Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

This place was Asakusa’s Okuyama district.
There stood a single restaurant.
It was an innermost room.

Four samurai were talking.

It was night.
It was an early summer evening.

“We must kidnap her no matter what.”

The one who said this was a thirty-year-old samurai of obscene handsomeness, who might have been mistaken for a temple retainer.
He could just as well have been called an actor.
His attire and possessions were splendid.
Yet he was neither temple retainer nor actor—rather, he seemed to be a wealthy rōnin.

“How should we carry out the kidnapping?”

The one who asked this was a thirty-two- or thirty-three-year-old samurai who appeared to be a destitute rōnin.
He lacked the pinky finger on his left hand.
Likely severed after losing a duel.
His entire being exuded base greed.

“That’s where you lot need to use your ingenuity.”

The handsome samurai was curt.

“What should we do?”

The samurai missing a pinky finger spoke to one of the samurai.
They had discussed the kidnapping.
“Well then,”

The one who had said this was a twenty-eight- or twenty-nine-year-old rōnin—poor-looking, covetous, and base—with a burn scar on his chin.
“We should disguise ourselves, patrol the area, and snatch her when she steps outside.”

“No good, no good.”

The one who cut them off was the handsome samurai.

"There's a deadline—a kidnapping deadline."
"Let it pass, and it all becomes worthless."
"We can't waste time on leisurely plans like snatching her when she goes out."
"Tonight—it must be tonight! Seize her tonight!"

“Well then,”

The one who had spoken was another samurai—around forty years old with faint pockmarks, also appearing to be a rōnin, with clothing and swords both shabby.

“Well then, regardless of everything—let’s disguise ourselves, loiter around the mansion gate, gauge the situation, sneak in, and somehow retrieve the jewel.”

“That should work.”
“I’m counting on you.” The handsome samurai nodded.
“But for the infiltration plan too—make sure every preparation’s arranged without fail.”

“This way’s actually easier.”
The one who said this was the samurai with the burned chin. “The murder trade’s my specialty,” he added boastfully.

“Also,” said the samurai with faint pockmarks this time, “the enemy’s said to have no defenses at all.”

“Hmm,” said the handsome samurai.
“And our opponent himself lacks any real skill to begin with.”

“Though if he’s as clever as they say, he might’ve laid some splendid precautions.”

This came from the samurai with the burn scar.

“That’s right, that’s right. We can’t know for sure.”
The handsome samurai nodded in agreement.
“And make sure to instruct them thoroughly.”

“Very well.”
“All is secure.”
“...I will also instruct Shimaji, Ōsato, Yada, Koizumi, and their lot.”
“...In truth, when it comes to that crew, they relish murder more than meals.”

“By the way, Lord Hanagaki,” said the pockmarked samurai to the handsome warrior with a sly grin, “there’s no issue with the reward, is there?”

Then the samurai called Hanagaki—whose name was Shizuma—struck his chest with a resounding thump, as if thoroughly comprehending the matter.
“It’s fine. Rest assured.”

“It simply must be this way.”
“It’s like scooping up millet with wet hands—that’s how smoothly it’ll go.”

“But if this fellow fails—”
Hanagaki Shizuma looked uneasy.
“We’ll become the ones being targeted instead.”

“Therefore, you should drive us hard and put us to proper work.”
The one who showed a glint of menace was the samurai missing a finger.

“What do you mean by that?”

Though he understood perfectly well, Shizuma said this as if he didn’t know.

“We’d like an advance celebration.”

“Haven’t you been drinking since earlier?”

As he said this, Hanagaki Shizuma gazed at the scattered sake cups and dishes.

A derisive laugh burst simultaneously from the three men’s mouths.

“The sake may have a golden hue, but it’s rather... watered-down.”

“The stuff that goes ‘clink-clink.’”

“What’s this, what’s this? You want money?”

As if he had just noticed, Hanagaki Shizuma gave a bitter smile, but—

“Take it, take it… Divide it, divide it.”

“This is enormous…”

“Ten ryō each, perhaps?”

“Looks like twenty ryō will remain afterward.”

“Hmm, so fifty ryō in total?”

You wretched rōnin—all three of them—reached out their hands and frantically grabbed, but around this very time, in a room of a certain mansion, a lone samurai was talking to no one in particular.

II

"It's all your fault."
"I resent you—I resent you utterly."
"Yet in another way, I pity you too."
"...Jealousy!"
"Yes—that jealousy blinded you completely!"
"But what of yourself?"
"Wasn't your life itself steeped in lust?!"
"I endured great hardship."
"You might say I endured to the bitter end."
"And still I endure it."
"...It was an age of suffering."
"No—the suffering persists even now."
"Not mine alone."
"The daughter too!"
"You made even that your bait!"
"Bait for jealousy!"
"Your jealousy!"
"...But I kept it—I kept your will!"
"True enough for preserving grand inheritance, but more than that—as for me—it was my daughter's happiness I desired."
"If I say that, you'd retort: 'That daughter!' 'That daughter!'"

But I declare clearly: my daughter is my daughter!
There’s no other meaning to it!
You dare cast doubt on that?!
And you call yourself a mother?!
And you call yourself a wife?!
……Of course, she is a good daughter!
She is undoubtedly a daughter worthy of love!
And I loved her!
But that love is pure!
"How could it ever be compared to that love you had for that wretch!"
"That wretch is truly a villain!"
"That wretch changed methods—altered tactics—and persecuted us both!"
"And he’s still persecuting us even now!"
"There was no peace!"
"But I endured—I endured until this very day!"
"If we survive tonight—all will be settled!"
"Victory will be ours!"
"Then we shall be free!"
"We shall break free from your accursed will!"

The bright light of day would finally shine upon us...... Even so, I would not forget.
The four clauses that bound us!
That was a cruelty beyond what ordinary humans could even conceive.
One might call it ingenious...... Destroy it, and it could be destroyed endlessly!
No time or effort required—simple, and without facing any criticism—but I couldn’t do it.
Because I had been conditioned long ago to be unable to do such things.
You knew that.
That’s why you seized on that.
And then you presented those conditions before my very eyes...... So I declare clearly: you crafted those terms to watch me writhe in agony for my conscience—for the conscience I possess!
And that succeeded.
And so I suffered.

Suddenly at this point, the samurai’s voice took on a sorrowful, plaintive tone.

“Those without conscience are happy.”
“Because nothing can bind them.”

Here, the samurai’s voice grew even more sorrowful.

“But I had one.”
“That’s why I was trapped in a vice!”
“It was you! You’re the one who did this!”

The samurai’s figure could not be discerned. There was no lamp in the room.

In the darkness, he was calling out and speaking to no one in particular.

It was a standalone building.

The building’s surroundings were a garden.

The trees grew lushly and thickly.

But moonlight was streaming down.

Bathed in that moonlight, the building was dimly visible.
One section of the tiled roof shone like water, one section of the white walls shone like water, and the rest blurred into the shadows of the trees.

Inside it, he was talking.

A vast main house stood on one side.
A corridor extended from there.

And then, at one spot along that corridor, a figure abruptly appeared.

It was the figure of a young girl.

She called out to the building.

“Father! Father!”

Moonlight was streaming onto shoulders.
And only there did it appear starkly pale.

“Father! Father!”

Then, from the building’s entrance, a figure abruptly appeared.

The entrance and the corridor were connected.

The one who appeared was a samurai.

It was undoubtedly the samurai who had been speaking.

Right around the middle of the corridor, two figures met.
Moonlight was not shining there.
And the figures could not be discerned.

Only voices could be heard.

“It is finally tonight.
It ends tonight.”

The one who had spoken these words seemed to be the daughter.

“Ah, that’s right—tonight.
And tonight is the end.”

The one who had spoken these words seemed to be the samurai.

And then, they fell silent for some time.

III

Rustle, rustle, rustle went the sound.
An evening breeze seemed to pass through the grove.

The water of the garden pond glowed.
It was probably because the moon illuminated it.

The far side of the garden pond rose up.
It must have been a large artificial hill.
The summit was wet.
It was probably because moonlight spilled over.
Flap, flap, flap… Flap, flap, flap… The sound of waterfowl wings flapping could be heard.
They were probably kept in the garden pond.

A cluster of pure white could be seen.
It was gathered at the base of the artificial hill.
It swayed gently back and forth.
And then, a fragrance wafted over.

It seemed to be peonies blooming in clusters.

Then came the daughter’s voice.

“Must I go again tonight too?”
Her voice sounded sorrowful.

“Go, go! Go on.”
This was the samurai’s voice.

“That too is for your sake.”

“Ah,” came the daughter’s voice.
“It’s of no consequence... For my sake... For my sake...”
It was a voice choked with sobs.

“But I… for Father’s sake…”

“My daughter,” came the samurai’s voice.
“At the same time, it will benefit me as well.”

“This is hardly the time for that.”
“If it will be for Father’s sake…”

There, once again, the voices ceased.

And it was utterly still and quiet.

*Snap!*
There was a cleaving sound.

They must have beheaded a carp or something in the garden pond.

It really was quiet.
The wind stopped.

And then, once again, the daughter’s voice came.

“Love bait!
“Love bait!”

“No,” came the samurai’s voice immediately.
“Happiness bait!
“Happiness bait!”

But the daughter seemed opposed.
"It's money bait!"

“It can’t be helped—such things… As long as we live in this world.”

“But if I could live with you forever, Father…”
The daughter’s voice was full of yearning.

“I have no such thoughts.”

“But…” came the daughter’s voice.
It was a chiding voice.
“This is what has produced such suffering.”

“Poor, poor Mother!”

“But we too were pitiable.”

“Because we were oppressed.”

“And then we must escape. And then we must rise above it.”

“We must escape.”
“We must rise above it.”

“And so, you must go.”

“Take Benkichi, Umonji, and Sakon with you…”

“That’s right. And then, on top of that, we must perform the formalities.”
“We’ve been doing similar things for so long…”

“It’s because we can’t find a suitable person…”

“We will probably never find one in our lifetime.”

“We must find one… and tonight! By tonight!”
“Only until tonight!”
There was seriousness in the samurai’s voice.

“But… as long as you remain…”
In these words of the daughter’s voice, there was an increasingly yearning resonance.

And then, the sound of crying could be heard.

The daughter seemed to be crying.

It was still early in the evening.
And it was quiet.
The mansion seemed to be located in the suburbs.

“Go on!” came the samurai’s voice.

“Yes,” came the daughter’s voice.

After that, there was only profound stillness and silence.

Before long came the sound of a gate opening faintly in the distance, followed at once by the noise of its closing.

Only the samurai stood alone.
He stood motionless with his head hung, thinking.
Moonlight shone around his shoulders.

A woman’s voice called out.

“I won’t let you escape tonight.”

“Hmm… Is that you? Ah… Shimako?”

“Yes.”

And the woman appeared.
She appeared to be a middle-aged woman.
She approached along the corridor.

“Please give me a clear answer.”

Four

There was a samurai there.

His stipend was meager, but he was a direct retainer.
Even so, he was merely a direct retainer, but his swordsmanship was quite skilled; he had courage and was still young.
He had a bit of a villainous streak, a sense of chivalry as well, and the rough-and-tumble demeanor of a street tough.
His name was Yūki Kijirō; if one were to name his flaw, it was that he was handsome—a trait that sometimes led to his downfall.

“Ahh… Is someone there?!”
“Help me—!”
A woman’s scream came through the air.

As planned，villains had emerged and seemed to be harassing a young woman.

"Yes! Got them! This might pay off!"

And Kijirō rushed to the scene.

It was exactly as expected—three ruffians were surrounding a young woman.

"This is—" Yūki Kijirō barked, "Knock it off, you bastards! You’re out of your minds!"

"What?!"

And the three came at him.

"Don't 'what' me! Cut your nonsense!"

"What?!"

And one of them rushed in.

"You fool!"

With a sharp clang, Kijirō drew his sword and struck him down with a flat blow.

“You bastard!”

Another attacker rushed in.

“Hmph!”

With another sharp clang, he struck him down.

“Run for it!”

The three had fled.

“That was close. Are you hurt anywhere?”
It was the formulaic line for such situations—Kijirō addressed the young woman.

Then came her equally formulaic response.
“Thank you for your kindness.”
“Thanks to your assistance, I’m unharmed everywhere…”

“A young lady walking alone at such an ungodly hour…”
This too followed the scripted pattern.

“I’ll escort you. Where’s your home?”
No matter how far they went, it was all formulaic.

However, that was destroyed.
The formulaic pattern had been destroyed.

“The mansion is here.”

Before the two of them stood a grand mansion with an imposing gate—for she had pointed at it.

“Hah,” said Yūki Kijirō, though he felt as if he’d been tricked.
“So you were trying to be kidnapped right in front of your own mansion?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“What a pointless story,” he snorted.
All that heroism of his had gone to waste.
“But even so, this is utterly absurd!
“What nonsense—this isn’t about you!
“It’s about the people of your household.
“Despite you screaming so much, they couldn’t come out—what’s going on here?”
Even as he said this, it all started to feel absurd.
(Who cares about that anyway?)
This has nothing to do with me.
(It’s a matter concerning the master’s circumstances.) “Then there’s no need to escort you.” (“Of course not!”) He found the whole thing absurd.
(If I take ten steps, I can get inside the house.) “Excuse me,” he said dismissively and started walking away.
(This isn’t good—I blew my chance for a reward.)

But at that moment, the young woman stopped him.
“Please do come in.”
“I must express my gratitude.”
“Um, I will also inform my father.”
Then she rapped on the gate—tap-tap.
“Old man! Old man! Open up!”

“Heey!” came a response from inside the gate, and immediately the small door creaked open. “Sir Samurai, please come in.”
“……Now then, Young Mistress, after you.”

“Yes,” said the young woman as she stepped inside.
“Please do come in.”
This was said from inside the gate.

Yūki Kijirō had had enough.

“Old man! Open up!” “Coming!” The gate creaked open. “Sir Samurai, please come in.” It was as if they’d been waiting for him.
This was strange... What was going on here? That eerie mansion gave him the creeps.

He looked at the mansion anew—a grand edifice spanning perhaps a square cho, completely encircled by an imposing earthen wall. Beyond the wall, lush shrubbery grew so thickly it could be called a forest.

"For me to go creeping into this mansion looking like this..."

Though the blade itself was a renowned Osafune, the worn-out scabbard's shoddy craftsmanship made Kijirō feel self-conscious.

Then the young woman’s voice sounded again.
“I must express my gratitude; please do come in.”

"Charge in with guts—who gives a damn?"

And so Yūki Kijirō entered, but from here on out, things were about to get complicated.

Five

There was a room in the mansion.

A samurai in his mid-thirties was talking to Yūki Kijirō.

“Thank you for coming to our aid.”
“I express my deepest gratitude.”
“That is my daughter—her name is Hazue, she is twenty years old, and though her disposition may seem gloomy, her true nature is steadfast.”
“…To call it imprudent would be imprudence itself—for an attempt was made to kidnap her right in front of her own mansion.”
“However, as you are aware, this mansion is exceedingly spacious. Even if screams were raised at the gate, they would not easily reach the main house—it is quite troubling.”
“Ohhh, I have been remiss in introducing myself—this humble one is Mitsuzō Takuma, master of this mansion.”
“This year I turn thirty-five years old—I am a samurai by birth, I must admit, though I serve no master and remain a rōnin. Moreover, I have always been fond of books, devouring characters day and night like a silverfish. Thus I live in retirement, a life of seclusion—to the extent that I might go twenty days without even stepping into garden clogs—such is the life I lead.”
“Ah! So it was you, my lord! Indeed—a rōnin! Hohoho! Your name is Lord Yūki Kijirō… and your age?”
“Twenty-three?”
“That is most excellent indeed.”
“Twenty and twenty-three—truly an auspicious age difference… Hohoho, splendid! A low-ranking samurai in your standing, yet a direct vassal to the shogunate—most excellent indeed. What could possibly be amiss?… Ah, but I hear your household finances are rather strained?”
“No, no—that is not an issue at all.”
“…Speaking of household finances, ours is prosperous enough to be the envy of others, but that very prosperity invites many troubles—even enemies.”
“…But first, let us set that aside—as it is already late into the night, I must insist you retire to a separate chamber and continue our discussion at your leisure tomorrow morning. …Ah! How utterly thoughtless of me! To detain you without even inquiring whether you have a wife—what a grave discourtesy I have committed.”
“However, having observed you, it seems to me you are unmarried.”
“Ah! So it is—how fortunate. You are indeed still unmarried, I see.”
“Everything is falling into place perfectly.”
“…And you excel remarkably in martial arts, with noble character and fine stature—truly splendid… Ah, well then, regarding tonight—it is possible that someone may attack this mansion. In that event, I must ask you to demonstrate your martial prowess without fail… Ah, and one more thing—it is also possible that a rather unusual incident may occur here at the mansion. Should this startle you, I beg you pay it no mind whatsoever and rest assured during your stay.”

Mitsuzō Takuma, the master of this house, spoke in this manner.

As for Takuma’s appearance，it was truly splendid.

He had tied his lustrous hair in a chonmage topknot without a single stray strand.
A broad forehead and prominent eyebrows formed a tranquil horizontal line.
Eyes of extraordinary beauty held both gentle softness and piercing clarity, blending human warmth with wisdom.
His nose’s noble height and shape embodied the very essence of dignity.
A small mouth carried faint femininity.
Lips neither cruelly thin nor coarsely thick.
Yet he remained magnificent.
Full cheeks, a chiseled jaw, thick earlobes, an elongated neck—his delicate frame exuded scholarly refinement.
His build balanced medium height with proportional weight.
His bearing matched his face’s inherent nobility.
The sight of him seated solemnly in a black montsuki kimono sans hakama trousers declared him unmistakably a senior hatamoto.
He stood as the consummate samurai—harmoniously endowed with dignity, authority, prosperity, wisdom, and humanity.

But the one strange thing was the lack of composure in both what he said and his demeanor. He seemed somehow fidgety. He appeared to be afraid of something. There were contradictions in his words. There were moments when he said things he didn’t need to say. Yet it didn’t seem to stem from ill intent. Nor was it contrived. It all seemed to happen naturally. That was why it grew all the more peculiar.

He seemed to be frightened of something.
He seemed to be trying to cling to something.
He seemed to want to be saved.
――In other words, that was how he appeared.

“He’s quite a peculiar man. …I’ve stumbled into some strange place.”

Yūki Kijirō grew uneasy.

"He doesn't even consider my will—just decides everything on his own... Before I could even say whether I'd stay, he went ahead and decided I would."
"But in any case, this man was clearly not a villain."
"So in that regard, it was reassuring."
"No—no, far from being a villain, he seemed a truly remarkable person... But even so—strange though he's supposed to be her father—they don't resemble each other in the slightest."
"And he's rather too young."
"Too young to be her parent."
"A twenty-year-old daughter and thirty-five-year-old parent."
"In that case, he'd have fathered her at fifteen."
"It's one thing for a woman to bear a child at fifteen—but for the father to have sired one at that age seems far too young."
"That said—of course such things aren't unheard of... But then—what of the daughter?"
"She hasn't shown her face at all... And despite this being such an impossibly grand mansion—there don't seem to be any servants."
"When I thought about it—this too was strange... A mansion where they warn of attacks and ask you to fight—no matter how you look at it—it's bizarre."
"Well—so be it... Very well—very well—I'll stay at this mansion tonight as requested."
"There must be some secret here—I'll just uncover it."

And so Kijirō decided to stay—but indeed, various unsettling events began occurring one after another.

Six

The room he was led to was a bedroom.

Luxurious bedding was laid out.

All the essentials were in place.
This was because elaborate food and drink arrangements were spread out in a line.
The maki-e cups and plates, maki-e sake flasks, Kutani cups, Kutani small plates, Kutani bowls, Kutani platters, and the dishes served on them were all exquisitely crafted.
A pair of gold folding screens were arranged around.
The peacock painting depicted on them appeared to be by Ōkyo’s brushwork.
A vermilion-lacquered andon lamp stood there.
Illuminated by the lamplight, the gold folding screens shone with a brilliance that pierced the eyes.
Tea utensils were arranged to one side, and the kettle hissed steadily.

He could drink tea or sake as he pleased.
If he wanted to sleep, he was free to do so; if he wished to drink while lying down, that too was entirely at his discretion—in this manner, everything was arranged for complete freedom.

But there was just one thing missing.

There was no one to serve drinks.

Yūki Kijirō flung off the upper futon and sat cross-legged on the spread-out futon where no one could see him. He poured himself drink after drink but found himself compelled to ponder.

No matter how he considered it，the mansion was strange，the people odd—he couldn't make sense of any of it．…And then there was that oddly concerning nuance in Mitsuzō’s earlier words．

The reason was none other than this：＂Twenty and twenty-three—it’s just about right．＂

Those had been Mitsuzō’s exact words．

“In that case, it sounds exactly like he’s trying to pair me with the daughter of this house—Hazue, I think her name was—and have us get married.”
Now that I thought about it, he had seemed to subtly inquire about my status earlier.
“I just can’t make sense of it at all…”

He gulped down drink after drink, pouring them himself.

But the drunkenness showed no sign of taking effect.
His mind only grew sharper.

“Judging from the house’s structure and its furnishings, this must be a family of considerable wealth.”
“No—the master himself must have said they’re envied for their riches. …And that daughter of theirs is as beautiful as she appeared.”
“If I could become her husband, I’d count myself fortunate.”

He kept gulping down drinks, pouring them himself.

The image of the girl named Hazue flared vividly before his eyes.
He had seen her by moonlight at the gate, where her features remained indistinct. But after entering the brightly lit house—where someone introduced him to her father—and before she slipped into the inner rooms, the glimpses he caught of her face were truly beautiful.
Her sharply defined Fuji forehead and unusually thick hairline were so striking they might have made one suspect she wore a wig.
Her eyebrows arched slightly upward, as vivid as if painted on.
Her nose stood high and narrow, its nervous delicacy lending her face an air of nobility.
Her lips were thin and somewhat large, their corners drawn taut to reveal a strong will.
But what stood out most were her eyes—veritable pools of passion.
Though somewhat narrow, with whites visible beneath the irises and a tendency to gaze upward, their clarity held such rarity that they seemed unapproachable.
For a woman, her stature was tall; for a girl in her prime, slightly too thin—a flaw by one measure, yet this very leanness rendered her figure exquisitely beautiful.
Her overall bearing leaned more toward purity than sensuality, yet one sensed she forcibly smothered a blazing inner fire, maintaining composure through sheer will.

"I'll marry that girl," he thought while pouring himself another drink. "However I consider it—this would be an incredible blessing."

Kijirō kept drinking steadily from his self-poured cup as these thoughts circulated through his mind.

The alcohol refused to take effect.
His vision sharpened instead of blurring; his mind grew clearer rather than clouding.
The night progressed relentlessly.
With each passing hour,the mansion sank deeper into silence.

Yet paradoxically,a formless anxiety began gnawing at Kijirō's heart.
"Enough!" he suddenly declared aloud,surging to his feet.
He seized his paired swords.
"This place reeks of secrets anyway.
I'll investigate thoroughly.
Hiding here guzzling sake while waiting for trouble shows pathetic weakness.
Better to actively hunt down this mansion's mysteries myself."

And so he left the room—but just what mysterious occurrence did Yūki Kijirō encounter?

Seven

Before he knew it, Kijirō emerged into the backyard.

It was a magnificently vast garden.
It was as if he had stepped into the mountains.

A grove of trees stood thick and pitch-black.
The artificial hill rose high.
A wide pond lay spread out.
Flowering trees and shrubs were everywhere.
A stone bridge spanned the pond.

Far ahead in the distance, something was deflecting the moonlight.
It was a large bamboo grove swaying in the wind.
A light burned in its depths.
It appeared to be a shrine to a god.
A lamp’s flame seemed to be glowing.

The ground was covered with moss.
And his foot slid eerily on the moss-covered ground.

A small waterfall cascaded in one spot.
Reflecting off it, the moonlight glimmered like quicksilver.

And then, the call of a cuckoo sounded.

“It’s just like a daimyo’s secondary mansion.”
“It’s just like the garden of a daimyo’s secondary mansion.”

Muttering to himself, Kijirō had just reached the back of the artificial hill when—

At the base of the artificial hill was a rock arrangement, and from its shadow emerged a single shadowy figure.

“Oh?”

At the moment he thought this, something thrust out swiftly without a battle cry.
It glittered!
A spearhead!
The shadowy figure thrust out a spear.

“Look out!”

He instinctively cried out, then shouted again, “Who’s there?”
And at that moment, Yūki Kijirō had already grabbed the spear’s collar.

And then, the shadowy figure called out.

“Thanks for earlier—that flat strike landed square on my shoulder.”
“……Well then, as thanks—your spear back!”
“……And with that, I’ll take my leave!”
“Though another’ll show up soon.”

He slipped away into the shadows and vanished.

There was something swaying in rounded masses.
It was pure white like snow.
There was a cluster of white peonies.
When he vanished, he had likely shaken the flowers.
A sweet fragrance wafted over with a sudden intensity.

“What a shock! What in the world?”
Utterly perilous—caution was paramount… This “spear offering” gutted him… Wait—what had he said? “*Thanks for earlier—a flat strike right on my shoulder*”—aha! So that bastard earlier—the one who tried to abduct this house’s daughter at the gate…
Hmm… It seemed they’d infiltrated already.
Things were getting too dangerous to ignore.
For Hazue… he’d drive them out from this garden.

He advanced steadily and came out before the waterfall.

Beyond that lay a grove.
More than a dozen cycads stood.

And then, a voice came from the shadows.
“Mr. Yūki, Mr. Yūki—earlier, I received that flat strike from you.”
“Here’s your thanks!”
“First, this!”

With a pop, a shadowy figure leaped out.
A circle glinted in the night sky, followed by a clanging sound.
What scattered were sparks.
As the enemy’s sword came slashing in, Yūki Kijirō drew his blade to clash against it, scattering sparks.

The two leaped back in opposite directions.

“Impressive work,” came the enemy’s voice.
“But beware—there’s another one! My apologies!”

With that declaration he vanished.

As soon as he said this, he vanished.

The crown of the cycad glistened.
It seemed to be because the moonlight was hitting it.

“What a bunch of jokers,” Yūki Kijirō couldn’t help feeling irritated.
The garden was vast; the lay of the land was unclear; groves and artificial hills towered.
He couldn’t tell where they had fled.
Even if he tried to give chase, there was nowhere to chase.

“Alright,” Yūki Kijirō resolved.
“There’s going to be another one.”
“This time I won’t let them escape—I’ll take care of them properly.”

But that plan also failed.

It was when Yūki Kijirō, his drawn sword lowered, cautiously advanced forward and reached the bamboo thicket—a voice came from within the bamboo thicket.

“I have observed your skills.”
“Truly, one such as myself cannot possibly face you.”
“That flat strike earlier was masterful—I see you’ve trained thoroughly in the martial arts.”
“Therefore I beg you—grant me this request.”
“...Keep going straight and you’ll reach the back gate.”
“From there they’ll come—a dozen samurai ruffians.”
“...This time I implore you—show no mercy and cut them down with your skilled blade.”
“...This is precisely for Lady Hazue’s sake.”
“And for the master’s sake as well.”
“My apologies!” he called out.
That was all.
No—there came a rustling sound.
Parting the bamboo thicket, he seemed to vanish without trace.

“What in the world?” Kijirō stood frozen in genuine astonishment.

“Weren’t they enemies? For Lady Hazue’s sake, for the master’s sake—since they said this much, I could only think they were allies……. Then why did they charge in? Then why did they try to kidnap that girl Hazue? I couldn’t make heads or tails of any of it. There was only one thing I knew for certain—this mansion was suspicious. No matter how you looked at it—this mansion—it was suspicious.”

Kijirō began to grow angry.
Because he thought he had been toyed with.

“Whether it’s for the master or not, whether it’s for the daughter or not—I’ll cut them down for my own sake!”
“Come at me!”
“Anyone!”
“I’ll cut them down!”

Stealthily muffling his footsteps, he advanced until reaching a grove. When he emerged from it, there before him stood a heavily fortified earthen wall encircling the grounds, with a sturdy back gate firmly planted in one spot.

“Right—that’s the back gate.”

Just as he was about to break into a trot—tap, tap, tap—a furtive knocking sound came from outside the gate.

Then a human figure appeared from the direction of the main house.
To his surprise, it was a woman.
She broke into a half-run toward the back gate.
Yūki Kijirō pressed himself flat against the ground and kept watch, only to witness another baffling scene.

VIII

To put it plainly, it was none other than this: such words were exchanged between the woman who had hurried over and the man who seemed to be outside the gate.

“How did it go?” came a man’s voice.

“Tonight at midnight…” answered the woman’s voice.

“I hear they’ll give a clear answer.”

“What do you mean midnight?” she snapped angrily. “That’s cutting it a bit close!”

“It’s not late,” he retorted with matching irritation.
“If we wrap things up exactly at midnight, how could it possibly be too late?”
His tone dripped with insolence.

“But even a minute’s delay would ruin everything.”
The man’s voice now wavered with anxiety.

“All our efforts could collapse for want of one final basket.”

“I know that perfectly well,” she said with a mocking laugh. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

“So, how’s it going?” he asked apprehensively. “Think it’ll come together, that plan?”

“Hmm,” came the woman’s voice, now tinged with anxiety. “I can’t give a clear answer either way.”

“No skill at all,” the man jeered mockingly.
“How dare you address me like that?”

“Takes one to know one,” he retorted.
“And you’re no better yourself,” she snapped back, venom seeping into her tone.
“What exactly were you doing until we reached this desperate point?”

“Stop it!” Though his voice faltered as he said it.
“Let’s end this quarrel—it’s pointless.”

A silence fell there for a moment.

Hiding in the bushes, pressed close to the ground and eavesdropping, Yūki Kijirō muttered, “I don’t get it.”
“What in the world were they talking about?”

However, in any case, neither the man nor the woman seemed to be good people.
It seemed certain that they were the sort of people plotting something nefarious against those in this mansion.

“The situation grows more complicated.”
“This mansion becomes increasingly suspicious... Who could that man outside be?”
“Who is this woman before me?”

And then Kijirō remained motionless and continued watching.

“Anyway,” said the man’s voice.
It was the voice of the man outside the gate.
“Make absolutely certain it succeeds.”

“You too,” she shot back.
It was the woman inside the gate who retorted.
“Make sure you take thorough measures.”

“Goes without saying,” he said mockingly. “We’ll send samurai in—a raid. …What about the defenses? The mansion’s defenses?”

“During the evening, a young samurai has entered the mansion and is staying over.”

“Huh?” he said, sounding startled. “What’s his bearing like? Impressive?”

“Ah, his bearing’s impressive enough,” she replied, “but he seems to be a low-ranking samurai. A petty one at that.”

“Hmm,” he said, then fell silent.

The woman inside the gate also remained silent.
And then, a profound silence and stillness fell.
Two sharp splashes broke the silence.
It seemed a carp had leaped in the garden pond.

“They’re talking about me,” he sneered. Yūki Kijirō grinned. “Flattering to call my bearing impressive, but ‘low-ranking samurai’ is too honest”—and he continued observing the situation.

A man’s voice spoke.
“We can’t afford any carelessness.”
“If we dawdle and let that petty samurai seize the jewel, it’ll ruin everything…… Right—we’ll deploy our men at once.”

“That’s a good plan,” said the woman.
“Then I shall take my leave.”

There, the woman slipped through the grove and returned toward the main house, but soon after, a solitary figure appeared atop the earthen wall.
It was a masked samurai.
And then another solitary figure—a similarly masked samurai—appeared atop the earthen wall.

Kijirō, who had been hiding and observing, thought, “Ah, so they’re the raiding samurai.”
“All right—I’ll cut them down one after another from the start!”

He slowly rose to his feet, lifted one knee into an iai stance and gripped the hilt of his large sword—then with a sharp click released the blade from its collar.
Leaning his upper body forward with elbows bent at hook-like angles through a forceful twist, he planted his left foot firmly on the ground and raised his hips into a leaping stance… Tilting his chin upward while arching his forehead back, he glared through narrowed upturned eyes—all focused on targeting the figure poised to leap down from the earthen wall.

“Come at me, villains! I’ll leave none standing!”
“This is my first kill.”
“I’ll cut down every last one of them!”

When he muttered to himself, a figure swiftly leaped down from the earthen wall into the garden.

At that instant came a sudden draw—Yūki Kijirō, still crouched, smoothly emerged and swung his extended right arm.
Within moonless tree shadows lay his concealed form.
Yet only the sword's tip breached the silver light.
Phosphorescent steel flashed once—but by the time it gleamed, the blade had already withdrawn into darkness.

*Guh!*
A choked groan burst from the descending samurai. Hands clawed upward in swimming motions before he collapsed face-first.
Moonlight bathed his torso from waist up.
His back rippled in muscular spasms.
Shoulders twisted into serpentine S-curves.
From his left flank oozed blackness—thick liquid dragged in viscous trails.
Daylight would have shown crimson: blood pulsing from the wound.
Then—complete stillness.

“What’s wrong, Shimaji?” called out a voice.
It was the other one on top of the earthen wall.
With a nimble leap, he jumped down.
“A blunder? Did you fall?”

He bent down and peered in.

Targeting that opening, Kijirō once again slithered out stealthily, but this time instantly straightened up and rose to his full height on tiptoe—though in such circumstances, it wasn’t cowardly.
Without a word, from behind—he delivered a single slash aimed at the back of the skull!
The blade cleanly split bone and sent fragments flying.

He immediately concealed himself in the shadows of the trees.

Nine

Guh!
It was an eerie scream—a single cry let out by the samurai who had been cut down.
He collapsed like a felled dead tree and dropped forward heavily, rolling onto the corpse that had fallen before him and covering it like a shroud.

Moonlight illuminated them.

His vital spot had been split open with a single sword stroke.
Without so much as a convulsion in his body, he appeared to have died in perfect stillness.

“I’ve taken down two. Is that all?”

Yūki Kijirō stood in the shadows of the trees, never ever letting his guard down. With his bloodied sword held in a low stance and his eyes fixed upward on the wall—even he felt somewhat pressed—he steadied his breathing and muttered under his breath.

And then, before his muttering could end, five dark silhouettes appeared atop the earthen wall. Identical in appearance—masked figures—they were samurai, needless to say. They stared fixedly at the ground below but seemed puzzled; then the five began whispering in hushed tones.

Then something glinted with a sparkle.

All five of them drew their swords.

They deflected the moonlight.

“Hey,” came a voice from one of them.
“Yeah,” came a response.

“Seems they’ve been defeated,” came another voice.
“Shimaji and Ōsato.”

“Looks that way,” came another voice.

“The enemy seems to have defenses.”
Another voice spoke.

Then, one of them looked back.
“Two of our allies have been defeated.
“…What should we do now, Lord Hanagaki?”

Then, a response came from outside the gate.

“Defenses are only to be expected... Very well—I shall join in as well.”
“…We’ll charge in all six at once—as planned.”

Immediately, another figure appeared atop the earthen wall.

The figure wore the same mask.

“Then,”

With that, they jumped down.

The six gathered together and examined the two corpses.

Kijirō, who had been watching from the shadows of the trees, thought, This is bad.
Six against one—it’s no contest.
I should retreat and inform the people in the mansion about this situation.

So as not to make any noise and so as not to let them see him, he retreated backward step by step.
After retreating several ken, he whirled around and covered his bare blade with his sleeve; then crouching low, he hurried along the shadows of the trees toward the main house.

It was when he reached the base of the artificial hill.
“You’ve done well，Yūki.”

He heard such a voice.

And then immediately came another voice.

“We shall guard this area.”
“I pray you would cross the stone bridge and protect that detached room standing yonder.”

Then yet another voice spoke.

“For our master resides there.”

He couldn't tell where they were.
They must be hiding somewhere.
And so they must have seen everything.

10

“Ah, so they must be the ones from earlier.”

Yūki Kijirō had deduced as much, but this was no time for debate—having been asked to cut men down and now that he was in this deep, he resolved to see it through to the end and lend his aid.

“Understood.”

With a simple acknowledgment, he circled around the artificial hill, emerged at the pond, and crossed over to the other side of the stone bridge.

Ahead stood a building.
It was connected to the main house via a corridor.
It was a stand-alone structure.
The grove of trees darkened the vicinity.
The storm shutters were shut tight.

Having come that far, Kijirō surveyed the surroundings with a sweeping glance, then concealed himself in a dark corner at the edge of the building.

Then, he peered through the darkness.

But the garden trees grew thickly.
He could not discern where the earthen wall was located.
Therefore, the figures of the six who had jumped down from the earthen wall could not be discerned either.

The late-night backyard was quiet.
Yet murderous tension filled the air.

Snap!
A koi leapt up.

Flap-flap!
A waterfowl beat its wings.

Afterwards reigned only a sepulchral stillness—not even a breeze stirred.

Still the murderous tension lingered.

"I've collided with some strange fate."
Even amidst this crisis, Kijirō found space for such musings.

"That chance rescue of a woman should have led me to this destiny of killing."

It struck him as odd.
"What reward might come my way?"
A sense of anticipation stirred within him.
"Could I win the beautiful Hazue?"
The sudden notion brought an unexpected surge of delight.

If I could become an adopted son, that'd be something.
A splendid mansion, vast grounds—I could get my hands on all this. If I could smoothly become an adopted heir...

He felt like smirking.

Anyway, I'll just have to work hard.
I'll show 'em—my sharp skills!
But... he muttered as he looked toward the main house.
What's happening with the crucial daughter?
What's happening with the crucial master?
Isn't it strangely quiet... Oh—footsteps!

he pricked up his ears.

Softly came the sound of approaching footsteps.
Yet no figures were visible.
They must have been threading their way through the grove of trees.

Suddenly, the footsteps vanished.

When he thought this, the footsteps were heard again.

“Huh?” he muttered—the footsteps had split into two directions.

They seemed to have divided into two groups of three each. Three were coming this way, while three appeared to circle around the artificial hill toward the main house.

“Here they come.”

Then Kijirō pressed his back against the building’s corner, steadied his longsword in a mid-level stance, clenched his molars, regulated his breath, and strained to peer through the darkness ahead.

The footsteps gradually drew nearer.
But the enemies' figures remained unseen.

Then suddenly—the clang of clashing swords!
It came from the direction of the artificial hill.

Clang! A single exchange!
Continuing—several exchanges!
Following that came several screams!
It seemed the three allies had clashed with the enemies who had headed in that direction.

"Hmm—they did it! How goes the battle? Did they finish them off? Or were they beaten?"

Kijirō’s entire body tensed.
“Come out, come out, come out!”
“Come out over here too!”

It was the moment he shuddered with a warrior’s tremble.
A figure dashed out swiftly through the thick grove ahead.

They were three masked samurai.

“Come!”

With spirited vigor, Kijirō dashed out from the corner of the building.

“Scoundrels!”

With a shout that shattered their courage, he swiftly delivered a diagonal slash from the right at the one who had charged ahead first.

But it was in vain.
They must have been sufficiently cautious—parrying Kijirō’s longsword sideways, they nimbly leaped back diagonally.

“Men!”

“Right.”

“Be careful!”

The three exchanged shouts, then drew their bare blades and spread out in three directions, attempting to envelop Kijirō in their midst.

"This won’t do," Yūki Kijirō thought.

With a thud, he leaped back into the darkness—planting his back firmly against the corner of the building where he’d hidden earlier—and wondered, *What now? What should I do next?*

In that split second, he assessed the situation.

When he looked, the three enemies—perhaps prioritizing caution—showed no haste to attack. Maybe aiming to preserve secrecy, they even avoided unnecessary shouts. Scraping their three swords together, they crept forward... crept forward.

They all seemed to be fairly skilled fighters.
However, among them, the slender-framed samurai standing in the center appeared to be the least experienced.
Yet despite that, it seemed this very person was their leader.
He seemed to be the man called Hanagaki.

"Alright."

Kijirō nodded.
"I'll cut down the guy in the middle."

Then, while assuming his stance in the darkness, he watched for an opening in the man’s defenses.
However，it seemed that very act had been sensed by the man himself.
He slunk back in a cowardly retreat．

"This bastard."

Kijirō thought, perhaps offended by the cowardly attitude, and forgetting the presence of two enemies, he imprudently darted forward.

And then, the moonlight flooded over him.
And his entire body was exposed.

The two samurai who had aimed at that spot—as if to shout “Gotcha!”—coordinated their breath and simultaneously bounced forward like rubber balls from both sides to slash at him.

With a “Whoa!”, Kijirō shouted. For an instant, a chill ran down his spine—but his skill prevailed; he wasn’t cut.

With a clang came a single sword stroke; suppressing the tachi in his right hand, he whipped his head around and snarled at one of the enemies on the left. In other words, he startled them with a sharp, high-pitched voice—a fierce “Raaah!” The samurai on the left, startled by the shout, hesitated to draw his blade—seizing the moment, Yūki Kijirō shifted his stance in a flash, flipped his sword, and slashed in one swift motion.

A sharp cry of “Waa!”
A clang!
The one who had been slashed on the left—after dropping his weapon, he staggered backward, but upon clutching his left shoulder with both hands, he kicked both legs into the air and collapsed onto his back with a thud.

By that time, Yūki Kijirō had already leaped straight back to the same spot as before—the corner of the building—submerging his body into the darkness.
And thus, he had called out from there.

“Come on! Come on!
“…Come on! Come on!”
There, slowly, he roared: “C’mon and get it—raaah!”

Gripping the hilt of his longsword tightly, he positioned it at his dantian—the opening stance of chūdan—and once more,

“Bring it on—raaah!”

But even in such circumstances, Kijirō was thinking to himself.
I cut down quite a few. I fought hard.
If there’s no payoff, it’s not worth it. I wonder if I can become the daughter’s husband.
Can I become an adopted son here?

——He had such composure to spare.

Eleven

The clashing of swords, screams, and roars of “Bring it on—raaah!” formed a truly deafening cacophony.
If there had been even a single person in the detached guest house that stood there, they would have had to come out.

Yet no one came out.
Utterly silent, without a sound.
So was there truly no one here after all?

But no—there were indeed people present.

Moreover, there were two people—a man and a woman.

This was inside the building.

“Now, do grace me with your answer.”

The one who had spoken was a woman.
She lay prone on the reclining chair.
She supported her chin with both elbows.
Her elbows were milk-white.
Plump and well-fleshed.
Her face was that of a femme fatale!
She was the femme fatale type.
Her hair hung in disarray.
It evoked a black flame.
Enveloped by that hair was her face.
Was it not a face dominated by eyes?
Her eyes were so striking that without resorting to such adjectives, they defied description.
Her eyelids were undoubtedly double.
But opened so wide that they appeared completely single-lidded.
The reason their interiors looked so black was likely due to an overabundance of dark pigment.
The whites were streaked with stripes.
The shadow of thick eyelashes was likely creating that effect.
Those eyes stared intently at one spot.
Both dark pupils drew toward the inner corners.
And appeared as a kind of strabismus.

Strabismus has its own kind of beauty—the beauty of strabismus. No—strabismus itself is beautiful. And that woman—Shimako—her artificial strabismus was ethereally beautiful. It could also be called bewitching. It could also be called seductive. No—her eyes were blatantly issuing an overture of temptation. The lips painted with rouge were noticeably smaller than usual.

Shimako wore only a single underrobe.
She had draped just one garment.
Crimson might be alluring, but its garish stimulation made it distasteful to cultured people.
It was flesh tones that truly stirred men's desires.
This was precisely what Shimako wore.
A flesh-colored silk underrobe with scale patterns at hem and torso!
What a physique! Voluptuously plump.
Her waist tapered into rounded curves while her buttocks swelled in full prominence.
Her slightly parted legs—presumably wrapped in the underrobe—revealed their shape from buttocks to heels through the translucent fabric.
The underrobe formed a crease.
The gap between her spread legs.
The underrobe's collar hung loose.
Her chest appeared full to bursting.
Did she even have ribs?
Her fleshy, round breasts—undoubtedly moving with each breath—quivered so profoundly they seemed to deny the very existence of bone.

“There’s some delicious fruit right here.”

Shimako sang out.

“Please partake, Lord Takuma!”

While saying this, she limply dropped the left arm that had been supporting her chin and stretched it out lengthwise on the bed.
As the collar of her underrobe rolled up, a plump, rounded shoulder came into view.
As this happened, her left breast came fully into view, revealing its entire form.
It was a breast that looked quite heavy.

“Now, please do give your reply.”

Having said this, Shimako closed her eyes.
No—she closed them halfway.
Her large eyes suddenly narrowed, and dark shadows formed beneath her lower eyelids.
The eyelashes created those shadows.
How remarkably seductive her gaze became!
They were rapturous eyes.
They were entranced eyes.

And then, closing her eyes completely and removing her right hand that had been supporting her chin, Shimako let her head drop heavily. She pressed her forehead against the chaise lounge and lay flat on her stomach. The collar of the underrobe had been pulled back deeply toward her spine in a wedge shape—perhaps this displacement revealed her entire spinal column, elongating her nape like a serpent’s neck. There, her hair lay tangled. Through the tangled hair, white, lustrous flesh glistened sleekly. From within the seaweed, white coral seemed to glimmer intermittently.

“There’s some delicious sake right here.”

In a drowsy, muffled voice that seemed unbearably sleepy, Shimako called out rapturously like this.

“Please drink, Lord Takuma.”

She slowly undulated her entire body.
She appeared to be trying to roll over.
She appeared to be trying to lie supine.

A samurai stood alone.

He was standing beside the chaise lounge.

It was none other than Mitsuzō Takuma.

He stood coldly.
He made no attempt to look at Shimako's seductive display.
His face showed absolutely no flush.
Yet it showed absolutely no pallor.
His eyes remained properly directed.
His mouth was closed normally.
His legs showed absolutely no trembling.
His fists showed absolutely no clenching.
He remained utterly calm and composed.

But what could account for the single bead of sweat upon his forehead?

He remained silent like a wooden statue.
But if he were to speak, how could anyone claim he wouldn’t tremble?

Perhaps he remained silent out of fear that the woman would detect a tremor in his voice.

Why wasn’t he looking at Shimako?
Was it simply his nature to feel no interest in such feminine wiles?
One could interpret it that way.
But one could equally interpret it as the opposite.
That he feared being tempted by such seductive displays and therefore avoided looking at Shimako.

But he was looking at something.

There was a wall directly in front of him.
There was an object hanging there.
Unbefitting of the Bunsei era, it was a foreign-made pillar clock.

Ebony frame, brass pendulum!
The pendulum hung long from its frame, swinging rhythmically.
And from there, a sound could be heard.
Tick, tick, tick, ……tick, tick, tick!
——It was the sound of the seconds being ticked off.

The long and short hands, like arrows, protruded from the surface of the white dial, forming a rectangle.
Surrounded by a perfect circle, Arabic numerals were inscribed around it.
The hour hand was nearing twelve o'clock.
However, the minute hand was at ten o'clock.

Tick, tick, tick, ……tick, tick, tick… Time was passing moment by moment.

“Ten minutes left!”

A groan-like voice!
It had come from Mitsuzō’s mouth.
How unlike his calm face and demeanor was that breathless voice!

Tick, tick, tick… tick, tick, tick!

Time passed moment by moment.

The state of the room enveloping the man and woman was truly bizarre.

Twelve

That said, from today's perspective, it would have been nothing more than a Western-style study—were it not for the Bunsei era.

One wall had a door, another a window. Massive bookshelves stood lined up, packed tightly with books. Several chairs and a desk were present, an oil lamp burning atop the desk. Its light illuminated a celadon-colored carpet on the floor, while curtains of the same hue cast shadows in their folds. A high white plaster ceiling made the oil-painted patterns gleam.
—it was nothing more than that.

That said, this was the Bunsei era.
The location was the outskirts of Edo.
That such a room existed in such a place during such an era was something rather worthy of astonishment.

There was something even more astonishing.

That said, to put it simply, it too was nothing more than a single posted notice—but anyone who saw the four clauses written upon that notice would surely be astounded.

Directly beneath the clock, under the pendulum, a notice had been posted.

“Eight minutes left!”

A groan-like voice!
It came from Mitsuzō’s mouth.

Then came Shimako’s voice.

“Please turn this way.”

But Mitsuzō spoke again.

“Four minutes left!”
“It’s almost time!”

“Please look here.
You’ll surely see!
Look at my skin!”

Once again, Mitsuzō groaned out.

“Three minutes left!”
“It’s almost time!”
“Then we’ll be free!”

Shimako’s frantic voice rang out.

“You will be able to see!”
“Look at my skin!”

But again, Mitsuzō groaned out.

“Two minutes left!”
“Two minutes left.”

In the same groaning manner, Shimako said.

“Please look!
“Please look!”
“The white me!”
“The pure white me!”

“One minute left!”

“My naked body!”

But at that moment, a sound rang out.

The sound of the clock announcing midnight!

At the same time, a voice came from the garden.
It was more a scream than a voice.
Moreover, it was a death agony scream.
Moreover, it was the screams of two people.

At the same time, a voice came from the bed as well. This too was a scream. It was indeed a death agony scream.

Creak!
A sound!
The door opened.

“You!”

“Daughter?!”

“No, Hazue!”

“Is your name Hazue?”

“Your bride!”

What appeared from the opened door was Hazue in bridal attire.

“Come!”

And Mitsuzō spread his arms.

And Hazue and Mitsuzō Takuma gently embraced for the first time.

At that moment, something fluttered down from the wall onto the floor.

It was a posted notice inscribed with four clauses.

Was it the wind or a ghostly hand?
One of them must have released that paper from the wall and dropped it onto the floor.

Thirteen

“It was nothing at all, you see.

“In other words, my role was merely that of a bodyguard.”
“The cause was that posted notice with four clauses, you see.”
“Now let me explain them properly.”
“(1) If the adopted daughter and husband marry, the property shall be donated to the government. (2) Should the adopted daughter die, the husband die, or both perish before she turns twenty, the lover claims everything. (3) The instant she reaches twenty, if she marries anyone, they split it evenly—daughter and husband. (4) If he weds another woman before her twentieth year, lover and daughter divide it equally.”
—that was the four-clause list.
Now the one who wrote this was supposedly the adopted daughter—Ms. Hazue—but actually Hazue’s adoptive mother and Mr. Mitsuzō Takuma’s wife, a woman called Rikujo.
The ‘lover’ they mention? None other than a rōnin named Hanagaki Shizuma, they say.
It was her will, you understand?
The will Rikujo made when dying.
This Rikujo woman—wife of a rice broker—they say she had mountains of wealth.
After her husband died, she shacked up with Mr. Takuma, so they claim.
But kept her fortune separate all along.
And was such a wanton creature she took up with Hanagaki—that handsome vagrant samurai—or so the story goes.
Since she had no kids of her own, she adopted Hazue… only for Hazue and Mr. Takuma to fall in love behind her back.
Jealousy ate her alive, see?
Then came the sickness—a karmic plague, they called it—that finished her off.
But even dying, that adopted daughter and husband business gnawed at her soul.
So she left this will—a right spiteful document—to haunt them from beyond.
Now you’d think a dead woman’s spite could be ignored—but not by Mr. Takuma! Western learning got him twisted; studying those foreign books made him honor dead folks’ whims like gospel truth.
But those clauses were so vicious he’d stand before the will at night shouting reproaches—like scolding a living wife!

In other words, he had been reproaching it.

However, regarding the contents of the will—as one would understand upon reading—Mr. Mitsuzō could not marry Ms. Hazue.
If they married, the property would be confiscated by the authorities.
Before Ms. Hazue turned twenty, neither she nor Mr. Mitsuzō could die.
Whether one died or both perished, all property would fall to the lover Hanagaki Shizuma.
Thus both had to take utmost care not to die.
Before Ms. Hazue turned twenty, Mr. Takuma could not marry anyone.
If Mr. Takuma married, Ms. Hazue and Hanagaki would split and claim the property.

Meanwhile, from Ms. Hazue’s perspective, the instant she turned twenty, she absolutely had to marry someone.
If she married then, she and Mr. Takuma could divide the property equally......Yet from Hanagaki’s perspective, before Ms. Hazue turned twenty, he had to eliminate her, kill Mr. Takuma, or slaughter both—in short, erase them from existence.

Should he succeed, the entire fortune would land in his grasp.
But if that proved impossible, he had to send some beauty to seduce Mr. Mitsuzō Takuma and force him into marriage at all costs.
Succeeding there would let him claim half the total assets.

Now concerning Hanagaki Shizuma—it was said he made Shimako, his mistress, infiltrate Mr. Takuma’s household to tempt him.
Being a striking beauty, she reportedly swayed Mr. Takuma greatly—there were perilous moments—but ultimately he resisted her allure.

Defeated and bitter, Shimako bit her tongue and died—divine retribution made manifest, one might say.

Furthermore, Hanagaki Shizuma allegedly enlisted disreputable rōnin as henchmen, scheming to kidnap Ms. Hazue and engineer Mr. Takuma’s murder through various stratagems.

And on the very night the adopted daughter Ms. Hazue came of age at twenty, she herself reportedly led a band storming into Mr. Takuma’s mansion.

“And it was I who subdued them, you see.”

Of course, besides myself, three loyal retainers—Benkichi, Umonji, and Sakon—cut down Hanagaki’s rōnin underlings and eradicated that scourge.”

……With those three, I was reminded. Even now when I think about it, it’s an odd story—I gave those three sharp slaps with the flat of my hand because I thought they were ruffians—in other words, because I thought they were scoundrels who had tried to kidnap Ms. Hazue. No—or rather, in fact, that was indeed the case. The reason was none other than this: by staging such a farce, he aimed to recruit skilled samurai as allies and prepare for the assault by Hanagaki’s faction…… And in fact, it is said Mr. Takuma had even considered making me Ms. Hazue’s husband—if she were to consent. However, it seems this humble one did not meet Ms. Hazue’s approval, so we merely performed a mock marriage—indeed, that very night, I and Ms. Hazue were married, a mere pretense you see—for if we didn’t do that, the vast fortune wouldn’t go to Mr. Takuma and Ms. Hazue…… To put it roughly, this is how things unfolded.—Now, as for how those two—Mr. Takuma and Ms. Hazue—have been living since then, I have never visited them, so I haven’t the faintest idea—but Mr. Takuma is a scholar and a man of character; he has likely remained single, shut away in his study, devoting himself to those Western studies of his…… Well, and so Ms. Hazue—who in fact loved Mr. Takuma—to use a Western term (I heard this from Mr. Takuma—what was it called? Platonic love?)—offered a love of the heart alone, her body remaining a virgin as she served him…… No—in any case, that night was a memorable one for me, as it was when I became a swashbuckler…… “Ha ha ha! It has become a memory.”