Pathway to Japanese Literature

Nezumi Kozo, Captivated by Nobuhime

"A woman's voice cried, 'Ruffian!'"

After a moment came the sound of scrambling footsteps.

"He went that way!"

"No, this way!"

The clamoring voices of night-watch samurai.

Late spring in the final year of Bunsei, when cherry blossoms bloomed in their fullest glory.
The place was Shiba Nihon Enoki—the suburban villa of Lord Hosokawa.

There was a large pine tree within the estate grounds.
On one of those thick branches hid a small man.
A bean-patterned tenugui pulled low over his head, from beneath it only his eyes gleamed as he stared fixedly at the elevated veranda area.
Arms crossed, body hunched, legs bent and drawn up to his chest—altogether giving the impression of a hedgehog—this was the culprit himself.

“Well I’ll be damned—ain’t she a beauty.”
“Damn, I can't stand this.”
“The way she stood there with that naginata planted thudding against the veranda—ain’t no low-class woman, that one.”
“Truly a daimyo's princess.”
“There ain't even one like her in Yoshiwara.”
“Heh, I really can't stand this.”
“But even so... what would the others say if they heard about me tonight?”
“So this is the great Nezumi Kozo? More like some dirt-rat thief! Sure sounds grand when you say 'sneaking into a daimyo mansion'—all impressive-like—but truth is I stood there gawking at Lord Hosokawa's princess like some fool! Then when Her Highness wakes up and yells 'Ruffian!', I dash out empty-handed! Ended up scurrying like a real mouse—chased here, chased there—till I'm clinging to this pine tree just to catch my damn breath! Heh! You call this making a living?”
“Even Nezumi Kozo's gone rusty.”
“Can’t say there’s nothing to be said about it.”
“But let them say what they want—I don’t care.”
“I just won't have nothin' to do with such folks.”
“I wanna show those folks a thing or two.”
“Beautiful, dignified, charming, and elegant—when you put it all together, this was the very pinnacle of womanhood.”

Not even Cleopatra could compare.
As for those bastards frequenting flimsy lattice brothels and buying up cheap whores—they couldn’t possibly grasp such subtleties.
I was shocked myself—when I snuck in through my usual route, of all places to end up in the Princess's bedchamber! Just a casual peek through the screen and there she was—her sleeping form all disheveled.
That night-whitening powder they use.
Crisply white from her neck down to where half her breast showed—skin like a jewel slipped free from her nightclothes.
A violent shudder ran through me.
Her lips—crimson petals—parted ever so slightly, offering a fleeting glimpse of upper and lower front teeth; even her sleeping breath seemed fragrant.
And so he stood there dumbstruck, peering endlessly through the screen—when her eyes snapped open and she suddenly flung aside the bedding. What the— he thought—just as she called out.

“Ruffian!” came a resolute voice.

“No sooner’d she called out than she flipped up like a damn acrobat and snatched that naginata from the wall rail—hell, moved so fast I figured she must’ve had proper martial trainin’! Scared me shitless—didn’t grab nothin’, just went clatterin’ off empty-handed! Ended up tremblin’ like this in the pine tree, see?”
Not that I was shakin’ from fear, mind you.
That Princess standin’ there on the veranda with her naginata—damn alluring sight... Ah, nothin’ wrong with admirin’ that.
If only I could’ve had a woman like her—just once.
...Shit—night-watch samurai finally comin’ this way.
“Oh hell—they’ve spotted me!”

“They’ve found the ruffian everywhere!”
“He’s in the pine tree! He’s in the pine tree!”

With a thrust of the large spear accompanied by a shout of “Hah!”, Nezumi Kozo dodged it and leapt onto the roof in a flash.

“There! The roof!”

“Don’t let him escape! Don’t let him escape!”

Five or six men came chasing up onto the roof.

When they looked for the thief, there he was—astride the roof ridge, grinning impudently as he gazed down at them.

As one man darted forward—tsutsu—and grappled him with a shout of “Got him!”,

“Samurai—you don’t value your life, do you?”

Even as he spoke while being grappled, he deliberately slipped his foot and tumbled down the roof slope like a rolling rice bale—korokorokorokoro—landing upside-down in the garden before the elevated veranda where Princess Nobuhime stood. Before hitting the ground, he flipped his body mid-air, shook off his grappling opponent, and sprang upright in an instant.

“Heh heh, well if it isn’t Her Highness! My most humble apologies for this outrageous rudeness.”
“Calling myself such might be presumptuous, but I am the thief Nezumi Kozo—allow me to humbly present my unworthy visage for your first proper viewing.”

In a flash he grabbed the bundled hand towel, exposing his grotesque visage. To describe it in detail: first his eyes slanted upward like a fox’s; his nose flattened like a ritual lion mask; his mouth split wide across his face, revealing sparse broken front teeth. Even to night-adjusted eyes his complexion stood out starkly... not white but black. He was a man of short stature under four feet, his entire body bearing malformed deformities.

The “hee hee hee” laughter—dull and murky—proved so utterly unpleasant it made listeners shudder. This so-called innate criminal visage—its cruel severity could be imagined at a mere glance.

“Ruffian!” Nobuhime sharply raised her willow-like eyebrows.

Yoriki Gunjuuro executed a countermove.

At Nobuhime’s voice, the samurai came scrambling here in disarray, but—

“He’s here! He’s here!”
“Seize him!”

“Hah!”
With a “Hyah!” came spears and staves.
He parried the strikes raining down from all directions with swift hand motions, then leapt soundlessly into the air and planted himself atop the high wall.

“Eh heh heh, Princess! I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again… ‘Held close and slept with, my beloved’… properly in a jōruri ballad it’ll be. You never know—such things might just come to pass. As evidence for later, I took this golden hairpin when I leapt up—just a little pluck—and have kept it close to my person ever since. Farewell, farewell—until we meet again!”

He nimbly jumped down to the other side.

“There!” With that shout, the samurai opened the back gate and gave chase.

In the far distance，a single figure ran as if dancing through mid-air.

“After him!” they shouted as they too ran through the air, but by no means could they hope to catch up.

As soon as they turned a corner,

“What’s all this commotion at such an hour!”
“Where are you all rushing off to in such numbers?!”

Suddenly, their path was blocked. At a glance, their appearance made it clear—a yoriki on city patrol stood composedly with five or six subordinate informants in tow.

“Ah! The yoriki officers,”
“We are retainers of Lord Hosokawa. A thief has infiltrated the Nihon'enoki lower residence just now...”

“Ah, so the thief has broken in, has he?”

Yoriki Nakajo Gunjuuro’s eyes gleamed slightly.

“Indeed—after the thief infiltrated, we immediately discovered and drove him out, pursuing him all the way here...”

“Which direction did he escape?”

“He turned the corner and went this way.”

“How peculiar—this humble officer has just come from that very direction...”

“Did you not see the thief?”

“This humble officer encountered no such person.”

“Did you not meet even one individual?”

“No—I did meet one person.”

“Then that fellow is the thief! Which way did he flee?”

“That was no human thief.”

“Nonsense—that’s precisely the thief! A short-statured man under four shaku.”

“Not so. Five shaku five or six sun.”

“A dark-complexioned brute with twisted features.”

“Quite the contrary—he was a fair-skinned handsome man.”

“Did you at least challenge him?”

“Indeed—we exchanged courtesies.”

“Ah, greetings?”
“So you do know him?”

“He is indeed someone I know well.”
“…a hearty fish shop proprietor.”

“What fish shop from where might that be?”

“Kabayachō Uekiten—master of a fish shop called Izumiya, first and foremost a chivalrous outlaw with wide connections—a man named Jirokichi whom Your Lordships may at least know by reputation.”

“Ah, Jirokichi? Izumiya’s?”
“Ah, in that case, we know him all too well.”
“He’s a man who often frequents the lower residence as well.”

“Does he frequent Lord Hosokawa’s residence as well?”
“Ah, so then—this would be for fish business?”

“No—” began the Hosokawa samurai, but they found themselves considerably flustered by this line of questioning.

“No, nothing—it’s not particularly that…”

“As is typical for such a man, they say Jirokichi often meddles in Enando’s affairs as well.”

“Hah, so that’s how it is.”

The Hosokawa samurai exchanged glances.

“Rumors say gambling dens operate every single night at Lord Hosokawa’s Nihon'enoki lower residence—ah, so then Jirokichi must be making his rounds in that sphere too.”

“Oh my… No, no— Such matters…”

“What do you mean there’s nothing to it?”

Gunjuuro grinned slyly,

“Jirokichi is a man of clean spending—if I may be so bold, Your Lordships must occasionally receive small allowances as well.”

“Oh my... How... That’s quite...”

“Ahahaha!” Gunjuuro laughed brazenly, but—

“If one operates gambling dens, it stands to reason that security within the mansion naturally becomes lax—no wonder thieves find their way in.”

“This is truly an outrageous misunderstanding.”

“Lately there’s been a peculiar thief infiltrating daimyo residences to pilfer their ready cash—this humble officer patrols nightly by official orders for this very reason. As these are perilous times, I must request your utmost vigilance in all matters.”

“We are aware.”
“We shall exercise caution.”

“It is time for you to take your leave now.”

“Is that so… Then we shall take our leave.”

After being thoroughly made fools of, the Hosokawa samurai retainers slunk back toward their mansion.

After seeing them off, Gunjuuro couldn’t help but give a wry smile.

Uguisudani Outrage

It was the following day when five women’s palanquins emerged in solemn procession from Lord Hosokawa’s lower residence. Her Highness Nobuhime was gracing Ueno with her attendants for cherry blossom viewing.

At this time, the Ueno precincts—where Prince Rinnōji-no-miya resided with august solemnity—grew ever more divinely tranquil, their sacred stillness deepening. Though spring brought cherry blossoms blooming in indescribable profusion amidst verdant trees, unlike Sumidagawa Embankment or Koganei where revelries were allowed, disguises and boisterous gatherings found no permission here. Thus those coming to view blossoms remained comparatively few, and the hill maintained its perpetual quietude.
Thus when it came to cherry blossom viewing, the women's quarters of daimyo households would without exception make their way to Ueno Hill.

The procession was remarkably small in number, yet upon arriving at the mountain precincts found an elegant cherry-blossom viewing area enclosed by kosode curtains already prepared—red felt carpets spread with layered dishes, resplendent cushions, lacquered trays bearing maki-e designs, even a space for warming sake. With maids and young samurai attendants splendidly attired awaiting them, the scene burst into cheerful commotion all at once.

The princess took her seat at the prepared head position, followed by Elder Maid Kaede and Matsukaze arranging themselves in perfect order, then the rest—the elderly and young—filling the space like a constellation. Their beauty rivaled the blossoms themselves, their speech holding nothing but grace.

“Come now, today is a day without formalities—let those with talents show them without hesitation!”

When the sake had made its round, Nobuhime spoke.

“Come now, permission has been granted.”
“Shamisen, koto, theatrical voice imitation—anything will do. Let those with talents present them without reserve.”

Even the elderly maid—who usually wore a stern face and did nothing but glare—spoke with such amiable countenance today that the women attendants, as if they had been waiting for this very moment, launched into their full array of performances.

The performances ranged from Gidayū, Kiyomoto, and Tokiwazu narrative music to imitations of Danjūrō’s famous lines; from comic Buddhist chants to nonsense ditties; from Yasugi folk songs to Izumo ballads—those without any proper talent resorted to doing handstands.
They performed head-bowl percussion and plate-spinning; when thoroughly stumped, they resorted to sumo wrestling.
They performed Echigo-style Kakubei reverse dragonfly spins; sang of Gonbei sowing seeds only for crows to dig them up; exclaimed “Oh my, what’s happened here?”; chanted “You wait and wait only to be left outside the net”; lamented “To make me commute since fourteen and now call it tiresome—such greed!”... until the whole affair erupted into tremendous uproar.
Laughter; joyful voices; some even burst into tears.
This was hysteria, no doubt.

“Heave-ho, heave-ho!”

The loach-scooping began.

Overwhelmed by the sheer absurdity, the princess could no longer remain seated. Taking a single attendant, she lightly flipped aside the small-sleeve curtain and slipped out beyond the enclosure.

“Okiku, which way shall we go?”

She looked back at the attendant.

“Wherever you wish, Princess.”

“I think I’d like to head somewhere quiet.”
“I’ve laughed so much it’s become unbearable.”

As they chattered away, they wandered aimlessly toward desolate Uguisudani once more—there, with no crowds about, they could fully take in the blossoms.

“Ah, how lovely,” they said as they settled onto a tree stump, becoming engrossed in viewing cherry blossoms at their peak—neither finished blooming nor begun to scatter.

Just then, five or six figures came clattering into view. They were clearly street ruffians—tattoo-covered brutes, and drunk besides.

“Whoa-ho! Can’t let this prize slip away!”
“How ’bout it! This here pretty blossom!”

As soon as one spoke, the others took up the chorus.

“Cherry blooms are nice enough, but a talkin’ flower’s better!”
“Let’s haul ’em off to pour our drinks!”

“You got it!” No sooner growled than done—they lunged to grab both women.

“Ruffians!” With her willow-thin eyebrows raised in fury, Princess Nobuhime glared sharply, but undeterred by this display, when the two hoisted Okiku onto their shoulders, the remaining three ruffians seized Nobuhime by her arms and legs and tried to lift her bodily into the air to carry her off.
The moment they did, from the shade of an old cherry tree,

a voice rang out: “Stop!”
A samurai—his face hidden beneath a deep woven hat—suddenly materialized.

“Such insolence toward a noble lady!
“Prepare yourselves!” he declared in a gallant voice, striking them down with a sharp crack of his iron fan.

“Whoa—! This ain't good!”
“We’ve got company!”

All their initial bravado now vanished, the five ruffians fled as one, disappearing like mist into thin air.

The samurai quietly removed his woven hat,

“A most unsettled place indeed.”
“You are unharmed—a great relief indeed. If I recall correctly, my lady is of the Hosokawa…”

“Yes, I am Princess Nobuhime.”
“You have most graciously saved me.”
“Um…” she began but suddenly faltered, gazing up at the samurai’s face as if dazzled.
He possessed a beauty that seemed to drip like water.
Rather than a samurai, he carried himself like a kabuki actor—the very picture of a young female role performed by a male player in traditional headgear.
The princess’s face, until then pale as moonlight, flushed crimson.

That night at an Asakusa restaurant, the five Buraikan thugs drank sake while whispering among themselves.

Guided by a maid, the one who entered was none other than the aforementioned samurai.

“Good work today,” he said, nimbly producing a money pouch.

“Ten ryō per person. Heh heh, thank you kindly.”
“The job was plenty risky, but the reward’s good coin, I tell ya.”

“If that satisfies you, then I can rest easy,” he said as he yanked off his deep woven hat. But when they saw his face—what a sight!
Not a drop-dead gorgeous man, but an ugly brute you couldn’t bear to look at twice!

An Unsolvable Mystery

Coarse lattices and tiled roofs—the right side sported wooden siding!
In a suitably placed spot stood a stone well, while beside the latticework hung a gilded signboard for the Asakuma Bankin Agency.
The location was Kabayachō Uekiten—a district where true Edo natives dwelled... Publicly, he worked as a fishmonger; in the backstreets, he ruled as gambling boss—such was master Jirokichi’s standing.
Sumo wrestlers naturally—from actors of the Three Theaters to members of the Forty-Eight Firefighter Brigades—he mingled with all comers indiscriminately, earning their affectionate cries of “Big Brother Jiro!”
With fifty or sixty sworn followers directly under his command, one might indeed call him an exemplary boss.

Sparrows chittered and crows cawed.
Dawn had broken, yet no one opened the door.
Clatter—creak—swish went the sound of drawing water from the well.
The young men came back breathless from their riverside market errands.

“Hey there!”
“Man, what a rush!”

The flower-viewing rounds took place before sunrise; even today, that spirit remains among Edo’s fish shops.

Omatsu, his wife, was twenty-three or twenty-four—a petite woman with graceful steps, a pure-blooded Edoite untainted by mixed heritage, possessing both dignity and charm, and remarkably deft at handling people. She would rise from bed alongside the young men and light fires herself to boil water—all stemming from compassion for sparing the maids.

Before long, the morning sun blazed over the rooftops.

"What’s wrong with him..."
"There’s a limit to sleeping in—I’ll go wake him up."

She went following stepping stones to check the detached guesthouse built at the rear.

The storm shutters were tightly shut.

“Oh, get up already, get up! The sun’s up already, isn’t it?”

Knock knock knock—she knocked on the door.

“Oh, Omatsu? Quit bangin’ so damn hard.”
“Ah, just lemme sleep a little longer.”

Jirokichi’s voice came from within.

“Well, I was up late last night.”
“I’m just so damn sleepy I can’t take it.”

“No, you can’t! Get up already! A fishmonger sleeping in makes for a poor public image!”
“Very well then—I’m opening them!”

With a clatter, she slid open a storm shutter.

“No! No! Don’t come in here!”

“Hmm? That’s odd...” Hearing his voice, Omatsu tilted her head slightly.
This was because Jirokichi’s voice differed greatly from its usual tone—strangely muffled and lacking depth, yet thick with unpleasant resonance.
It bore no resemblance to his crisp Edo-style speech.

“Hey, what’s the matter with you? Your voice sounds different from usual, doesn’t it?”

Even when she asked, there was no reply.

Undeterred, she stepped up onto the veranda and tried to open the standing shoji screen.

“No! You idiot! Don’t come in here!”

A voice suddenly roared from inside—but by then she’d already opened it.

“Well, what’s the matter with you? Shouting like that...”

When she looked, Jirokichi was sitting rigidly on the futon.
There was nothing particularly unusual about him.
Just two medicine bottles were placed on his knees.
And then, flustered, he abruptly hid the bottles with both hands.

“Hey! Get over there and stay put!”

As he spoke, Jirokichi glared—but the ferocity in those eyes made Omatsu’s body tremble involuntarily.

To Omatsu, those medicine bottles somehow seemed suspicious.

About half a month had passed since these events.

At that time, once again, Jirokichi still had not gotten up no matter how much time passed.

"Why does my husband come home so late at night sometimes?"

Even when noon came, he still hadn’t gotten up.

So Omatsu went to check by following the stepping stones to the detached guesthouse.
And then she stealthily opened the storm shutters.
Then she stealthily opened the shoji screen.

When she peeked in, Jirokichi was sitting properly on the floor—but then he jerked around, and that face!

“Ah!” she cried—then came a slam. Brave as Omatsu was, she clambered down from the veranda and fled toward the main house.

There, right in her path, stood Wakashu Kikou,

“What’s wrong, O-Kami-san? You’re pale as a ghost, I tell ya.”

“Well, you see…” she began but didn’t continue. When she reached the shop, she slumped down before the long brazier and planted her knees.

“What was that? A monster? The person inside had vanished, and in his place was that little man... A flattened nose, upturned eyes, a height of about four shaku—that thing glared at me.”

Omatsu trembled as she toiled over how to unravel this perplexing, mysterious enigma.

No matter how she tried to unravel it, there was simply no way.

A Dewy-Faced Young Samurai

At Lord Hosokawa's lower residence, a strange rumor suddenly spread like wildfire.

"Princess Nobuhime has been spending her days of late as if possessed by some spirit—listless and scarcely in her right mind. Is it not a most mysterious affair?"

“Night after night, they say a young, beautiful man sneaks into her bedchamber.”

“It must be that a spirit has attached itself to her, owing to the Princess’s radiant beauty.”

“A fox?
“A raccoon dog?”

“Whether it’s a fox or raccoon dog—well, that’s one lucky bastard.”

“To have that beautiful Princess in her bedchamber—what an enviable position he’s in.”

“I wish I could become a fox or raccoon dog.”

“Ah, Shinjuuro! Have you arrived?”

Hosokawa Etchu-no-Kami—the great lord among the 540,000-koku daimyo of Higo Kumamoto—spoke thus and glared at Saburi Shinjuuro, the Ono-ha Itto-ryu instructor.

“Ha,” said Shinjuuro, lowering his head once more.

“Does your swordsmanship possess spiritual efficacy?”

Having abruptly said this, Etchu-no-Kami closed his eyes.
He seemed overwhelmed by contemplation.

“You speak of spiritual efficacy…?”

Saburi Shinjuuro fearfully inquired.

“In ancient times, Minamoto no Yorimasa, Third Rank, is said to have driven out the specter from the Shishinden Hall using what is called the Hikime method. Can you pursue this specter with your vaunted Ittō-ryū?”

“Ah, is that the matter at hand? Though unworthy, I, Shinjuuro—one who receives a high stipend for my swordsmanship—may not know what manner of specter this is, but even if unequal to the task, I shall subdue it through the might of my blade.”

“Well spoken! That is as it must be.”

“And this specter you speak of—?”

“It must indeed be some manner of fox or raccoon dog.”

“Ah, I see. Is that indeed the case?”

“It seems something has taken possession of Princess Nobuhime’s body.”

“To think such a thing would befall Her Highness’s very person…”

“They say it comes nightly.”

“This defies all reason… A monstrous specter—”

“You shall enter the inner quarters this evening, lodge in the chamber adjoining Her Highness’s bedchamber, and lay bare this specter’s true form.”

“I shall comply.”

“Listen well—I’ve given you clear orders!”

“I shall comply.”

The night at the lower residence deepened profoundly, the lamps in every room went out one by one, and above all, the inner hall grew desolate.

Only in one room was a lamp lit.
That was Princess Nobuhime’s room.
Bong—just then, the Hour of the Ox bell rang out from a nearby temple, but even after its lingering tones faded away, the early summer wind continued to rustle restlessly.

At the same time, something began tap-tap-tap-tapping on the corridor door facing the garden.

Then, a woman’s shadow suddenly loomed large upon the shoji screen—and soon, the screen slid open without a sound as a woman emerged.
That was none other than Princess Nobuhime.

The Princess slid out into the corridor but immediately reached for the storm shutters.
The shutter slid smoothly open.

“Princess Nobuhime?”

“Lord Mondo.”

A few words were exchanged between inside and outside.
...a young samurai appeared—the shaved crown of his head still bearing a bluish shadow, glistening as if with dew.
He was the deep sedge-hat-wearing samurai who had saved the Princess in Uguisudani.

The Princess gently took his hand; the two pressed close, shoulders touching, and entered the room.

The instant they did, there came a sharp clang of sword guards.

The young samurai, startled with a gasp, reflexively stepped back a pace when—

A sharp Ono-ha-style kiai—"Hyaaah!"—rang out.

With a stifled "Hngh," the young samurai's breath caught, and he staggered unsteadily out into the corridor.

“Hyaah!” Another shout rang out—a single small bundle pierced through the neighboring room’s shoji screen in a flurry, glinting as it flew!
The young samurai blocked with the bundle, but the blade tip veered off and struck his elbow.

Leaving a sharp cry of “Ah!” in his wake, the young samurai kicked open the storm shutters and leapt out into the dark garden.

This night, Yoriki Gunjuuro, accompanied by two dōshin, was quietly patrolling Nihon'enoki's samurai district in secret.

Suddenly, a man came running like the wind from ahead. They marked the suspicious fellow as their target,

“Wait!” called Gunjuuro.

Yet that suspicious man ran right past them without so much as a glance back.

“You there!
Apprehend him!”

“Hah!” At this command, the two dōshin immediately gave chase, but such was the man’s speed that they lost sight of him before even pursuing him a single block.

“Hmm?” muttered Gunjuuro.

"I’ve seen that figure before."

Go to Hakone!
Go to Hakone!

The following morning, Yoriki Nakajo Gunjuuro came to Izumiya’s shopfront.

“Mistress, business seems ever prosperous here.”

“Well now, Lord Nakajo! What wind brings you here? How gracious of you to visit.”

Omatsu hurriedly steadied her hands.

“Please do come upstairs.”

“Standing about chatting at the shopfront seems rather odd. Suppose I’ll trouble you a moment.”

When he had been shown into the sitting room and taken his seat,

“Is Jirokichi about?”

“In the detached room… still sleeping… Hehehe,” Omatsu laughed.

“Playing dumb?”
“This complicates matters somewhat.”

“I’ll go wake him at once.”

“There are matters I wish to inquire about, and matters I must discuss.”
“Then I shall have you summon him here.”

“Very well, my lord.”

Before long, Jirokichi arrived.

His right elbow was wrapped in white cloth.
He sat down and firmly supported his hand,

“Well now! Welcome indeed, Inspector Nakajo.”

Even that voice lacked energy.
His complexion was pale.

Gunjuuro watched the situation intently with sharp eyes, but
“Mistress,” he said, dropping his formal tone,
“This is confidential business today.
Would you mind leaving us?”

“Oh my, is that so?”

She accepted lightly but looked uneasy,

“What sort of secret talk could this be?”

“It’s a romantic matter.
There’s no need to worry.
Ahahaha!” he laughed with a carefree air.

“Oh my! If that’s how it stands, Lord Nakajo...
That is quite serious indeed.
Indeed, with the wife present, it must be difficult to speak.
Well then, I’ll head to the shop.”

With a graceful smile, she withdrew from the room.

Afterwards, the two sat facing each other; for a while both remained silent, but Gunjuuro, after a moment, edged one knee forward.

“Well then, Izumiya,” he said, tilting his head.

“I knew you were a thief.”
“I knew, but I have no intention of arresting you.”
“Your temperament amuses me.”
“Now understand—I didn’t come today as a yoriki.”
“I’ve come as a friend.”
“So I’ll give you one piece of advice.”
“Izumiya—how about taking a hot spring cure?”

“Huh? A hot spring cure?”

Jirokichi looked up with a puzzled expression.

“Exactly—for treating that elbow.”

“Oh, I see,” he said, lowering his gaze back to his knees.

“How about it, Izumiya? Will you go take a hot spring cure?”

“Would it be permissible for me to go?”

“In other words, you’re to extricate yourself from Edo.”

“...But if I were to do so, wouldn’t that constitute negligence on your part, Inspector?”

“If I’m the one approving your trip to the hot springs, how could that possibly constitute negligence on my part? There’s not the slightest need for such concern. ...And where do you intend to go?”

“Hmm, perhaps I’ll go to Hakone then.”

“Hakone, eh?”
“That’ll do. ...Now then, there’s one thing I want to ask.”

“And what might that be?”

“How do you change your body so freely?”

“Ah, that business?”
“This here’s the trick.”

As he spoke, Jirokichi produced two medicine bottles from his breast pocket.

“What’s that?
“Just some drugs?”

“Exactly so.
“Shape-shifting drugs from Nagasaki foreigners.
“I pray to God the moment I drink ’em.
“Santa Maria!
“Ave Maria!
“Hallelujah!
“Hallelujah!”
He chanted.
“Then my form changes.”

“So you’re a Kirishitan!”

“Boss! Let me receive your honorable rope!”

Jirokichi abruptly tore off his clothes.

A golden crucifix blazed resplendently upon his chest.

“You can’t pretend not to see this now!”
“Boss! Let me receive your honorable rope!”

“However, that simply will not do.”

Gunjuuro said darkly.

“Princess Nobuhime is with child!”
“Not a single finger shall be laid upon either the Princess or you until she gives birth!”
“Go to Hakone! Go to Hakone!”

After ten months had passed, Princess Nobuhime gave birth to a child of karma—whether fortunate or unfortunate, it was a stillbirth.
Soon after, Princess Nobuhime also passed away, and it was said to be suicide.

Around that time, a thief was apprehended by Gunjuuro—though in truth it was said to be a voluntary surrender.

Nezumi Kozo, also known as Izumiya Jirokichi.
This was the name of that thief.

“When I drink the drug and transform, a surge of malice wells up within me—I become so unbearably, excruciatingly distressed that I simply must commit some evil deed.”
“When I take the other drug and return to my original body, this time a benevolent heart wells up, and I become so unbearably distressed that I must perform acts of charity for others.”
“The two forces of good and evil were perpetually at war within my heart.”

On the day before his execution, it is said that Nezumi Kozo spoke these words to Gunjuuro—though in truth, is it not the case that not only Nezumi Kozo but every person in this fleeting world ceaselessly wages this war between good and evil from birth until death?