Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Kunieda Shiro

I

“Stop in the name of the law!”
“Stop in the name of the law!”
“Surrender quietly!”

The shouts of police officers echoed from every direction.

Across Reiganjima’s Mangasaki riverbank—shrouded in the deep of night—lantern flames whirled like scattered stars.

“He’s drawn steel!”
“He’s drawn steel!”
“Hold your positions!”

Voices thick with murderous intent called out to one another. For a time, paper lanterns clustered together as their bearers jostled back and forth—they must have surrounded the thief at their center. But their sudden scattering like shooting stars meant they'd lost him.

"Ah!"—a scream tore through the air. An officer lay dead.

"He's escaping! Surround him!"

Splash!
Splash!
And then, the sound of water.
A police officer had been thrown into the river.

One by one, the police lanterns winked out, and as they vanished, the officers' shouts grew distant until at last complete silence fell—the final month of Kanei 5 reclaimed its nocturnal stillness.

Kawaguchi-cho on this side of the riverbank had nothing but lumber wholesalers lining its streets—yet despite the tremendous commotion nearby, not a soul stirred to open latticed shutters. The profound stillness here spoke not of slumber, but of people terrified to encounter trouble that might entangle them.

At that very moment, an old man came running as if pursued, clutching his chest tightly.

Just then, a hooded samurai in informal attire emerged smoothly from the shadows of a house as if brushing past the old man; having let him rush by, he whirled around and called out to stop him.

“Pardon my abruptness—might I ask directions? How does one reach Nihonbashi from here?”

“Gah!”

And without answering，the old man let out a scream like this．

“There he is!”
“Thief! Murderer!”

At this, it was rather the samurai who seemed utterly startled; he seized the old man’s shoulder roughly, but in a hushed voice that feared being overheard,

“I am not a suspicious person.
“I’ve merely lost my way by chance.
“What foolishness—to speak of murder!
“You should calm yourself, old man.”

Even when he spoke with forced gentleness as if admonishing, those words couldn’t enter honestly into the ears of the old man—still sprawled on the ground from his panic at the police’s shouts.

“Come out! Come out! Murderer!”

The samurai throttled him by the throat; he screamed.
“Enough! Must you still raise your voice so unreasonably despite all I’ve said?! Silence—silence—silence I command you!”

He grabbed him by the scruff and jerked him forward two, three times.

“M-m-murderer…”

Still screaming in a hoarse voice, he flailed both hands near his chest—then suddenly went limp and dropped his head.

Startled, the samurai released his grip.
With that, the old man collapsed face down like a falling log.

“Dear Buddha...”

Even as the words left his lips, the samurai dropped to one knee and reached toward the old man’s nose—

“He isn’t breathing,” he muttered.
Roughly parting the chest, he felt for the solar plexus.
The leather purse touched by that hand.
He dragged it out in one smooth motion, first fumblingly counting the amount inside, then freezing as he shrank back.

“Hmph.”

By the time he snorted derisively through his nose, he had completely transformed.

“A winter fly came buzzing in.”
“The one who died brought it upon himself.”
“On the twentieth day of the Twelfth Month, with the year nearly over—twenty ryō! What a blessing.”

Bong—the temple bell was about to ring.
Whether he laughed wildly or not—with the worsening snowy sky, that much couldn’t be clearly discerned.

Striding briskly, the samurai tried to pass by.

“Honorable samurai!”

A voice called out.
Startled, the samurai quickened his pace.

“Wait up!”—he called again.

As he turned wordlessly, a man came leaping nimbly from behind a rainwater barrel—right before his face. With a cloth wrapped over his cheeks and his hem tucked up, he’d likely stashed his sandals inside his kimono—the resulting bulge twitched slightly like a snake that had swallowed a frog.

“Do you have some business with me?”

With feigned ignorance, the samurai asked.

“Hand over your brazen share.”
The man with the cloth over his cheeks first let out a creepy laugh with his raspy voice.

“I see.”

Hearing this, the samurai also let out a light laugh, but—

“Well—since I’ve been seen, I can’t very well abandon our comrades’ code.”

As he spoke, he slipped a hand into his pocket and counted for a moment, but when he suddenly withdrew his left hand, ten gold coins were clutched within it.

“To avoid ill will, I’ll split it two ways—here’s ten ryō each. Take it.”

“Huh? You’re giving me ten ryō?”
With exaggerated admiration, he said, “Now that’s some impressive feigned ignorance!”
“Now that’d just be pitiful.”

Even he recoiled.

II

“No need for such consideration—it’s stolen money anyway.”

“Well now, can’t argue with that! Guess I’ll take it without ceremony then.”

“Here.”

The gold coins he threw with those words fell onto ground whitened by the first snow.

“What’re you doing, wasting that?!”

The man bent down to pick them up.
Seizing that opening came a one-handed ambush strike.
The razor-sharp ferocity of the sword stroke.
Unable to rise or dodge, he collapsed forward as he was—but the samurai scooped up snow and flung it swiftly.
This was indeed an instant eye-gouging maneuver.

The samurai, having botched his initial strike and appearing somewhat flustered, launched a second thrust without adjusting his stance—neither slashing nor sweeping.

“Whoa, close one!”

As the man with the cloth over his cheeks was halfway up, he instinctively arched back in that instant—his foot slipped out from under him as he slid smoothly away.

The samurai, thinking he had him, launched a high overhead strike. In that split second, his opponent hurled a sandal at him.
With a swift sweep, he knocked it to the ground, but even as he pressed forward, his opponent flung another sandal with a sharp clang.
It struck the samurai’s forehead.

"Huff."

Unconsciously, he exhaled sharply.
In that instant, the man who had sprung up thrust his right hand into his robe and drew a dagger for the first time.

“Come at me, you bastard!” The labored breaths beneath this challenge betrayed his exhaustion.
Still he kept up the barrage:
“...Knew it’d come to this—but a sneak attack? What a cowardly bastard.”
“Lucky you’re dealing with me. Any other man’d be dead from that first strike... Well? Come at me from any angle!”
“I don’t turn my back on fights.”
“Hah—quiet now, are we?”
“Creepy bastard—not saying a damn word.”

The man kept talking while relentlessly closing in.
The opposing samurai remained perfectly still in his half-body seigan stance, not making a move.

Yet from that immobile form emanated an indescribable murderous aura, thickly welling and bursting forth.
From the very foundation of martial arts, this was no match at all.
The samurai's swordsmanship was astonishing in its sophistication; though it may not have reached the realm of a master, it certainly surpassed the level of mere expertise.
He constantly kept his left hand idle and used only his right hand, but that seemed characteristic of the Enmei-ryū style.
Setting aside feigned shouts, it was a stance that in practice embodied "letting them cut the flesh to strike the bone."

In contrast, the opposing man seemed to know nothing of swordsmanship.
Relying solely on his nimbleness, he merely darted about with flurried movements.
However, he seemed to have accumulated considerable battlefield experience through continuous life-or-death sword fights.
The proof lay in his unflinching courage when facing this earthen battleground where he stood no chance of victory.

The two men stood frozen, glaring at each other.

The initial diagonal slash, the second thrust, the third overhead strike—all of which had been evaded—left the samurai inwardly astonished.

"The world's full of quick bastards," he thought.
"And their methods make no damn sense."
"This street-fighter's rhythm—can't read it... can't control it."
"Having a sandal hurled at my forehead—even my composure's slipping."
"...Pitiful as it is—won't let you escape this time."

Muttering to himself, he pressed forward.
His left hand remained idle as ever.

"Heh—bastard—finally showed yourself!"

The man deliberately swung the dagger behind his back while nimbly retreating a step.

“You disgusting third-rate bastard! You’re not showing a single opening. Oi! Why don’t you just charge at me already?!”

“Hah!”

For the first time, he called out and pressed forward step-step—rightward.

“Whoa, here he comes! Too close!”

He scrambled leftward.
Desperate to prevent escape, he lunged—his left hand simultaneously arcing toward the dagger for an upward gutting slash.
A crimson spray erupted—had he struck true?
No—the masked man stumbled over the old man’s corpse and crashed down.

“Still standing?!” The samurai snarled impatiently, thrusting his blade downward like a drowning man grasping at reeds.
In that razor-thin opening—summoning titanic strength even while prone—he hoisted the corpse aloft.
And made it his bulwark.

“Hah! Out of my way!”

The samurai raised his foot and kicked the corpse with a solid thud.
It rolled twice before rumbling down the stone riverbank cliff into the water.
A spray shot up where it struck the surface.
The gurgling sound of something sinking to the depths... In that instant, the man sprang up and leapt back over two ken, the inrō clenched in his hand.
It was the medicine case he’d grabbed as he fell.

At that moment, a yawning sound could be heard from above the water.
Next came the sound of a tobacco pipe being tapped to clear the ashes.

The startled samurai craned his neck to peer down into the river, where a single thatch-covered boat lay moored.
As the thatch covering shifted slightly, a boatman revealed half his figure.
The man stared intently at the water's surface—apparently searching for the old man's corpse.

At that instant, the cold moon tore through clouds, spilling pale light across the scene—and both men abruptly met each other's gaze.
Across the boatman's cheek ran an ancient sword scar visible even in night's darkness.

Three

When speaking of the Kanei era, it was the reign of the third shogun Tokugawa Iemitsu; however, around this time, three notorious thieves roamed through Edo.
They were Shōji Jin'emon, Kōsaka Jinnai, and Tobisawa Jinnai.
Though their family names differed, they all shared the given name Jinnai, and thus people of that time feared them as the "Three Jinnai of Kanei."

While there may be some exaggeration, the bandit chronicle titled *Ryokurin Kokubaku* records the following matters.

"Shōji Jin'emon, though a thief like others, journeyed throughout Japan seeking filial sons and daughters, restored dilapidated temples and shrines, mastered supreme skill with sword and spear, attained perfection in ninjutsu, surpassed thirty men in strength, walked forty ri daily, and never tired despite constant wakefulness day and night.

Tobisawa Jinnai was a fellow thief who, though untrained in swordsmanship or jujutsu, mastered supreme skill in swift techniques—his body lighter than birds or beasts when leaping across ten-ken-wide torrents—hence he styled himself Tobisawa ('Leaping Swamp')."

Kōsaka Jinnai was born as the son of Kosaka Danjō—chief retainer of Kai Province’s Takeda clan—and given the childhood name Jintarō. Soon after Takeda Katsuyori’s downfall, when many loyal warriors perished in battle or submitted to Tokugawa forces, the young orphan Jintarō was pitied by his grandfather Kosaka Taishima Jintarō. Together they fled to Akutagawa in Settsu Province and lived in seclusion. It was during this time that Miyamoto Musashi lodged at their home while journeying across Japan.

At his grandfather’s request he took Jintarō as his disciple; afterward Musashi Bushū journeyed to Edo where he established a dojo near Kanda Otamagaike and devoted himself wholly to swordsmanship instruction.

By now Jintarō—who had accompanied him since age eleven and was now twenty-two—had mastered all the secret techniques of the Enmei-ryū school through complete transmission of its mysteries, truly becoming Musashi’s foremost disciple.

Desiring to test his blade on living flesh he secretly went to Yanagihara embankment and began slaughtering passersby with single strokes; one night after killing a courier he inspected the halted spear and searched through clothing where he found fifty ryō of gold carried by its owner.

From this point onward his wicked deeds took on a perverse thrill; he began slaughtering passersby and plundering their gold.

At that time there were ten establishments along Kamakura Riverbank calling themselves bathhouses.

Resembling bathhouse women they sold their charms.

Apart from these there were no others in Edo engaged in selling their charms; Jintarō discarded all gold and silver stolen through wicked deeds there.

When Master Musashi heard of this he expelled him and disowned him.

From there he wandered through various provinces visited Mount Takao in Bushū prayed before Izuna Gongen to vow lifelong safety changed his name to Jinnai settled temporarily at Hiratsuka-shuku in Sōshū where he became leader of thieves then later hid in Mount Hakone of Tōshū where he continued masterminding robberies.

Afterward, he entered Edo once more.
...”

And it was from Kōsaka Jinnai's second arrival in Edo that the author's narrative unfolded.

"The reason I handed over the Hakone mountain stronghold to my subordinates and set foot in Edo was all because I wanted to see how the city was faring."
"...Now I'm in Edo."
"But I'm not particularly happy about it."

At rōnin residences in Akasaka Tame and elsewhere, he taught kendo to disciples, ran gambling dens with professional gamblers, committed street slayings—which he relished more than meals—and sneaked into daimyo mansions with former subordinates who had gradually gathered around him to plunder treasury coffers. Yet despite all these misdeeds, he appeared unsatisfied, letting out such sighs.

"Ah, those days were thrilling."
"And there were skilled operators too."
"Shōji Jin'emon, Tobisawa Jinnai, and me—we were the Three Jinnai."
"We chilled Edo to its very marrow."
"But look at things now, five years later—not a shadow remains of those sharp-eyed earners."

He would often voice such complaints.

"That said, there were some improvements compared to five years ago," he mused. "Gathering the scattered bathhouse women into Yoshiwara and bringing over Sunpu’s courtesan district—those were certainly interesting ideas indeed."

While muttering these reflections, he himself diligently frequented that Yoshiwara brothel.

The mansion of Matsudaira Mino-no-kami, Lord of Fukuoka Domain with 520,000 koku, stood atop Kasumigaseki Heights. Kōsaka Jinnai led his gang, seized the moment when its occupants were drunk on New Year revelries, broke into the gold storehouse, and made off with the gold.

“Well, business has been booming since early spring.”
“Here’s your cut. Go carouse wherever you like.”

After driving off his underlings, he gripped a heavy purse and—following his usual solitary pursuits—drifted toward Yoshiwara.
Passing through the Ōmon gate into Nakanochō, the building immediately to the left stood as Yamada Sōjun’s brothel, while across the way rose the towering establishment of Shōji Jin’emon, overseer of this pleasure quarter.

During Matsu no Uchi—the New Year’s season—the revelry in these courtesan streets knew no bounds.
From that time onward, customers flocked like migrating birds, every brothel filled to capacity.

The surname Shōji felt nostalgic to him, and the "Jin" in Jin'emon tugged at his heart. Kōsaka Jinnai had long been a regular patron at Jin'emon's brothel, stopping by whenever he visited the quarter—though in his heart, he had always wanted to meet Jin'emon at least once.

"Shōji Jinnai and Shōji Jin'emon."
"The names are remarkably similar."
"Still," he thought，"there’s absolutely no way Shōji Jinnai could have reformed from thievery to become a brothel master overseeing pleasure quarters—such transformation defies reason. Even were it possible," he reasoned，"having never encountered Shōshi Jinnai during their outlaw days，recognition would prove impossible should they meet." Yet despite this logic，Kōsaka Jinnai found himself craving such an encounter.

Four

With a swift flip of the long curtain, Jinnai stepped into the earthen-floored entrance.

“Welcome!” came a spirited voice as two or three attendants materialized in scattered fashion.

“Oh! Lord Shirasuga—you’ve honored us with your presence!”
“Now then, to your usual room! Miss Oume has been awaiting you most eagerly.”

Shirasuga was Jinnai’s alias.
Being stolen money, he spent it without restraint or hesitation—flashing it about freely—which made him sought-after wherever he went.
The customary room to which he was escorted stood as a three-story tower rare for that age, commanding a sweeping view of the entire pleasure quarter.

Soon, delicacies from mountain and sea were arrayed.

Even calling them mountain and sea delicacies, Edo cuisine of this time compared to Kyoto and Osaka was beyond discussion in its poor quality.
Yet when served in towering swirls upon bowls and plates, laid out in rows before him, it made for not entirely unpleasant viewing.

To Yamamoto Kōtō's shamisen accompaniment, Oshina the courtesan—priding herself on her lovely voice—sang through a medley of popular ballads.
A song of good fortune fitting for the New Year.

"Oshina."
"Still splendid as ever... Well then, I suppose I must provide the next course."

Jinnai said cheerfully and took out a purse from his pocket.
Then he distributed one koban coin each to every person in the room without exception.

“Lord Patron! Lord Patron!”

By the time everyone finished cheering in delight, the brief winter day had faded unnoticed, and candlesticks stood lined up in the banquet room.

At this moment, Jinnai’s regular courtesan Oume finally appeared.

She was always a woman of melancholy air, but tonight she seemed especially forlorn. As she sat down, her head drooped. Her slender neck bore luxuriant black hair too abundant to be contained, framing her oval face like a melon seed. The stray locks that fell loosely about her were occasionally swept back by slender fingers as pale as icefish—this alone sufficed to enchant any man’s heart. A gently sloping high nose and lightly closed lips that appeared slightly underhung were serene yet alluring. Her narrow eyes—clear as water and veiled by thick lashes—could be likened to a forest-concealed lake. She appeared to be about seventeen or eighteen years old, with sloping shoulders and a narrow waist; though amply fleshed, her comely form made her seem slender.

The moment Oume appeared in the banquet room, the women and children seated there were instantly eclipsed.
They paled terribly in comparison.

“Oume, they say your mood is poor.
“Won’t you even offer me a single cup?”

Jinnai said this with a laugh.

“……”
Oume made no reply, but instead quietly lifted her face and let a faint smile surface on her cheeks.

“Every year on the day of first snow, Miss Oume always seems out of sorts and wears such a gloomy expression.” —A woman called Oshima interjected with a conciliatory look.

“Hmm, that’s curious. You seem to hold some grudge against the first snow.” —Though spoken casually, when Oume heard Jinnai’s words, her complexion abruptly changed.

“Ah, I do hold a grudge indeed—I hold a grudge against the first snow.” Oume declared vehemently.

The voice was so strange that everyone in the room exchanged glances.
For an instant, the banquet room turned deathly still.

“Ho… ho… ho… ho…”

When Oume’s eerie laughter came chasing right after and reverberated through the banquet room, even the mighty Kōsaka Jinnai found himself shuddering involuntarily.

The night deepened and the feast was cleared away; Jinnai was led to the bedchamber, but upon seeing Oume's reluctance to retire, a flicker of discontent began to stir within him.
He sat down on the futon and began smoking displeasedly.

“Oume,” Jinnai said after a while.
“It seems there’s something coiled in your heart.
There’s such a thing as speaking knee-to-knee.
Why don’t you lay yourself bare?
Our days may be few, but our bond runs deep.
Depending on the matter, I could lend my strength.
Or does some grave secret trouble you—one you cannot share with others?”

“Yes,” Oume responded. Kindly pressed, tears began spilling despite herself—but
“I wish to slay my father’s killer.”

With that single ice-edged utterance, she withdrew.

“Urk,” Jinnai too was startled by this, his voice catching involuntarily—

“Oh, that is a brave thing indeed!
……And—who might this enemy be?”

“If only I knew that, I wouldn’t be suffering so.”

“When was your father killed?”

“On the twentieth day of the final lunar month five years past—a night of first snow. He’d won at a mutual-aid club in Reiganjima’s Kawaguchi district. On his way home, he was strangled and cast into the river. His body surfaced the next dawn. Since then our family fortunes crumbled—we shuttered our pawnshop—and here I serve as courtesan. A pitiful tale indeed.”

Oume pressed her tear-stained face into her sleeve and collapsed against Jinnai’s lap—when abruptly, without summons, the sliding door hissed open from without.

Five

“Who’s there!”

Jinnai turned around.

"My utter thoughtlessness in opening without announcement—I beg your pardon most humbly."

As he spoke these words and sat down, there revealed himself a distinguished man of forty-five or six—a decade older than Jinnai—with a ruddy, full-fleshed face that suited his broad frame clad in wide-sleeved robes.

“Well, you are the proprietor.
“In that case, I shall take my leave.”

“Hmm, right then. I’ll have you step away for a short while.”

“Yes,” said Oume as she exited, while proprietor Shōji Jin’emon slid smoothly forward on his knees—

“A guest—no, Kōsaka Jinnai! What blundering work for a master thief.”

When he withdrew both hands into his sleeves, several koban coins clattered down. They were the koban Jinnai had scattered earlier.

“Can’t you tell Lord Kuroda’s seal is stamped on them?”

“What?”

Jinnai grabbed the koban coins with a belated start. Indeed, the seal was stamped there.

He could only groan, “Mmm.”

“There’s no need for words.”
“Now get ready.”
“You can’t exit through the main gate.”
“I’ll open the back gate for you.”

“The way you’re rushing me—so you’ve already made your move!”

“Regarding that gang of thieves who broke into Lord Kuroda’s treasury and stole vast amounts of gold—they’ll inevitably come lurking around here sooner or later. A proclamation went out just this noon—report any suspicious folk on sight. Now this whole area’s crawling with constables and informants.”
“Try lumbering out some roundabout way, you’ll hear ‘Halt in the name of the law!’ quick enough.”
“Just follow me—no harm meant.”

“Hmm—but even so, how did you see through me as Kōsaka Jinnai?”

“The only ones who’d storm into Lord Kuroda’s mansion and break open his treasure vault would be the Three Jinnai. … But of those three Jinnai, two have washed their hands of that life—they’re ordinary folk now.”
“The last one is Kōsaka Jinnai.”
“That Kōsaka is none other than you.”
“The very next night after cracking the treasury—boldly strutting into the pleasure quarters with stolen gold stuffed in your pockets—that’s the sort of brazen move no one but you could pull off.”

“Hmm… I see. No—you’re right.”
“Indeed, I am Kōsaka.”
“I am Kōsaka Jinnai—no doubt about it.”
“Now that I’ve declared this so plainly, you’d better reveal your true identity too.”

“You must have already realized.”
“I am none other than Shōji Jinnai.”

“So it really was you after all.”
“I’d had my suspicions, but hearing it declared so plainly… gives me a strange feeling. I suppose this is what they call nostalgia.”

“Hey, Kōsaka,” Shōji Jin’emon lowered his voice and leaned forward, thrusting his face close. “Recognize this mug?”

“Huh?” Jinnai’s eyes widened.
At this, he was aghast.
“Hmm... Now that you mention it, there’s an old sword scar running across your cheek!”
“Oh—you’re that boatman from back then.”

“Even so, you’ve apparently noticed.”
“That’s right—I was the boatman from back then. … You’re the one who strangled that poor innocent old man to death that time, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t mean to kill him—but in the heat of the moment, strength surged and I ended up committing that violent deed.”

“That old man’s only daughter is your lover—that Oume.”

“Or did you just hear it from Oume’s own lips—she who knew nothing—and get shocked now?”

“Even if bedding clients is her trade… cozying up with her father’s killer—”

“Ignorance spawns karma in the Beast Realm.”

“For Oume—endless resentment...”

"For me—an unexpected boon."

"Hey Kōsaka—what do you plan to do?"

"If Oume means to kill me—I'll bare my throat for her!"
"But that blade won't fall!"
"We're bound across two lifetimes!"
"Swear two lives—spouses through all tomorrows!"
"Kill me now—she'd wear a husband-slayer's shame!"

“Ah!”

A woman's astonished voice was heard from the next room.

The two stood up together, and beyond the sliding door they’d thrown open lay Oume, collapsed.

“Oume! You’ve stabbed your throat!”

“The wound’s shallow! Stay with us!”

Held from both sides, she opened her eyes,

“Farewell, master.”

while staring at Jinnai’s face,

“It’s you I resent.
...It’s you I long for.
...I, torn between two paths.
...What words could I offer Father when I reach the netherworld... I cannot go on living—yet death eludes me.
...Namu Amida Butsu.
It was all a dream...”

And just like that, her breathing ceased.

Rat-a-tat-tat—and in that very instant, someone began hammering relentlessly on the front door.

“Open up! Open up!” came a deep, booming voice.

“By the Three Treasures! They’re onto us!”

Snapped out of his grief, Jinnai leapt up.
Shōji Jin’emon restrained him with a sharp exhale as he blew out the lantern, slipped stealthily to the window, and peered down. Outside lay the white of first snow that had fallen but not yet melted—and in scattered pools of light here and there appeared clusters of police shadows: one group, two groups, three groups.

“You can’t get out through the front.
“This way! This way!”

He began descending the ladder.

Six

This was an emergency.
Though contrary to his true intentions, Jinnai hastily clasped his hands in prayer, abandoned the Buddhist chant, fulfilled his obligations to Oume's corpse, then immediately followed Jin'emon down several ladder steps.

There was no one at the back gate.

“Now’s our chance.”
“...Not quick enough...”

Jin’emon whispered softly.

“Bro—not even a word of thanks?”

“What’s there to thank? We shared the same lot in the old days—even if I’ve washed my feet clean, I haven’t thrown away loyalty.”

“Well then, Bro.”
“Don’t go getting yourself killed.”
Kōsaka Jinnai whirled around and vanished into the dim shadow of a house.

Tomisawa-chō lay silent and deep into the night.
Not a soul passed through.

The sound of stealthy footsteps approached—sssh, ssssh, ssssh, ssssh, sssht—and from the shadow of a house's door emerged a single samurai. He came running as if gliding across the ground. Then, in the intersection ahead, clusters of police officers materialized like dark growths.

"In the name of the law!" they shouted, swinging their juttes through the air. "There's no escaping now, Kōsaka Jinnai! Submit obediently and accept the rope!"

…………
Jinnai did not answer, and instead charged toward them—perhaps startled by his momentum, the police officers scattered left and right.
He tried to charge straight through their center.
A shrill whistle pierced the air.
This seemed to be some kind of signal, and dozens of jutte rained down like hail toward Jinnai.
Even Jinnai was startled by this, but—drawing on Musashi’s direct teachings of swift technique—he sliced through the hail of jutte.
Clutching both swords by their hilts, he dashed through a distance of over eighteen meters.
Just then, another whistle blast echoed from behind—and in that instant, dozens of ladders large and small came crashing down from the roofs of houses on both sides, all aimed at Jinnai.

"This was an unfamiliar, bizarre capture method unlike any he had ever seen."
"This required unrelenting vigilance."

Struck hard on the shoulder by a ladder, Jinnai felt his courage turn to ice within—yet could not help but feel no small admiration.

He emerged onto the town’s crossroads.

“Ah!”—Jinnai gasped involuntarily, then stood rigid as a pole.

Wasn’t every direction packed tight with countless police officers?

He muttered “There’s no way out,” yet still swept his gaze around, desperately seeking any possible escape route. Then, from a house that appeared to be a used-clothing store directly ahead, the back door creaked faintly open—a hand emerged from the gap and beckoned to Jinnai two or three times.

“Heaven’s mercy,” Jinnai decided in an instant. He lunged at the storm shutters, flung them open impatiently, and slipped inside before slamming the door shut behind him.

The space he entered was a dirt-floored entryway. Beyond lay what seemed to be the shop area. At the rear of the shop glowed a paper lantern in a tatami room. And in every direction—not a single soul stirred.

Jinnai hesitated for a moment, but given the circumstances, strode purposefully toward the lit tatami room without waiting for guidance.

In the center of the tatami room stood a writing desk.
On the writing desk lay an inrō that Jinnai recognized.
And beside it lay an accompanying letter.

"Regarding the inrō I humbly present."

Former surname: Tobisawa.
From Tomisawa Jinnai, now serving as today’s Chief of Police Officers,

“To Lord Kōsaka Jinnai”」

“Ah!”
At the moment he involuntarily let out a cry.

“In the name of the law!” came a sharp cry as a rope flew from nowhere.
Jinnai was bound tight as a drum.

“Bwahahaha!”

As roaring laughter erupted right by his ear, something—no, someone—came crashing down from the ceiling beam with a thud.

Thin-striped lined kimono, indigo obi tied at the waist, barefoot in tabi socks with leggings—a compact frame bearing sharp features. A police informant disguised as a merchant—that was his guise. He let out a dry, rattling laugh.

It was unmistakably the same young man who five years prior had emerged abruptly from behind a rainwater barrel in Kawaguchi-chō to confront Kōsaka Jinnai—only to be slashed by that very Jinnai and nearly lose his life, dagger still in hand.

Realizing this, Jinnai steeled his resolve to meet his end.

“This is truly the end,” he thought.

“Using deception to make your arrest? Cowardly bastard! Why not face me straight on?”

Jinnai spat bitterly.

“Deceive or trick—what matters is binding our targeted scoundrel. That fulfills a snitch’s duty.”
“Cries of ‘cowardice’ miss their mark!”
The man declared expansively before shifting his stance slightly. “Hey Jinnai—that business back then... you damn near finished me.”

“So it really was you from that time…”

“You’re the bastard who twisted that excuse out of me!”

“And now you’re the shogunate’s informant?”

“All thanks to my reformation.”
“After groveling before Lord Ōkubo of Surugadai and Hikozaemon to have every last sin pardoned—outwardly I’m a rag merchant, but secretly a police spy! Changed my name from Tobisawa to Tomisawa! Once I got tied up—now tying others up’s my trade! Founder of the Tomisawa arrest method—this Tomisawa Jinnai’s me! How’s that for crushing your guts?!”

“Hmph, so that’s how it is. How amusing... We who once prowled the nights together as the Three Jinnai now lie scattered—a police informant here, a brothel owner there. So this is the floating world? Who are these white wave ruffians? For me alone—the thief who remains true to his craft—it’s a lonely path. But bound like this, I’ll never again see daylight. Let this be our rebirth through Amida’s grace—the Three Jinnai might as well vanish from this earth. Edo stands secure from this moment! Bwahahaha!” Kōsaka Jinnai shook with laughter—a desperate, tragic sound.

Outside, snow began to fall. Due to this year's late first snow, which had briefly stopped falling moments earlier, it began descending again with quiet solemnity.

It is said that before long at Asakusa Torigoe, Kōsaka Jinnai met a brutal end through crucifixion, while the two Jinnai—Shōji and Tomisawa—successfully lived out their natural lifespans and died peacefully on their tatami mats, one establishing Yoshiwara's origins and the other laying the groundwork for what would become today’s Tomisawa-chō.