lacked such resolve entirely. Uncultivated in the virtues of a noble man, his stubborn disposition festered—a temperament nurtured by circumstance. Since leaving Inokai’s place that day—being a person with no home to return to—he concocted a desperate rationalization: if it was ultimately his father’s property, what was strange about a son going there to eat? The stepmother’s residence—ordinarily yet another source of resentment. Observing his father’s hardship—while the mother and daughter pair wanted for nothing, their livelihood ceaseless as Furukawa’s flowing waters they subsisted on—he came to this small latticed residence.

Part Six

He refused to call her "Mother," fixing his gaze on Oaka's face.

“What sort of man is this current one?” “This is beyond disrespectful—to make Toku a concubine!” Taking this as a veiled attack on herself, Oaka replied with calculated chill.

“What does it matter? That’s just how it is.” “Don’t you know about that?” “What would I know about such a man?”

“Hohohoho! There you go again with your old tricks.” “That’s him—you know, the bag merchant who was always coming around back when we lived in Shiba.” “What’s this ‘bag business’?” “It’s not a legitimate operation anyway, right?” “How tiresome—a bag merchant deals in bags, you see.” “Whether it’s Seito’s trade or Mr. Inokai’s affairs, I don’t know such things—but your father knew him well regardless.” “………………” “I don’t know if you approve, but he does inquire after you most considerately.” “Even those who’ve shown him great favor—he won’t even glance their way—”

“That’s the problem.” “Because that bastard has ulterior motives.” “What good would it do? Given the current state of affairs.” “Don’t take people lightly—I know that much too.” “It’s not as if she’s become someone’s mere plaything.”

Ichirō fell silent for a moment, then pressed forward with the conversation. “So what is this? Are you finally sending Toku off to be a concubine?” “Well, it can’t be helped, you see.” “If we don’t do this—you—” “Wouldn’t both our mouths go dry otherwise?”

“This is outrageous.” “Then why don’t you send her as a wife?” “Hohohoho! You’re still so green in your judgment.” “That’s only natural. Even if you fancy yourself quite the grown man, you’re still not old enough to enlist.” “Well, try balancing accounts yourself—with Father in such straits, you couldn’t handle a single parcel.” “So tell me—do you imagine some upstanding gentleman would take her as his proper bride—huh?” “That exists—if only the suitor were willing.”

“That’s right—exactly right! How admirable of you to realize that if the other party isn’t willing, there’s nothing to be done.” “In that case, let me tell you—indeed, as you say—if we’re talking about a policeman or an elementary school teacher, even this would count as a blessing.” “Then you think this girl’s whole life should be pitiable? And now that I’m left all alone—who’s going to support me? Do you still imagine there’s plenty of family property left? Let me tell you—we can’t even afford to sit idle anymore.” “Up until now—it’s only because I managed everything single-handedly that we were able to stay here.” “If you come back here now—how do you expect us three to manage tomorrow? Have you given that even a moment’s thought?” “Or perhaps—since you’ve spent two whole years under that lawyer’s wing—you’ll single-handedly manage everything until your father returns? Is that your grand plan?” “If that’s settled—even I wouldn’t want to send Toku off as a concubine. I’d reconsider right away. Now give me your answer.”

A menacing visage preying on frailty; though he loathed her as “Mother,” those emaciated arms unworthy of the title—clenching greasy sweat. “Th-that’s impossible. I’m still in training.” “There—you see? Then you’re being unreasonable too.” “If you’re still training, act like it! Why won’t you leave everything to me?” “Th-that I’ll leave to you—I’ve always left it to you.” “But Toku is my sister—Father’s daughter.” “How could she—how could she be sent off as a concubine?”

“How amusing. Let’s hear it.” “So what then? Are you trying to humiliate me?” “If this shame must be recorded—then I shall record it.” “Indeed, I rose from concubinage—there’s no denying I worked as a geisha too.” “But looking at this body that now passes as Ōmura Kōsaku’s wife—are you claiming I’m not Toku’s mother?” “Now let us hear the crux of it.” The blustering figure pressed closer—a war of barbed words traded blow for blow. “Of course that’s right—you’re no mother; this Ichirō knew that from the start.” “To this house where you deny me as mother—why crawl back in shame?”

“Of course I’ll leave—I’ll leave right away!” As Ichirō kicked up the tatami mats—his stormy exit likely dismissed as mere purification theatrics—his mother’s face remained composed while his sister feigned obliviousness despite her fear, stealthily tugging at his sleeve. Ichirō suddenly remembered. “Hmm, Toku—you’re coming with me!” “Oh Brother, I don’t want to.” “There’s no need to get so angry.” “Hurry up and apologize to Mother now.” “You fool! Aren’t you my sister?!” “So Brother, you stay here too—I’m telling you!”

“You fool! Don’t you understand? You colossal idiot—you insensible oaf!” “Even so—there’s nothing to be done.” “Brother, if I followed someone like you, who knows where I’d be dragged!” “What did you say?!” “Then you wouldn’t mind being sold off as a concubine?!” “When there’s no choice, one must accept it.” “You… defiler of Father’s name!”

In a fit of rage, he kicked her down—Oaka, having waited for this moment, thrust herself forward. “Come now, kick me harder.” “Kicking Toku is just taking it out on me—go on, give me a good hard kick!”

Part Seven

Even within the dust-choked capital city—amidst Yotsuya Drill Ground, where traces of Musashino’s wilderness lingered—far removed from military residences, in a grassy thicket near Gonda-hara, a student had camped. He rose before the birds that herald the break of a sleepless dawn, grimacing while adjusting his thoroughly dampened collar. “Ah, how pointless—truly disappointing.” “The world is vast and people are many, yet I suppose those who suffer adversity everywhere like me are rare.” “Last night I fled Iidamachi and desperately traveled about eight kilometers to seek out an acquaintance in Aoyama, but that bastard, likely having caught wind of things, didn’t even offer to let me stay.” “Thinking it too humiliating to beg for help, I tried sleeping rough—but honestly, it doesn’t feel great at all.” “Must I really go where people are, I wonder.” “That’s right—I’m human too, a body of flesh and blood.” “Because it’d be pointless to ruin my health.” “But wait—even penniless, I’d still be a dependent. How dreary that would be.” “What should I do, I wonder?” “No—that’s not it. Hardship tempers the soul into jade.” “Yes, yes—I, who have been granted such hardships, must undoubtedly be the Heavenly Emperor’s favored child.” “This body must undoubtedly be one destined to bear tremendous responsibilities.” “Considering this, my body is not something I can treat carelessly after all.” “Hmm, alright—from now on, I’ll make patience the one thing I give a try.” “This is the very place where Zhang Liang offered up the shoe, I suppose.” “Otherwise, nothing will come to fruition, you see.” “The real problem is Huang Shigong—do such men even exist in this world today?” And so, wandering aimlessly without any destination in mind, he had just reached the back of Akasaka Palace when someone tapped him lightly on the shoulder from behind.

“Ōmura, you’re up rather early.” “Where’ve you been?” Though similarly military-belted, this man gave the impression of being far more resourceful. His new indigo kasuri robe—its hem cut short—and the white metallic cloth wound twenty times about his waist formed a mound at his hip like a white fence beginning to collapse. “Hmm—you?”

Ōmura found his own feeble reply strange.

“What’s wrong? You’ve got such a listless look on your face.”

“Hmm.”

“Is something wrong?” “Hmm.” “Another ‘Hmm’? Quit that already! What the hell’s wrong with you?” “Nothing’s wrong. I’m walking.” “Ha ha ha! You—you’re out of your mind! You gotta pay better attention, y’hear?” “Why?” “Why the hell—look at your face. You look like you’ve crawled straight out of the grass, I tell ya.” “Hmmph.”

Ōmura was slightly startled.

“H-how do you know that?” “How could I not know? I’m seeing it right before my eyes.” “So what if you saw? You mean where *I* came out?” “Ha ha ha ha! Fool—that’s not the kind of sophistry you should be spouting.” “It’s an adjective.” “Oh? If that’s how it is, then you should’ve just said so.”

His demeanor showed slight relief, yet his heart still reproached him. "You—are you truly calling it an adjective?" "That's obvious." The military-belted companion remarked casually, yet in an unmistakably eerie manner. "Truly, there's something wrong with you." "How far are you going? I'll escort you there." While his companion kept staring at him intently as they walked together, Ōmura found this bothersome.

“Oda-kun, you go on ahead—I’m in a hurry.” “If you’re in a hurry, I’ll hurry too.” “That way suits me fine.”

While walking briskly together, their camaraderie still proved difficult to restrain. “You really do look pale.” “Why don’t you just come stay with me?” “I’m staying at Kunino’s place now.” “Oh, Kunino... you mean Kunino Tameya?” “Isn’t that Huang Shigong?” “What are you talking about?” “It’s Kunino, you know—the Kaimei Party’s.” “I already know.” “That’s why I’m asking.” “There’s no need to even ask, is there?” “Professional legal advocacy may be naive, but since that approach isn’t in vogue, it’s just letting their talents go to waste.” “But as for a political heavyweight—even a child knows that, don’t they?”

“Right, that’s why I want to confirm what sort of man he is.” “Hmm, I see. Well then, I understand.” “He’s an exceptional talent, I tell you.” “Though society mistakes him for part of the Destruction Party, with us he’s every bit the gentleman—a man of astonishing humility and virtue.” “He genuinely cares for students.” “That’s why anyone would gladly lay down their lives for him.” “Why, even this uniform I’m wearing—” Oda deliberately tugged at his sleeve cuffs to display them. “Mr. Kunino pawned his watch recently to buy these for me.” “Identical uniforms for ten students.” “Isn’t that something? That’s why he goes about contentedly wearing nothing but chains.” “Could your precious Inokai ever match that?” “Had someone like me stayed there till now, I’d still be enduring nothing but my wife’s nagging.” “You’ve not changed a bit, have you?”

“No—I’ve changed.” “How’ve you changed? Gotten any better?” “Nah—I got out.” “Well that’s grand. So where you staying?” “Nowhere.” “Nowhere? You gotta sleep somewhere.” “Don’t.” “Quit messin’—I ain’t gonna knock you down.”

“Th-that’s exactly why you shouldn’t say such things.” “Am I that sort of vile man?” “Fine then—last night I slept at the training field.” “Hmm, I see. Now I understand.” “So that’s why you flinched when I said I crawled out from the grass.”

“Hmm.” “Hahaha! This is uproarious—truly an absurd tale.” “Now I’m finally relieved.” “To be honest, I’d grown somewhat concerned since you kept spouting such nonsensical remarks, but if that’s your situation, all’s well—no further worries.” “And do you have anywhere to go now?” “No—that remains unsettled.” “Is that so? Then why not come with me to Mr. Kunino’s place in Kanda?” “Truth be told, I visited relatives in Aoyama yesterday and returned late last night—this makes for a convenient excuse.” “Never mind my personal circumstances.” “More importantly—there’s likely no one else like Mr. Kunino out there.” “If you’re inclined to stay, I’ll arrange an introduction.”

“Hmm, I wonder—aren’t you putting him on a pedestal?” “Why not?” “In any case, just come and see for yourself.”

As they walked and talked, their feet passed before Gakushūin and approached Yotsuya Mitsuke. The gnarled old pine branches along the moat’s edge, bathed in dawn’s light to gather blue-green hues, bore such an air as though welcoming me. Ōmura escaped the hazy realm here and let out a faint cry of triumph, whereupon Oda slowly turned to regard him. “How about it—Yotsuya Mitsuke here is none other than Xiapi’s Yí Bridge.” “And since the Huang Shigong of today is incompetent, what do you say about Zhang Liang going to meet him at his residence?” “Hahaha.”

Part Eight

In this world, there was nothing as unregulated as a household without its mistress. At Kunino’s ostensibly respectable mansion, shoji screens lay torn, footprints worth more than ten coppers crisscrossed haphazardly in sand upon the floor platform, and toothpaste-laced spit mingled like the red and white banners of rival clans at the shoe removal area—yet none dared criticize such a dwelling, cowed by the very name “Kunino.” Yet when Mr. Kunino revered this as an emblem of austere poverty—if there were someone who embodied such ideals—would they not…? Ichirō, guided by Oda and without need for elaborate persuasion—his father’s name itself being pitiable enough—was permitted to join the disciples; however... At first, there had been the usual half-belief and half-doubt, but even as he spent those days against his will, indeed, it was just as Oda had said. Harmony between superiors and inferiors took the form of raucous gatherings; what seemed like a lack of decorum still held its own propriety—was it not that the disciples’ hearts were subdued? When provisions were plentiful, they would gorge themselves like beasts, transforming into a bacchanalian feast of wine pools and meat forests in a single night’s revelry—the sheer delight of draining every last drop, with no walls standing between master and disciples. When resources were scarce, even bath money eluded the disciples; instead, they contentedly chewed on vegetable roots at the master’s dinner table—a fair and selfless pleasure. And though they might go ten days without bathing in the height of summer, this brought them no discomfort. When I first came to this house as well, because my summer kimono was unsightly, they unsparingly gave me a new one to change into; yet seeing how they would lack clothes to wear each time laundry was done—how could this possibly be seen as a stratagem? As his heart gradually began to open, day and night, new seeds of admiration took root and multiplied. In Ichirō’s chest surged a gratitude he had never known—a creeping unease raised its head. To think such a thing toward myself—this worthless human—would be disastrous. The terror that the reactive resentment and hatred—born from an experience he’d long been sick to death of—would come accompanied by them. The battle between myself and my own mind—a solitary wrestling match with no victor—alas, even this toppled over before the teacher’s compassion. Crushed under that resistance, his chest—frozen solid even in summer—threatened to melt into cloying admiration and gratitude.

Well then—Ichirō, who would not yield even after one or two defeats, still faced a formidable foe intent on confirming an ironclad plan years in the making. Pouring water into chilled eyes—the harder he stared—a battle bringing him no benefit could only end in prolonged stalemate. Having firmly resolved his doubts, Ichirō crossed his arms and closed his eyes. If this was sorcery in the end—so be it! No matter how Kunino plumbed the depths of human sentiment, exploited vulnerabilities of hearts, and ensnared people with such cunning—Ichirō would be the one to strip away that false guise. Though he had concealed his thoughts here too, Mr. Kunino remained ever composed in daily life; neither stratagems nor schemes left any trace to grasp, leaving him wearied by monotonous research. After dozens of days—albeit with dissatisfaction—he examined his obtained results. What he had thought sorcery proved instead a selfless ideology—forsaking oneself to love others, noble in its ideals. Having reached sudden enlightenment, Ichirō thought: Even if this too were cunning self-interest—justly named and nobly purposed—he must take this man as teacher. Thus began the baffling transformation of Ichirō—once an obstinate youth of peculiar resolve—into a mere lump of flesh before Tameya: backbone and self dissolved, pulsing solely with gratitude’s fervent blood.

Rather than that, Ichirō—finding time amidst others’ peace—devoted himself single-mindedly to legal studies, immersing himself solely in law books as he hastened toward his own future. Rather than fellow students, it was the political activists who mocked him, “Hey Ōmura—still got your nose stuck in books?” “Quit it! Enough of this foolishness!” “What’s the use grinding away now?” “So what if you become some two-bit lawyer or get appointed judge? You’d still be bottom-rung junior eighth rank.” “What can you accomplish with such puny guts in Mr. Kunino’s faction?” “At least try rehearsing political speeches.” “A silver tongue can move heaven and earth.” “Me? Who knows when I last cracked a book.” “But once we get party cabinets and Mr. Kunino becomes foreign minister? They’ll make me envoy to Britain or France! With all the coming reshuffles, I might even land a cabinet seat someday—that’s how it works.” “Since you love books so much, study international law—maybe they’ll toss you a secretary post. Hahaha!”

In facial expressions alone he would not yield to the teacher, sneering as he stroked down imaginary tiger whiskers—this house being home to the senior activist’s Commander-in-Chief. Oda, true to his loyal nature, said: “I don’t mean you’re truly at fault, but do pay some heed to your surroundings.” “The reason Mr. Kunino keeps so many disciples isn’t to produce scholars from his followers.” “Preparing political activists for emergencies is one objective—why not try swordsmanship in your spare time?” “Then isn’t this exactly like those incompetent officials you’ve always denounced?”

And it seemed he placed importance on becoming a future police superintendent. A cynic stepped forward.

“It’s because you lot misunderstand Ōmura’s character that you spout such impertinence.” “Was not Ōmura’s austere father—who stood upon the political stage yet deliberately shunned factions of political criminals, choosing instead to face interrogation for common civil offenses—a man of exceptional caliber?” “Thus this scion shows no compunction about standing downwind of Mr. Inokai to seize a path of glorious advancement.” “By adopting a policy of scraping together three-penny lawyer’s fees through pettifogging, does he not prove himself a prodigy who yields nothing to his sire?” They burst into raucous laughter at this. Tameya—who had prized Ichirō’s mettle over seniority, even entrusting his cherished daughter’s textbook recitations to the youth—found this decision breeding jealousy. Whether in triumph or disgrace, what a world it was, thick with sneers at every turn.

Part Nine The Ichirō of old would have taken offense at such matters, but now, transformed by Tameya’s silent virtue, he had retracted his sharp edges. Let them laugh if they will; let them revile if they must. I have my own path to follow. He still assiduously leaned only on his desk. With no mistress to scold his ineptitude, and San too occupied with the many young masters’ gossip to take each rumor upon herself, fortunately there was no feminine resentment—though. The fifteen-year-old young lady, whose mother had passed away, took pleasure in reading. While Ichirō lacked robustness, he was not boisterous like the other students. In his delight at responding to her questions with meticulous care, she deigns to affectionately call him “Ōmura, Ōmura.” This alone—Ichirō, who had always treated women as adversaries—became an utterly unwelcome boon. Her innocent and neat appearance—the stern temperament of a single winter plum blossom—bore the grace of one enduring frost. In time, even this would come to bear the teacher’s likeness. Once accustomed, it was not particularly troublesome. At the very least, this was a commendable attitude aspiring to make even a fragment of repayment. After all, his nature had returned to its proper course, and as sincerity began to show, her approval grew all the more favorable. Your Excellency, who was usually occupied with both state affairs and personal matters, tonight—finding it unusually free of visitors—had specially summoned Ichirō. It was his first face-to-face meeting with the teacher; though he revered him as an ideal father figure, when actually seated across from him, he found himself with nothing to say. His body was like a maiden standing before her lover. If it were someone else, they would spread their limbs wide—but where should he place his fists? Finally managing to find a place beside his knees to conceal them—it was an action requiring all his strength.

Mr. Inokai spoke in his usual, dispassionate tone.

“How’s it going? “You seem to have been studying quite diligently.” “Since I’m perpetually occupied, I haven’t inquired—but how fares your father’s health?” The man embodied manhood; his words epitomized speech. Ichirō involuntarily shed a single scalding tear. “Yes, he appears to remain in good health.” “Is that so? Most satisfactory.” “During elections, remarkably underhanded methods are employed, you understand.”

After Mr. Inokai recalled something and was deeply moved, “So then—what exactly do you intend to do?” “Yes, though various delusions do come to mind, in any case, I am in a position where I must take responsibility for Father.” “First, I intend to secure my footing as a lawyer; matters beyond that I wish to determine at a later date.”

“That’s acceptable too.” “There’s no use in empty theories and idle pursuits.” “However, I’m aware your true ambition lies elsewhere.” “Proceed step by step and do it thoroughly—that’s best.” “I will certainly provide as much protection as possible.” The dialogue did not extend beyond this, yet every word struck vital points. Ichirō felt more heartened by these few words than if he had gained a million allies. Truly, there is no one besides this teacher who understands me. I must certainly do something in the future to repay this kindness—this conviction I deeply engraved in my heart.

Part Ten

Several months and days passed without bringing any change to Ichirō’s circumstances. His inner world too had passed peacefully.

Suddenly, the political landscape transformed completely—every last member of their trusted Popular Party now wallowed in office-grabbing schemes. The Kaimeitō’s rear cart failed to heed its predecessor’s overturned tracks; thus did we all crush beneath our wheels these petty carts of cycling karma. They rushed toward success’s gate, transmuting others’ despair into their triumph—but which failure truly led this procession? Though none discern a crow’s gender, none confuse heron for crow; these shadowed hearts stood exposed before society—this single rumor burned eternal. Not like bones of prized steeds does a patriot’s end prove worthless—nay, even in ruin he finds purpose. Their skins fetch tenfold prices postmortem—how pitiful that “human” becomes cheaper currency than cured hide! Daily did society’s whispers reach Ichirō’s ears... Yet this youth’s days held no place for political debates threatening to erupt with fervor. Father’s prison release drew near—this thought alone... Ichirō maintained cold indifference until another unavoidable report thundered through his skull: Kunino Tameya—his sole mentor, revered for noble integrity and moral depth— Had reportedly accepted appointment as vice-minister of some ministry.

To be startled by every rustle and cry and doubt Mr. Inokai’s moral integrity would be a grave sin against his benevolence. Even Ichirō, who dismissed Oda’s whisper with a laugh and walked away, could not completely forget it as he gazed at the scenes within the estate. Perhaps it was his imagination, but yesterday more than the day before, and today more than yesterday, the number of unsettling developments had increased. There was a time when Mr. Inokai had laughed at Ichirō for not lamenting with impassioned verse, yet now an inexplicable look of delight even appeared on his face. That evening came Asano Wataru—a renowned political strategist rumored to have long mediated between all patriots and the government, entrusted with the key to personnel appointments at the inner gate—and during his prolonged secret discussion with Mr. Inokai... Ichirō suddenly found himself having business that brought him to the corridor of that reception area. The conversation between host and guest leaked through the shoji.

“Shall I have them issue the appointment order then?” “That’s right.” “But wait four or five days for me.” “There’s a slight complication I need to handle.” The voices ceased at the sudden stillness radiating from Ichirō, who had been eavesdropping. When Mr. Inokai demanded, “Who’s there?” Ōmura declared, “Ōmura,” his voice steel-edged. He spun toward the students’ quarters, already wrestling with this devastating puzzle. There it lay again on Ichirō’s desk—the letter poised to stop his heart with its revelations.

“What? Father died of illness, they say?” “In prison? Damn… what a wretched end!”

Clutching that single letter, he dragged out a futon from the closet. Covering his head, he let out sounds of grief and indignation all night long.

Two days later, in the margins of newspapers throughout the capital, a few lines of violent text were printed in size-two type.

Last night around nine o'clock, at ――, someone ambushed Mr. Asano Wataru in his carriage. Though a flash of lightning struck above his head, due to their swift action of firing the pistol repeatedly, the villain failed to achieve their objective and immediately vanished without a trace. According to the coachman's account, [the assailant] was a man of political activist build, his features closely resembling those of a certain Ōmura—a student of Kunino Tameya. Further details await subsequent reports.

Mr. Kunino had just taken hold of this newspaper and stood utterly dumbfounded when Miss Ume, her face pale, came rushing in.

“Father, it seems Ōmura’s matter has appeared in the newspapers.” “Yesterday morning when he was leaving us*, he handed me this letter.” “When his* affair gets printed* within two or three days*, please give this* to Mr.* Kunino.” “Until then*, never let* it leave your hands* and keep* it carefully preserved.” “Because he* asked me*.”

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

It is said that what we value in gentlemen is moral integrity; one without integrity is no gentleman. The times now surge unchecked toward luxury; people’s hearts flaunt their gaudy splendor. In such times, the scholars of the realm neglect the moral integrity they should uphold and prostrate themselves beneath gold’s dazzling glare. That gold is the toxic drug that paralyzes morale, the crucible that transforms honor. The present-day scholars flock together to offer flattery to the powerful and curry favor with those in high positions—their aim is not so much seeking fame and renown as it is a desperate rush to obtain gold first. Their circumstances are pitiable. Their principles are contemptible. Yet not a single person in the realm devises strategies to reverse this decline—instead fanning these very trends, they fling open their gates under the pretense of recruiting talent, luring reputable scholars with gold, ensnaring them into their own enclosures to employ as pawns for their schemes. Ah, the stench of money—no, the pervasive contamination of mineral poison—rots away the noble integrity and pure virtue of scholars. How could one possibly endure such grief? How much more so do its pernicious effects extend—hindering the progress of our age and obstructing the expansion of national prestige—by no means trivial! I shall swiftly eradicate the traitors lying before our eyes, revive the enervation of scholarly spirit, and seek to rouse society from its stupor by resolutely executing my plan to purge the wicked. Humbly considering this: Teacher’s abundant virtue truly makes you this land’s unparalleled hero-statesman—using humility to win over others, employing diligence and frugality to lead the multitudes. Moreover, your statecraft strategies and unyielding integrity—in these present times, if we set Teacher aside, who else could we possibly await? Moreover, are there not those who still seek openings to tarnish your esteemed reputation and noble integrity?

Now the nation truly faces myriad crises—in domestic governance and foreign relations—yet those requiring heroic leadership are countless and still insufficient. Moreover, should you err even slightly in the critical timing of your decisions to advance or withdraw, you will share the same path as those weak-willed cowards and leave only their mockery for posterity. How could you not exercise utmost caution and vigilance even in the slightest action or single word? You must implement strategies for enduring stability and lasting governance, and strive with all your might to win over the people’s hearts. Where the people’s hearts converge and Heaven’s mandate directs, a great opportunity will naturally present itself. Even if you were to seize that great opportunity, carry out grand governance, expand lofty ambitions, and plan fundamental reforms—would this not still be deemed too late? A callow youth knows his impudent words hold no worth—knowing this yet still daring to voice them—for he deeply awaits that which the realm requires.

Looking back, I have privately revered your teachings; the debt I bear is immeasurably great. Yet these reckless actions wantonly betray the profound wisdom you instilled. I make no light account of this crime. Nevertheless, I could not forsake this violent deed; by shielding my own disgrace to voice these meager thoughts, I dare offer these words solely to repay but a sliver of your deep mentorship. I beseech you to understand this. A disciple, weeping blood and prostrating himself.

Though written with unsteady brushstrokes, in Mr. Kunino's eyes—eyes that knew Ichirō—there dwelled an innate vitality. He let out a long, despondent sigh and muttered to himself, “Ah, what a waste—to have ruined that young man.” Whether those words left any lingering echo or not, the political strategists never visited Mr. Kunino again. Thus the scenes within Mr. Kunino’s residence remained exactly as they had always been. Rumors and slanderous whispers still showed no sign of abating. His political standing remained, even now, an object of public speculation.

However, Ichirō had long since fallen into the hands of the authorities, and his shadowed half-life history was interred beneath the charge of so-called attempted murder. Was it that his oft-declared future aspirations amounted to such reckless action? Ah, was it all but such mere child’s play? Drifting clouds speak not; flowing waters tell nothing. And thus public judgment was irrevocably settled.

What manner of fool—this utter imbecile—defiled the civilization of post-Restoration Japan! There were also a few remarks from women.

“He was a more terrifying man than we’d imagined.”

“If he’d been left around longer, who knows what might’ve happened to even us,” this alone was repeated even seventy-five days later—heard and spoken of by those near Kamakura Riverbank and Iidamachi. (*The Japan of the World*, July 1897)