Pathway to Japanese Literature

Shogunate Secret Chronicles: The Starvation Chamber

1

Tenpō 1, fifth day of the first month. The location was Asakusa, the time afternoon—the hour when the crowds thronged at their peak.
Oni Kozō the street magician—hunchbacked and one-eyed, a man of unparalleled ugliness who at first glance seemed about fifty years old, yet whose true age was twenty.

“Asakusa’s famous Oni Kozō’s magic show! Come on, come on, don’t be shy—step right up and watch!”
“Gape open-mouthed and you’re a proper fool! Guffaw like an ox and you’re twice the idiot! Pull that sour face and you’re a disagreeable wretch! But keep quiet and watch proper-like, and I’ll toss you a reward from my own pocket…… First up—a warm-up act! The Unknotting Towel Trick! Oi oi oi—anyone in attendance’ll do! Lend me one hand towel!”

“Here!” A craftsman tossed the hand towel from his waist with a flick.

“Well now, this here’s mighty kind of you! When folks lend things out so generous-like, why, it makes putting on a show all the smoother.”
“How ’bout it, Master—while you’re at it, can’tcha lend me one ryo too?”
“Ha ha ha! This here’s a lie!”
“Now then,” said Oni Kozō as he waved the towel two or three times, but—

“This towel I just borrowed—no hidden mechanisms, no tricks.”
“Now here’s how I tie this thing—”

As he spoke, he gently tied it,

“Oi oi oi—anyone in attendance’ll do! Just grab one end and give it a good pull!”

“All right, here goes!” came the shout as what appeared to be a neighborhood patrolman came rushing out.

“I’ll give this a yank—how’s this? How’s this?”

When he gave it a firm tug, the towel naturally came undone without forming any knot.

“That’s the warm-up done.”
“Next up’s the main act—water magic.……Here’s a big water basin.”
“I pour water into the basin.”

While saying this, Oni Kozō picked up the water basin that had been placed at his feet and thrust it out firmly with his left hand.
Then he deftly grabbed the cracked earthenware teapot that had also been at his feet and poured water into it with thick glugging sounds.

“No lies or tricks here—pure spring water straight up.”
“It’s Kannon’s ritual water.”
“Now I’ll put sugar into this.”

He took out a paper package from his pocket.

“C’mon, anyone’ll do—step right up.”
“Taste this sugar.”

“Ah, I’ll taste it for ya!”

A single apprentice came rushing out.
He gave it a lick and grinned slyly,

“Oh, it’s true! Sweet as can be!”

"You idiot! ’Course it is!
“There’s no bitter sugar in this world! …Now then—into the water this sugar goes.”
“What you get’s plain sugar water.”
“This here’s worthless trash.”
“Ain’t magic nor nothin’.”
“So I’ll switch course sudden-like and show you somethin’ wondrous!”

He flung the sugar in with a snap.
And from the basin's water surface, a mass of flames erupted.

The spectators roared in excitement, coins clattering down in a scattered shower.

Overturning the basin’s water with a slosh, Oni Kozō grinned repeatedly in high spirits,

“Now, what should I do next?”
“Right—the bird act!”
“Let’s start by taking the bird out of the cage!”

He sharply looked up at the sky—but overhead loomed a great leafless ginkgo tree, its branches jutting out in jagged disarray.

“Come on down, Master Tayū.
“The ladies and gentlemen have been waiting eagerly.”

Saying this, he made a beckoning gesture.

And from the top of the ginkgo tree, something came sliding smoothly down.
It was a small birdcage.
Who had lowered the birdcage?
Then, could there be an accomplice of Oni Kozō in the high ginkgo tree’s branches?
Moreover, what was truly mysterious was that there was no rope supporting the birdcage.
The birdcage hovered in mid-air.
This left even the spectators astonished.
A roaring applause and cheers erupted.
The birdcage slid smoothly down.
However, it didn’t come all the way down.
About ten feet above the ground, the birdcage suddenly came to a halt.

It wasn't the spectators who gasped "Ah!" in surprise, but Master Tayū Oni Kozō himself.

"What's wrong? I'm surprised!"

The moment he muttered this, from the crowd—

“Try taking it if you can, kid!”

A mocking voice rang out.

2

Oni Kozō startled with a jolt and looked toward the direction of the voice.
A tall, gaunt old man with crane-white hair and beard stood there—his eyes harboring a mysterious light, his lips tinged with a wry smile—at once divine and fearsome.
Thrust into the ground was a natural wood cane. Upon it he stacked both hands, rested his chin atop their backs, and assumed a slightly bent posture—an appearance bearing both nobility and an eerie aura.

“Kid,” the old man said instructively.

“To call this mere magic does it disservice.
“It should be called ‘Natural Philosophy’.
“I don’t know where you learned it, but you’ve reached a fair degree of mastery.
“But you’re still far from reaching the pinnacle.
“Moreover, peddling on the streets—though you’re young, it’s utterly insolent—but since it’s a trade for survival, I suppose I can’t harshly condemn it.
“...Be that as it may, you show promise.
“If you have ambition, come visit.
“I’ll take you under my wing and teach you a thing or two.”

The old man smoothly straightened his posture.

“Amidst ponderous crags I make my dwelling, where bird-paths bar human traces; what profit lies at garden’s verge? White clouds clasp shadowed stones... My residence is the Garden of Izumo.”

The old man ethereally departed.
Following that, the spectators scattered, and before long, dusk began to press in.

Oni Kozō crossed his arms and found himself compelled to ponder.

"That was startling," he sighed.

"He saw right through it."
"What kind of old man was he?"
"He said something completely mysterious."
"My residence is the Garden of Izumo."
"I can't make heads or tails of this."
"Garden of Izumo?"
"Garden of Izumo?"
"I just can't figure it out..."

“What’s gotten into you, huh, Lord Demon!”
“You’re acting all spaced out, aren’t you?”

A gentle voice called out from behind.

“Come on, let’s go home together.”

“Yeah, Osugi-chan? Let’s head back.”

Though he said this, Oni Kozō didn’t move an inch.

Osugi stared in surprise.
She wore a black-collared garment with a red apron and a hemp-patterned obi.
Her astonishing beauty was like an onnagata who had stepped out of a woodblock print.

Kasamori Osen, Ichō no Oto—these were An’ei era’s representative beauties, but those women now belonged to history; in this era, Osugi became the leading star.
Her status was that of an adopted daughter at a water tea house, but her nickname was ‘Red Apron’... Indeed, when one spoke of Osugi of the Red Apron, there wasn’t a soul from the samurai class down to townsfolk, artisans, beggars, or outcasts who didn’t know her.
And like Osen and Oto before her, she came to be recognized by poets and literati as well.
The Ichiyagura Tea House where she worked saw an unending stream of customers thanks to her presence.
Osugi was seventeen around this time.

As fellow popular figures in Asakusa, Oni Kozō and Osugi were on good terms.

“Osugi-chan,” Oni Kozō said languidly, “Don’t go home alone today. We’ve stumbled onto somethin’ big here—gotta figure it out proper.”

“Actually, I’m in the same boat,” he continued. “So I wanna talk it over with ya.”

“Huh? So you’re in it too?” Osugi laughed—a bright cascade of mirth cutting through the twilight. “Ha ha ha! Don’t you fret none! Had yourself a spat with your foster ma, didn’tcha? When Granny Okume gets her claws in, she’s the sort’d suck the marrow clean from your bones!” Her voice sharpened like a whetstone on steel. “Who gives a rat’s ass? I’d holler right back at ’er! We’d jump in to help and all, but today’s no good—got thinkin’ to do our own selves.”

“This fight with my foster mother isn’t just any fight—this time it’s so bad that I might never come back to Asakusa again.”

“Oh, this is startling!”
“Truth is, we’re in the same fix.”
“Our tricks got found out, see.”
“We’re too mortified to show ourselves!”

“So we can’t go home together then?”

Osugi looked forlorn.
Shrugged shoulders and lowered head before setting off back toward Kurumazaka.

"She looks awfully lonely."

Oni Kozō fleetingly thought this but had already returned to his own problem by the next instant.

The sun set and the moon rose.
In the temple grounds pale with the cold moon's light, aside from Oni Kozō silently thinking, no human figures could be seen.

And then Oni Kozō suddenly said.

"I've got it! Idiot! What am I talking about?!"

3

“I’ve got it! You idiot! What am I even saying?!”

With this shout, Oni Kozō hitched up his clothes and broke into a run.

From Asakusa to Shinagawa, he ran in one breath.

Starting with Hamagoten, daimyo mansions and lower residences were densely packed throughout the area.
Lords Owari, Higo, Sendai, Hitotsubashi, Wakizaka, and Ōgashira officials stood lined up in rows.
It was when he reached the earthen wall encircling an especially imposing mansion—its rear gate facing the sea—that the moment came.
Placing his hands on the earthen wall, Oni Kozō nimbly vaulted upward.
Lying flat atop the wall's crest, he surveyed the compound's interior, but within the thickly wooded inner garden only lantern lights glowed—not a trace of human activity to be detected.

“Alright,” he said and jumped down. There, he dropped to all fours and peered into the inner garden once more. In some areas were depictions of deep mountains, in others dense forests; here a mountain stream flowed with a stone bridge on one side and a log bridge on the other; further on stood pavilions blending desolation with opulence, nature with artifice—a garden embodying these extremes now spread before his eyes, yet the very thing he’d come seeking remained nowhere in sight.

“That’s odd…” he muttered, but Oni Kozō did not become discouraged. He began tiptoeing forward cautiously. There stood a single tea house. He passed in front of it and pressed onward.

A voice called out, “Hey, kid.”

“Impressive, impressive. You’ve made it all this way. Here it is, here it is—come this way!”

The voice came from inside the tea house.

Oni Kozō was utterly astonished, yet he did not panic.
He brushed off his feet and stepped up onto the veranda.
Then, the rain shutters opened from within.
There Oni Kozō sucked in his frame, slid open the shoji screen, and stepped inside.
But the old man was not there.

"Hmm?" he wondered, tilting his head slightly when suddenly the front wall split open to either side.

“Here it is, here it is,” a voice said.

“This is downright a monster mansion!”

Though once again startled out of his wits—but this was none other than the bold Oni Kozō—he plunged inside without hesitation. There was a staircase descending underground. He descended it. A spacious room measuring fifty tatami mats had been constructed. Moreover, it was not a Japanese-style room. It was a Dutch-style Western room. On the bookshelves were piled countless volumes; atop the massive desk sat an exquisitely crafted globe. Seated in one of the chairs was the familiar white-haired old man.

By this point, Oni Kozō had been completely dumbfounded.
He slumped down onto the floor.
The floor was entirely covered with a blue and yellow carpet bearing an embossed pattern.
The space blazed as bright as noon from a cut-glass flower lamp suspended from the ceiling.

"So you deduced the Garden of Izumo."

The old man smiled as he spoke.
He held a Western book in his hand.

"Huh, I thought long and hard about it.
"...Well, Lord Unshū would be the Lord of Matsue—that is, Lord Matsudaira Izumo-no-kami. When it comes to the Izumo-no-kami line, theirs has been a house of refined taste since Lord Fumai's era, renowned for its inner garden's splendor."
"...Since it's called the Garden of Izumo, I reckoned it must be that very garden—so I made this educated guess."

Oni Kozō honestly said this.

“By the way, who do you think I am?”

“Well now—that one’s got me stumped.”

“Look there,” said the old man, pointing at the wall.
Hanging on the Western-style wall was a purely Japanese plaque.
The ink still glistened fresh as if dripping wet, bearing three bold characters: “Kite Hall.”

“You’ve studied natural philosophy. Surely you know this name.”

“Can’t say I’ve reached that point yet.
But if you’re Master Kite Hall, didn’t you die in prison at fifty-seven? Eighth year of An’ei, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s the official story,”
“But I’m alive.”
“I was hidden by Lord Izumo, you see.”
“In other words, my ‘Natural Philosophy’ was so highly valued by him that he sheltered me.”
“I am one hundred and ten years old this year.”

“So then—are you truly Master Hiraga?”

“I am Kite Hall Hiraga Gennai.”

"All but saying 'Huh,' Oni Kozō pressed his forehead against the floor."

4

From the very next day, Asakusa lost two of its famous attractions.
One was Osugi, the other was Oni Kozō... No one knew where they had gone.
The people of Edo were disheartened.
On their way back from Kannon-sama, they could no longer receive tea from beautiful Osugi’s slender hands, nor be startled by Oni Kozō’s heart-stopping street magic.

Oni Kozō was one thing, but where had Osugi gone?

As the adopted daughter of Ōkubo Kazueke—an 8,000-koku high-ranking hatamoto—Osugi was taken into his household.

Ōkubo Kazueke was an Anshō hatamoto and a favorite of Shogun Ienari.
Due to some failure, he had recently fallen into complete disgrace.
Thereupon, Kazueke attempted by whatever means to restore his former standing.
When he visited Asakusa incognito, he unexpectedly caught sight of Osugi wearing the red apron.

"This is quite the find.
If I take her in as my adopted daughter and polish her over two or three months, she'll become a jewel men would leap to possess.
The Shogun is a lecher; he'll surely take interest.
I'll use that foothold to worm my way back in."

And so, he promptly dispatched a retainer and had them persuade foster mother Okume. There was no way Okume would refuse Ōkubo Kazueke’s offer—a vast fortune sufficient to live comfortably for the rest of her life. She agreed without a moment’s hesitation.

For Osugi, it was like a dream—she couldn’t make sense of anything. From foster daughter of a tea house to foster daughter of a hatamoto—and an 8,000-koku hatamoto at that. The household’s actual wealth might well have surpassed that of minor daimyos with twenty or thirty thousand koku. She had become the adopted daughter of that household. There were even two maids assigned to her, and separate instructors came for everything from the arts to etiquette, teaching her with utmost reverence. When it came to clothing, it was crepe silks and figured damasks. As for hair ornaments, golden coral; the entire household pressed three fingers to the floor in reverence, addressing her as "young mistress" this and "young mistress" that—it was enough to make her flush crimson.

Somehow, this humble one feels uneasy.
This was her true heart.
Over the course of two or three months, she grew so refined she became unrecognizable.

Among all living creatures on earth, none can adapt to circumstances and transform their lives as profoundly as humans.
And by this time, Osugi had come to live entirely as a hatamoto’s young mistress.

And she was even caught up in her first love.

The second son of a hatamoto—Rikiishi Sannojō, who was the younger brother of Kazueke’s wife—he was her first love.
Sannojō was a twenty-two-year-old youth, a disciple of Chiba Shūsaku, the founder of Hokushin Ittō-ryū.
Nearly every day, Sannojō came to visit Kazueke’s residence.
Amidst these visits, their romance began to brew.

Though she was now a hatamoto’s young mistress, her origins lay in the bustling tea houses of the pleasure quarters. While she had never known a man’s touch, Osugi was by no means naive.
She had thoroughly mastered the knack of captivating men's hearts.

Her beauty was unmatched in Edo, her elegance that of a hatamoto’s young mistress, yet her heart remained that of a tea house girl—this was Osugi’s true nature.
Such a woman had gained her first love and began visiting the man.
No man’s heart of iron and stone could have withstood melting.
On the other hand, Sannojō was a passionate man; due to his family’s strict moral code, he had never frequented the pleasure quarters.
If anything, he leaned closer to being a kendo-proud, rough-hewn man.
Nevertheless, being a young lord of a hatamoto, his bearing remained refined, and he was particularly a natural-born handsome man.
He was more than sufficient to captivate women’s hearts.

There was no way this love could fail.

Yet first love is by nature gradual.
Though burning within the heart, time is required for it to take form.
And often during that interval, obstacles tend to arise.
Thus does it tend to vanish.
But when obstacles multiply yet those affections remain undimmed, they become tragedy's protagonists who cast away their entire lives.

One day, Kazueke and his wife were whispering in a secluded room.

5

“My lord, you must take care...”

This was spoken by the Wife.

“Hmm, Osugi and Sannojō?”

Kazueke scowled, but

“I must deal with this matter.”

“Please, my lord, speak to Sannojō… I will speak to Osugi.”

“Hmm, indeed. Let us proceed thus.”

The next day, Sannojō came to visit.

“Lord Sannojō, come here for a moment.”

Kazueke called him into the inner chamber.

“Now you too are twenty-two—the crucial prime of youth when one must devote oneself to both scholarly and martial pursuits. While occasional visits are permissible, you must not come too frequently.”

It had been an indirect admonishment.

“Ha!” he said—though Sannojō fully understood its meaning.
The nape of his neck reddened.

That night, the mistress spoke to Osugi.

"You are now a hatamoto's daughter. You must never engage in undignified conversation with young men."

Thus were Osugi and Sannojō kept apart from each other.
If a love kept apart does not deepen, it does not enter love's ranks.
The season was now May.
It was a time when even fireflies emerged burning with passion's flames.
It was a time when even frogs croaked in paddies seeking mates.
When plums ripened and cormorants in fishing boats mated—"the couple slain by their lord's hand retold in new raiment"—
it was a time when even acts of illicit adultery seemed beautiful.

Their love deepened.

Osugi became thoroughly melancholy.
And her heart grew stubborn.
She stopped speaking properly altogether.
Then she turned spiteful in all matters and sought to have her way.

Sannojō grew increasingly violent.

Let nothing terrible come to pass!

It was late at night when the moon after an evening shower hung low in the sky.
Along Shin-Yoshiwara's eight-chō embankment, a young man and woman were running, pulling each other by the hand.

Then, from ahead came a samurai wearing a woven sedge hat, hands tucked into his sleeves, walking with his face lowered.
In the instant they brushed past each other,

“Halt!” the samurai called in a hushed voice.

“Eek!” With that cry, the man and woman squelched down to their knees in the mud.

“I beg you to overlook us.”

The one who said this was the man.
When he looked, the woman was clasping her hands.

The samurai stared down,

“You there—you’re runaways, aren’t you.”

As he said this, he inched closer.
It was a sinister voice.
The air was thick with murderous intent.

“Y-yes, we have... circumstances... I beg you to understand.”

The man's voice trembled.

“Hmm... So you’re runaways.”
“How delightful.”
“How happy you must be.”

It was a voice tinged with madness.

“…………”

Both of them could not muster a reply.

“I see... Runaways,” he said again.

“How enviable... Runaways, you say?... Very well—go on then. Hurry along...”

“Yes, yes! We are deeply grateful.”

The man and woman pressed their foreheads into the mud.
The sound of a sword leaving its scabbard rang out.
A pallid light flashed.

A stifled male scream—"Mmph!"—followed by the sound of something heavy and dull falling into the mud.
The man's head had fallen.

“Hiiiii—” The woman let out a piercing shriek.
By then, she had already been cut down.
The man and woman’s corpses were piled atop each other, their hands flailing in midair.
Then, the woman’s left hand and the man’s right hand became entwined.
The moon was shining from above.
Blood flowed silver into the mud, glinting brightly.

The samurai stood blankly.
He looked down at the two corpses.
He wiped his sword with the woman’s garment and loosely sheathed it with a rustling sound.

“What a pleasant feeling,” he muttered.

“Lady Osugi!” he choked out.

Then he turned around and walked back the way he had come.

6

In Edo, what came to be called the "Couple Slayings" indeed began for the first time that very night.
They were not necessarily married couples.
When a man and woman walked together through the late-night town, a samurai with a deep sedge hat would emerge and cut them down.
Edo's populace was in turmoil.
Nighttime passage became increasingly scarce.

Now, the destined event had come to pass upon Osugi.
She had caught the eye of Shogun Ienari and was to be received into the inner chambers.
In the season when begonias bloomed in the rear garden and pine crickets sang within their cages—on a day of the Tanabata month—Osugi was welcomed into Edo Castle in a women’s palanquin adorned with hollyhock crests.
She was bestowed the name Lady Osugi of the Inner Chambers and came to have all favor concentrated upon her.
There was no helping it now.
When viewed through His Lordship’s eyes, to speak of the shogun was to speak of a god.
Since it was deemed the divine will, there could be neither refusal nor consent.

And so, Osugi served.
Yet in her heart, she yearned for her first love more intensely than ever before.
When she considered being unable to meet or speak with him, her longing only swelled.
Truly her circumstances represented both a woman's pinnacle of glory and something resembling dreamlike paradise.
Had she not possessed that unforgettable man called Sannojō, she would surely have been content.
Ninety-nine parts out of a hundred of love would crumble pathetically before gold.
Yet the remaining one part—what might be called chosen love—would not yield to anything.
The fate of chosen people most often ended in tragedy.
This was because they beat awakening drums against the vulgar currents of the floating world—as when Christ, born in Judea of distant Asia Minor, became crucified sacrifice for preaching great truths.
...And thus, the love between Osugi and Sannojō was that of chosen people.
It was love that could not be undone.

Shogun Ienari was a man of refined tastes, well-versed in the intricacies of affairs of the heart—an unburdened soul.
Had Osugi not had Sannojō, she might not have been able to avoid falling in love.

The harem's three thousand beauties—this being a Chinese-style epithet—but in reality, Shogun Ienari had fifty concubines.
All were flawless beauties, their appearance enough to astonish the eye—yet compared to Osugi, their beauty could not measure up.
And so, Ienari doted on her.
However, as days passed, Ienari began to perceive the existence of a secret within Osugi's heart.
To love someone was to possess them.
In its demand for perfection, love was nearly identical to art.
The inability to possess became unbearable pain for the one who was loved.
And so, Ienari sought by some means to uncover Osugi’s secret.

One day, Osugi happened to hear a terrifying rumor about the city from a servant who had returned from an errand.
It was the rumor of the "Couple Slayings."

“After killing people, they say that street-slaying samurai calls out ‘Lady Osugi!’ as if overcome with longing.”

“He calls out ‘Lady Osugi’?
“‘Lady Osugi’...?”

Osugi unconsciously parroted back.

To her, the identity of the street-slaying samurai had been intuitively grasped.

"It must be Lord Sannojō."

She firmly thought this.
It was the acute sensitivity of a woman in love that had made her perceive such things.

Young women called Lady Osugi must exist in countless numbers in this world.
Samurai who call out 'Lady Osugi' must exist in countless numbers in this world.
However, Osugi firmly believed that this "Lady Osugi" was herself.
And she firmly believed that the samurai who called out that way was Sannojō.

"Poor soul.
...Lord Sannojō.
...Have you been driven to such brutality...? ...This humble one understands your feelings... Then this humble one shall prepare herself.
…This humble one shall enter the Starvation Chamber.
...For that person's sake.
...For Lord Sannojō's sake."

7

Night had deepened in Asakusa.
From the crossroads at Umamichi Nichōme, someone emerged and made their way toward Azumabashi.
At first glance he seemed a child, then an adult; appearing grown only to resemble a youth again—an uncanny figure altogether.

Then a samurai came from the direction of Azumabashi.
He wore a deep sedge hat.
He was looking down with an air of sorrow.
Just as the two were about to pass each other.

“Wait,” the samurai called out.

“What’s this?” the small man said, stopping in his tracks.

“Where’s your woman? Where’s the woman with you?”

“None of your damn business, you bastard!”

The small man bravely spat venom.

“You think you can mock this one-eyed hunchback of a man? Who do you think I am? I’m Oni Kozō!”

“What? Oni Kozō? What kind of name is that?”

“Yeah, I used to be a street magician. But now I’m a Natural Philosophy scholar! Hiraga Gennai, Master of Kite Hall—he’s our master. You wouldn’t get it! Don’t call it mere ‘Natural Philosophy’—it’s Natural Philosophy! Another name for it is science! Dutch-trained Western magic tricks! That’s what those folks out there say. Even bigger fools call it Kirishitan. Tch, they’re all wrong! Herbalism and electricity! Mechanics and anatomy! Physics, chemistry, geography, astronomy—it’s a scholarly pursuit that explores everything from all human affairs to the myriad phenomena of nature, right down to the cosmos itself!”

“Though through fools’ eyes, it might look like magic tricks or Kirishitan sorcery... Oh! Samurai—speaking of which, what in blazes are you anyway?”

The deep-sedge-hatted samurai did not respond to that.
He reached into his pocket.
What he took out was a gold coin.

“Take this and be off.
“With that appearance of yours, no beautiful woman would ever love you.”
“Pitiful. I sympathize.”
“I’m one who can fully understand such wretches.”
“Don’t fall in love—love’s agony... Now take the money.”
“Then go drink yourself blind.”

“Don’t mock me!”
“I ain’t no beggar!”

Oni Kozō became thoroughly enraged.

"But you're one strange samurai."
"No matter how I look at it, you're one strange bastard."
"Ah! So you've gone mad from a broken heart."
"...Appreciate the gesture, but I can't accept it."

"Don't say that—take it. I'm that sort of man."
"When I see a man with a woman, I want to cut them down."
"When a young man passes by alone, I feel compelled to give him money."

Hearing this, Oni Kozō sprang nimbly back.

“So you’re the ‘Couple Slayer’! Met you right where it counts! Been thinkin’ ‘Gotta meet ’im—gotta meet ’im!’ Hey Samurai! You ain’t listenin’! See—’til ten days back, I served at Master Kite Hall’s side, masterin’ Natural Philosophy’s deepest secrets. Got my certification an’ left—now headin’ to Nagasaki. There I’ll train harder!”

By the way，when I went out to the marketplace after so long，there was an uproar over rumors of those Couple Slayings.
That’s when I resolved myself.
A thoroughly heartless bastard like that—I’d use my Natural Philosophy to vanquish him.
And so I’d been searching again tonight.
“Here we meet at last—a hundred years come due! Now then，bastard—prepare yourself!”

After declaring this, he thrust his hand into his pocket and produced a cylindrical tube about one shaku in length.
A grinding sound of a screw being turned rang out.
Then, from the end of the cylindrical tube, a single dazzling flame flashed out.

“Blinded, are you? Serves you right!”
“Smokeless fire made with electricity! Ahahaha! Did that shock you?!”
“In old-fashioned terms—call it the Fire Escape Technique! If I vanish now, you’ll never spot me... Oh! Went and drew your sword, did you?!”
“Come on, try to cut me! You can’t even reach me!”
“Look, a distraction!” cried Oni Kozō as he suddenly extinguished the light at the end of the cylindrical tube.

In the twice-fold darkness following the light—whether he had slipped away into the shadows—Oni Kozō’s figure was nowhere to be seen.

8

The deep-sedge-hatted samurai stood blankly in the thoroughfare, his naked blade hanging limply.

“Here! Here!” called a voice.
On the roof of a house stood Oni Kozō laughing.

“Hey! Hey! Samurai! Get a good scare?”
“But no need to wet yourself!”
“Call it the Flying Swallow Technique.”
“In Japanese martial arts terms... But through Natural Philosophy’s lens—bit different.”
“All proper-like in physics’ laws.”
“Let me school ya—just applying ‘lever principles.’”
“...Now what next?”
“Water gun!”
“Yeah! That’s it!”

He took something else out from his pocket.

“Oooooh Samurai! Watch out! This ain’t no ordinary water gun—it’s different from a real firearm. Once a single drop hits you, your body’s gonna rot away, got it?”

A white snake traced through the darkness, and with a hiss, water burst forth.

Realizing the danger, the samurai swiftly hid himself beneath the eaves.

“Ah! Damn it, this ain’t working.
“It’s the reverse—the opponent’s using the Water Escape Technique! …Abort! Abort!”
“Water gun’s aborted... Now… What the hell should I do next?”
“Anyway, I’ll jump down from the roof.”

Oni Kozō leapt down nimbly.

The moment he did, the samurai broke into a sprint.

“Brat!” shouted a bloodshot voice as he slashed roughly at the shoulder.

With a “Hah!” Oni Kozō twisted his body with difficulty, managing to retreat about three ken before whirling around and hurling something with a whizzing sound.
The moment it hit the ground, a tremendous boom sounded.
Sparks scattered glitteringly, and smoke billowed up thickly.

“Heh, heh, heh, heh. How’s that?”
“Once you get a whiff of that smoke, your nose’ll come right off!”
“Breath-suppressing stink bomb!”
“How pitiful! Die! Die!”

But the samurai did not die.
The samurai came running through the smoke.

“Whoa! This ain’t working—you’re still chasing me?!”

When Oni Kozō tried to flee toward Azuma Bridge—perhaps his luck had run out—he tripped over a stone and tumbled.
The samurai who triumphantly caught up now raised his sword high in a praying strike's overhead stance—
"Brat! I won't let you escape this time!"

The moment he tried to bring it down, the samurai suddenly staggered.
“Lady Osugi!” he groaned.
Oni Kozō sprang to his feet and peered at the samurai’s state, but—

“Huh? What did you say?”
“Osugi-san? You said Osugi-san?”
“I’m looking for Osugi-san too.”
“The red-aproned Osugi-san, huh?... You know about her?”
“To me, she’s a friend—we were both in Asakusa.”

“Lady Osugi!” the samurai said again.

“You’re dying... I understand this single-minded love of yours... Starving and withering away—you’re on death’s doorstep.”

The samurai slumped heavily to the ground.

It was Oni Kozō who was shocked; he held his breath and watched closely.

A thin thread-like voice!
Someone was calling for me.
Lord Sannojō!
With Lord Sannojō!

“So you’re called Sannojō, huh? ...And which Osugi-san are you talking about?”

Oni Kozō thrust his face forward.

9

At this very moment, Lady Osugi was about to end her life within the Starvation Chamber of the shogunate's inner palace.

The Starvation Chamber was among the shogunate's most closely guarded secrets.

That place was a terrifying hell.
Even hell was a Hungry Ghost Hell.

It was an earthen storehouse where women of the Ōoku who had committed infidelity were starved to death.
Dozens upon dozens, hundreds—beautiful ladies-in-waiting and maidservants may have met their unnatural ends there.

How had Osugi come to be placed in that terrifying hellish chamber?

She had entered of her own volition.

Osugi said to Ienari.

“Before entering the Ōoku, this humble one had a lover.”
“Even now, this humble one burns with longing.”
“He too must burn with longing.”
“……This humble one is a corpse.”
“A corpse of love.”
“……Though Your Lordship may call this humble one an unfaithful woman, I would offer no protest.”
“……Please place this humble one in the Starvation Chamber.”

This brought Ienari truly terrifying anguish.
The woman he loved had a lover.
And still she remained resolute.
She asked to enter the Starvation Chamber of her own will... What in heaven’s name should he do?

“However, this does not mean you took a secret lover after entering the Ōoku.”
“It would never be said that you were unfaithful.”
“Cut off your feelings for that man.”
“…I cannot put you into the Starvation Chamber.”

Casting aside even the dignity of the shogun, Ienari implored her like this.

“This humble one is resolved.”
“In the past, now, and always to come.…”

This was Osugi’s reply.

There was nothing to be done.
She had to be put into the Starvation Chamber.

In the inner garden forest of Edo Castle stood a single storehouse.
Black-lacquered walls and an iron door—it was the Starvation Chamber of the Hungry Ghost Hell.

One night, the door opened with a creak.
Someone had apparently been placed into the storehouse.
It was none other than Lady Osugi.
And then, with a thud, the door closed.
The chamber was dark.

Not a single lamp was lit.
It was darkness in the truest sense of the word.
A single round cushion and one armrest—these were all that existed.

Osugi sat formally on the round cushion.

Her lover Rikiishi Sannojō—she focused her thoughts solely on that man.

Lord Sannojō, she said in her heart.

"Please rest assured.
Osugi will never forget you.
This humble one joyfully intends to starve to death for you.
To persist in one's cherished feelings and die by one's own will—what a joyous thing it is.…"

Outside the Starvation Chamber, night dawned.
However, inside the Starvation Chamber, it was night.
Outside the Starvation Chamber, the sun set.
There was no change inside the Starvation Chamber.

And so time passed.

Osugi's mind grew hazy.

Starvation had nearly reached its extreme.

At that moment, Osugi suddenly spoke.

“This humble one can see you—your very figure! Oh! You are right there… Ah! I could almost touch you… Farewell, Lord Sannojō! This humble one shall now die. ……This humble one believes without doubt. We who burn so fiercely—what shall we do if we cannot be together? In the beautiful Yomi, soul and soul...”

Osugi died beautifully in the darkness, still leaning against the armrest.

This occurred on the same night, at the very same hour when Rikiishi Sannojō encountered Oni Kozō.

10

Meanwhile, at the banks of Azuma Bridge—what had become of Sannojō and Oni Kozō?

Sannojō was sitting on the ground.

Oni Kozō was peering down from above.

“And suddenly,” Sannojō declared.

“Kid, I will slit my belly.
“If you have any mercy, perform the kaishaku!”

With a grating scrape, [he] rolled up the bare blade with his sleeve.

“Hey, wait a second, Samurai!”
“What in the world happened here?”
“There ain’t no need to go cutting your belly!”

Oni Kozō flusteredly restrained him.

“If it’s repentance you’re after for those street slayings—shave your head, robe up like a monk, make pilgrimage to Mount Kōya.”

“Repentance?”

The samurai’s cheek twitched in mirthless laughter.

“I don’t do repentance.
“I keep my resolve pure!
“Lady Osugi died this very hour.
“That beautiful death-form—I see it clear as day.
“I’ll chase after her now!”

He decisively bared his abdomen. He thrust the tip of his sword into his left flank with a decisive stab. He dragged the blade laterally with a grating grind.

"Behead me," he placed the bloodied sword before him.

Spurred by the momentum, Oni Kozō grasped the sword and leapt up.

“It’s cruel to make you suffer.”
“Alright then, I’ll perform the kaishaku for you.”
Beneath the cry of “Yah!”, the samurai’s head fell to the ground.

“Well, what’s to be done now?”
At least I should bury his head... But still—just what was this samurai’s status anyway?
He doesn’t seem like a villain… Who was this ‘Lady Osugi’ he mentioned? Can’t be that Osugi-chan from Asakusa with the red apron… Ah well, doesn’t matter anyway.
“Well, what now?”

Oni Kozō was momentarily at a loss.

From Azuma Bridge's direction came what must have been a traveler hurrying through night roads.
"I can't afford t'dawdle," he gritted out.
"Might get pegged fer th'killer."
With a decisive "Right!", Oni Kozō tore off one o' th' samurai's sleeves,wrapped th' head inside,cradled it 'gainst his chest'n took off poundin' towards town.

Several days later, along the pine-lined Tōkaidō highway, there was a traveler walking briskly.
It was none other than Oni Kozō, carrying the bundled head.

Though I failed to bury it and ended up bringing it along, a severed head makes for one hell of an unwelcome gift.
Right, right, I'll bury it around here.
Yeah, this is Okitsu.
The sea was visible; it made for a fine view.
I'll bury it at the base of a pine tree. ...Oh, some suspicious folks are coming.
"...Then I'll go a bit further ahead."

And so, Oni Kozō walked on.

Ten-odd years had passed since then.

Around that time in Hizen Nagasaki, there was a Dutch studies scholar named Hiraga Asakusa. He was hunchbacked, one-eyed, and ugly, but he was extremely erudite and had taken on many disciples. In his study’s alcove sat a single skull, but he had never once spoken of what karmic connection lay behind it.

But he sometimes said:

“Ms. Osugi of the red apron—my old friend from days long past—I wonder if she’s still in good health even now?”