Pathway to Japanese Literature

*Ashigaru Hoko*

I

“What’s with that posture—you trying to lay an egg or something?”

“The man over there looks like a hunter peering at birds—hey, take proper aim!”

“Ah, he missed!”

“This is practically a contest of ineptitude!”

Uda Fujiroku involuntarily let out a stifled laugh.
The ashigaru comrades’ critiques proved remarkably astute—their jabs about postures fit for laying eggs or hunters stalking birds were all too apt to permit reprimand.—And rightly so, for among the ashigaru gathered there existed those far superior in skill to the men they mocked.
Thinking this way, he no longer felt like watching,

“If you keep badmouthing them like that, someone might hear.”

With that, he stood up from the mat.

“……Well, it should be over soon anyway. I’ll make arrangements for cleanup.”

“But Captain…”

One of the young ashigaru stood and said,

“……We can’t endure this any longer. Even if we can’t compete against samurai—even if it’s just matches between ashigaru—we implore you to secure our participation in next year’s tournament. This exclusion goes too far.”

“That’s right.”

Another added his voice:

“Martial arts shouldn’t distinguish between samurai and ashigaru. If they saw our skills, it might light a fire under them.”

“Hoping for that is like climbing trees to catch fish.”

Fujiroku replied in a low voice.

“If this were the Sengoku era—then we’d have our moment. But these times leave us no choice. We shut our eyes and bear it.”

And he stepped outside the curtained enclosure.

Miharu in Iwaki Province was renowned as a breeding ground for prized steeds. At that time, the domain lord was Akita Shinano-no-kami Yoritoshi, who structured his military around locally bred horses—particularly valuing units called lancers. These could be likened to the arquebus cavalry once employed by Takeda Harunobu: their role was to charge through enemy frontlines on horseback and disrupt inner formations in sudden strikes. Consequently, spearmanship flourished within the domain. The Akita clan had developed unique techniques blending mounted and foot combat, which the retainer Yokoi Daigaku codified into a unified training regimen as chief instructor. …Yet as the era shifted from Shotoku to Kyoho, the prolonged peace tainted even samurai resolve,

“It wasn’t as though they would ever see battlefields again anyway.”

From this negligent mindset, their practice became mere duty and their general skill continued its steady decline.
Even if not all were like that, the fact that samurai ethos continued to decline in such manner was undeniable; there may have been those who thought this would not do, but none rose to resist the tide of the times.
Uda Fujiroku was an ashigaru from his parents’ generation, and at twenty had been appointed captain of their unit, gathering his comrades’ trust as a "man of principle."

The tenement where he lived was close to the residence of Yokoi Daigaku, the spearmanship instructor, and through his childhood interactions with Daigaku’s son Yokoi Tetsunosuke, he had been permitted to enroll in that dojo at fifteen; by now he had developed skill sufficient to match even Instructor Daigaku himself in combat.
While diligently honing his own skills, he gradually instructed his ashigaru comrades and made special arrangements for promising individuals to enroll in the Yokoi Dojo, devoting himself to fostering a culture of martial valor.

The samurai class maintained their hereditary stipends and abandoned thoughts of battle; against such complacent laxity, the ashigaru harbored hopes of advancement.

“If only we could be promoted to samurai status.”

To varying degrees they all clung to such aspirations—their training grew more earnest, their skills improved remarkably, and their numbers steadily increased.
Yet no matter how skilled they became in spearmanship, ashigaru remained ashigaru. Every year on May 5th, the domain hosted its “Grand Tournament”—a spearmanship competition for all retainers—but not a single ashigaru was permitted to participate. Not even Uda Fujiroku, who could match the instructor himself in combat, received permission to enter.

On the day itself, their duties consisted of erecting bamboo barricades, hanging curtains, and attending to the samurai—after which they had no choice but to watch the matches in silence. Derisive comments like “postures fit for laying eggs” became their sole outlet for venting pent-up frustrations.

The day’s Grand Tournament concluded at 3:00 PM.
Having completed his duties, when Fujiroku returned to the tenement, his sister Migiwa was about to go out shopping; perhaps because she had unusually styled her hair, she looked so beautiful it almost made one’s eyes widen.

“What’s this? Putting up your hair like that…”

“Is it not our celebration day?”

Migiwa was instead surprised by her brother’s obtuseness.

“...You’ve forgotten, haven’t you? Today is the fifth.”

“Ah, right—I’d completely forgotten with all the Grand Tournament commotion.”

Fujiroku began to say—

"...Then perhaps Tetsunosuke-dono has forgotten as well. I shall go remind him."

"That would be most advisable, as I still have shopping to complete."

Declaring he would return shortly, Fujiroku turned on his heel and departed.

Two

The fifth day of every month had become a celebration day for the Uda household.
That was when Fujiroku had been appointed ashigaru captain at twenty years old—an observance they maintained without fail ever since.
In their parents’ absence, within the lonely house where only siblings dwelled, this day alone brought their good friend Yokoi Tetsunosuke as guest…… Particularly of late, as intimacy between Tetsunosuke and Migiwa had grown,

“I want a wife.”

“I shall offer her.”

With their exchange of vows drawing near through mutual understanding, this day had thus become one awaited by brother and sister from their very hearts.

Since he himself had nearly forgotten amidst the Grand Tournament’s bustle, he thought Tetsunosuke might have remained unaware too; when he visited the Yokoi residence—it turned out he still hadn’t returned from the castle.

“He had mentioned there would be a banquet at Lord Makiyama Shōzaemon’s residence following the tournament—most likely he remains there still.”

Given that response, he immediately headed over to the nearby Makiyama residence.
Makiyama Shōzaemon was an elderly man who served as chief retainer, and as he customarily favored young people and was said to be skilled in spearmanship, Fujiroku had often met with him.
…he requested to be announced,

“They’re currently holding an unrestrained banquet in the main hall—you should circle around through the garden and call out directly.”

he was told.
Having occasionally visited and grown familiar with the place, he circled around toward the inner garden as instructed—but upon passing through the inner gate, raucous laughter and drunken jeers assailed his ears.

“They’re just ashigaru! The mere fact they wear swords doesn’t make them samurai—in form they’re no different from menial servants! They’re like weeds sprouting haphazardly by the roadside!”

“That’s right—we should make that point clear.”

Then another person shouted.

“It’s precisely because we fail to clarify these distinctions that they overstep! First off, their very practice of spearmanship reeks of presumption! Let them learn even the basics of gripping a spear, and already they carry themselves like full-fledged samurai—swaggering about with puffed-up shoulders! Weeds like these should be cut down from the roots! We must make them know their place!”

When he had heard this much, Fujiroku’s entire body trembled.
You lot have even forgotten the true duty of samurai, yet you demean others solely because you are warriors—comparing them, however mildly, to menial servants or weeds sprouting wantonly by the roadside—such exaggeration is beyond measure! Fujiroku ground his teeth and tried to retreat, but then—with even greater audacity—

“It’d be good to beat them down thoroughly until they learn their lesson.”

He heard this.

“If we take out a couple of their ringleaders, the rest’ll cower and won’t dare make a peep.”

Fujiroku’s patience snapped.
He strode into the garden with large steps, stomped closer to the main hall’s veranda, and at the top of his voice—

“Fine then—come and try to beat me down!” he screamed.

“I indeed heard your words—that ashigaru are no different from weeds! You lords who receive stipends of hundreds of koku and idle about—through your eyes, perhaps ashigaru don’t even count as human beings! But it’s precisely because of this era of peace that you can spout such nonsense! When battle comes, which of us will prove useful on the front lines? Since you speak of ‘beating us down,’ nothing could please me more—here and now, I shall humbly witness the extent of your understanding!”

The hall held fifteen or sixteen men. Their harsh words—born of drunken recklessness—died the moment Fujiroku appeared before them, their sudden silence only stoking his fury further.

"What's wrong? You talk big behind my back, but when it counts, none of you step forward? Not a single soul here to cut down these weeds?"

"...This humble one shall face you."

While saying this, a figure rose from among the gathered group—Yokoi Tetsunosuke. Fujiroku gasped.
Tetsunosuke—right, Tetsunosuke was here. Damn it.
He let out an involuntary groan—but at the same moment,
"No—Tetsunosuke was also present in this gathering; he too was among those slandering the ashigaru."

Such seething resentment surged within him.

“I’ve no preference for whoever stands before me.”

“Someone fetch two practice spears.”

Tetsunosuke said this and jumped down into the garden.
“……Is this spot acceptable here?”

“Anywhere will do.”

Having said that, Fujiroku fixed his gaze on his opponent.
Two practice spears were presented there; the two each took one and split to left and right.

III

The instant he perceived their positions were set, a scream erupted from Tetsunosuke’s lips; his spear traced a straight line through the air like a bird in flight, aimed straight at Fujiroku’s chest.
It was an utterly unexpected assault; barely twisting his body aside as their spears clanged together in a mutual strike, Fujiroku—driven by uncontrollable fury—lunged forward with a powerful kick against the ground. The practice spear’s tip plunged over three inches into Tetsunosuke’s left upper thigh; when Fujiroku yanked it free, blood sprayed forth.

“...I yield.”

Tetsunosuke staggered to the left while still holding his spear and collapsed.

“...I yield.”

The young samurai on the veranda turned pale.
However, when they saw blood immediately begin to seep and spread across Tetsunosuke’s hakama at the knee,

“Oh, blood! Yokoi’s injured!”

they shouted,

“Don’t let that lowly one return alive!”

In unison, they grabbed their swords and rose.

Fujiroku thought it was all over. Just as he regripped his spear with a sense of finality, Makiyama Shōzaemon came rushing out from the rear—

“What is this commotion? Cease this at once!”

With a thunderous roar, he planted himself before the young samurai.

“...What do you intend to achieve by surrounding a single ashigaru with all these numbers? Consider the dignity of samurai—do not lay a hand on him!”

While scolding them like that, he turned back to Fujiroku.

“Leave this place now. Judgment will follow later. Depart swiftly.”
“Then I shall act according to your command.”

Fujiroku bowed respectfully and then placed the spear there，quietly leaving the garden.

Fujiroku had returned to his residence and was agonizing over how to explain things to his sister when Sasamura Ichizo, the group leader, came rushing over.

“I heard the details.”

Sasamura Ichizo was gasping for breath as he held out what appeared to be a money pouch.

“Lord Makiyama will handle the matter… You must leave here immediately. This is a parting gift from Lord Makiyama for now.”

he said.

“I will not leave.”

“I understand that sentiment.”

Sasamura Ichizo nodded busily but,

“...However, if you remain here, this disturbance will escalate—it could erupt into a full-blown conflict between samurai and ashigaru. The elders are well aware of your character, so arrangements will be made for your eventual return. Lord Makiyama has declared this. Considering all circumstances, you must leave the domain at once.”

If he remained, the disturbance would escalate—that much was beyond doubt.
It would not do to cause a disturbance in the castle town—Fujiroku steeled his resolve with this thought.

“Very well—we shall depart. However, please take back this money. For we have some savings, albeit meager...”

Having said that, he refused the parting gift, hurried along Migiwa—who remained unaware of everything and suspicious—and left the castle town with only hasty preparations.

It was after entering the Moriyama domain of the Matsudaira clan that he told his sister everything.
Migiwa’s astonishment must have been immense; yet she resolutely endured it, her cheeks paling, but she said nothing.

“That it had to be Tetsunosuke of all people I ended up like this with—it could be nothing but fate.”

He was at a loss for words on how to comfort his sister's grief.

“Yet being ashigaru leaves us no recourse. From now on, I’ll become a samurai devoted solely to spearmanship by any means necessary. Until then, you’ll have to endure hardships—but bear them with the resolve to restore the Uda family name.”

“Yes, Migiwa will endure any hardship—so please.”

Migiwa looked up at her brother with eyes brimming with tears.

They entered Shimotsuke Province from Iwashiro in the summer month of July, then circled through Hitachi, and arrived in Edo from Kozuke Province in the autumn month of September.
They stayed in Edo until November, but contrary to the saying that “luck rolls around like a tumbleweed,” life there proved harsher than anywhere they had been before—for those from rural areas, the winds of human kindness blew as bitingly as the winter gales.

And so, the brother and sister resumed their journey westward along the Tokaido highway into the cold of December.

It was in Sunpu that they welcomed the New Year.
Suruga was indeed warm, its land fertile and livable, but opportunities for advancement were scarce. Unable to wait for February’s arrival, they entered north from Mitsuke Station and set out along the Tenryu River toward the Shinano Road.

They continued their arduous journey—crossing mountains, fording rivers, tracing valleys and gorges—passed through Iida Castle town without lingering, and it was when they lodged at a small station called Akaho.
For four or five days, rain fell continuously, and at that wooden-fee inn—where lodging was equally meager—some fourteen or fifteen people took shelter: impoverished itinerant merchants, peddlers who traveled from place to place with their wares, and door-to-door performers. These people would gather around the hearth and often share stories of their lives—speaking of life’s hardships, the world’s cruelty, and their own misfortunes in a tone that suggested such talk was their only solace. [...] What nearly all these people shared was the belief that “luck was against them.”
It was said that due to bad luck alone, they were reduced to poverty their entire lives.

IV

Among these people was an old man who always sat silently making pinwheels. Though he made his living selling candy, on rainy days he would handcraft these ornaments—crude items fashioned from scrap paper and old umbrella ribs. Yet the old man seemed to take such delight in their creation, applying such care to each one that one might suspect he was crafting something of great value. Even after finishing, he would spend a good while examining it from every angle. [...] When those around him tried to strike up conversation, he would respond in a calm, gentle tone with brief words, but he never spoke of his own circumstances or willingly joined their idle talk.

Fujiroku found himself drawn to this old man. He wore a patched quilted jacket, his hair gone gray, his slender frame making him appear utterly ordinary at first glance—a man of no particular distinction. Yet upon closer inspection, there lingered an ineffable depth in his ever-serene eyes, his gentle speech, his subtle gestures—an air reminiscent of a monk who had transcended worldly ties. Migiwa kept to their room as was her wont, but Fujiroku would sit by the hearth listening to the others’ talk while his eyes remained fixed on the old man’s every movement. Then one night, when conversation had dwindled and silence abruptly descended, a middle-aged mosquito net buyer called Shōsaku—

“Old man, you never seem to complain,”
he asked.

“That old candy-seller is such a contented soul.”

At this, everyone turned their gaze in that direction all at once.

“...No matter when or where we meet him, he’s never once furrowed his brow—no grumbling, no complaining.”

“Old man, won’t you say something?”

said Shōsaku the mosquito net buyer.

“...How can we stay as untroubled as you? Everyone’s dying to learn your secret.”

“That’s not true at all.”

The old man answered in his usual calm tone.

“…Even without envying someone like me, isn’t everyone managing well enough in their own way? Just think—here we’ve been rained on for four or five days straight, lingering by a warm hearth. We may lack the luxury of tea sweets or fine sake, but at times we discuss the shogunate’s affairs, indulge in idle gossip, or vent our complaints freely. I’d say this is hardly an unbearable way to live.”

“That’s easy for you to say, old man—you’ve got no desires left anymore. But we’re not about to end up in this meager existence. Everyone here still wants to make their mark one last time. That’s where you and us are different.”

“...If that’s the case,”

“If that’s the case,” said the old man with a smile. “In other words, the seeds of hardship and complaint lie not in society but within yourselves—I’ve no intention of meddling with that, for each person has their own judgment and desires. Not everyone can live the same way… but I often think this.”

The old man held the completed windmill in his hand, blew on it with a puff, and continued while watching it whirl around with evident delight.

“...This windmill here is made of a bamboo skewer, an axle, a bean-sized bead to secure it, and a paper wheel.”
“However, when you let the wind spin it like this, only the paper wheel turns. People only see what’s spinning—no one praises the bamboo skewer, nor does anyone commend the axle’s quality or how evenly the beads are aligned. In other words, three unseen things are needed just to make that single paper wheel spin.”
“Moreover, if even one of these three were missing, it wouldn’t become a windmill. And if the skewer tried to be the paper wheel or the bead tried to be the axle, everything would fall apart—not a single windmill would spin properly. [...] The world works much the same way. There are high and low statuses, better and worse occupations—but not a single thing exists that we could do without. If magistrates are needed, so are jailers; rice merchants and coopers, peddlers and ragpickers—all have their necessary roles.”
“Seeing how even a one-sen candy peddler like me manages to live like this, I suppose we must still serve some purpose after all. If everyone became candy peddlers it would be trouble, just as it would if everyone became magistrates. [...] Coopers, farmers, rough carpenters—if each does their utmost at their own work and contributes even slightly to society’s needs, then any discontent or grumbling beyond that becomes sheer indulgence. That’s what I think.”

Fujiroku rose from his seat after hearing that much.
All through that night, a windmill spun ceaselessly in his mind... The elder’s words amounted to nothing more than ordinary worldly wisdom.
Neither profound aphorisms nor lofty reasoning—yet within Fujiroku’s thoughts, that single windmill kept turning without end, refusing to leave him.

V

It was in March that the siblings entered Takashima (Suwa City) in Shinano Province.
And before long, Fujiroku was taken into service as an ashigaru of Takashima Domain through the arrangements of someone who looked after him.
At that moment, he turned to his sister and,

“I had resolved never to serve a lord again unless as a samurai, but after some reflection, I’ve decided to accept an ashigaru stipend. I’ll need you to endure hardships a little longer,” he said.

Migiwa couldn’t fathom her brother’s true intentions—It seems things aren’t going as he first planned, she thought, her heart growing heavy.

When a person possesses some exceptional ability, even if they do not flaunt it themselves, it will naturally draw others' attention.
Fujiroku kept himself as reserved as possible, always taking care to stay in others’ shadows. He applied himself to his daily duties with almost excessive zeal and so eagerly took on others’ share of work that he persisted in his efforts—less praised for diligence than mocked as a fool for his earnestness.
……Truly, some of his ashigaru comrades would say such things and sneer, with an attitude more dismissive than impressed, unhesitatingly piling work upon him.
Yet on the other hand, there were also many who viewed him as a man of peculiar character—Nagao Jinnojo, the group leader, being one such person. Among the samurai ranks too were four or five who sought to grant him special treatment in all matters. These people seemed to believe that Fujiroku was of proper status and had been forced into ashigaru service due to some profound circumstance.
They seemed to think this way, and on more than a few occasions, he was abruptly questioned about it.

“Don’t mock that man.”

Nagao Jinnojo often said this to his subordinates.

“That man is surely of no mean lineage—he must be someone who excels in a particular art or skill. You all must take better care of him.”

However, for Fujiroku, being treated in such a manner proved unbearable.
He increasingly bent his body and spent his days as if shrinking his shoulders.
Then one day, Group Leader Nagao Jinnojo came and,

“Have you considered placing Miss Migiwa into service?”

he began to say.

“You must already know this, but that residence belongs to His Lordship’s younger brother—that is, Lord Tadaaki’s Ohama Palace.”

“That would indeed be most gracious of you.”

Fujiroku said that and paused briefly to consider,

“However kind your offer may be, I intend to continue instructing my sister under my own guidance.”

“You’ve heard the talk about Ohama Palace, haven’t you? So you presume it’s some unsavory service.”

“There is no such thing. It is simply that we lost our parents early and have lived as just the two of us ever since—in a way, I raised her as a parental figure. As I intend to arrange her marriage soon, I must humbly decline this proposal.”

Even so, it seemed Jinnojo found himself unable to press further, and he left with evident reluctance.
Tadaaki, known as Lord of Ohama Palace, was the domain lord’s younger brother—a youth who could be described as broad-minded in the best light or as violent in the worst. Having proven too much to handle at the Edo residence, he had been confined to this lakeside manor in the home province. Fujiroku had often glimpsed him from afar—his pale face suggesting a quick temper, his stride long and brisk—all contributing to an air of self-indulgence and unbridled recklessness.
The moment he heard about sending his sister into service at that mansion, Fujiroku discerned what the outcome would be and refused outright.
However, not long after that—on a certain day during road repairs at the castle’s main gate—as Fujiroku stood guard over the laborers’ gathering area, Lord Tadaaki of Ohama Palace suddenly passed by. Accompanied only by two pages and walking with his usual long, brisk strides, Fujiroku immediately ordered the laborers to kneel.
By then, Tadaaki had already drawn near before their eyes when he suddenly noticed Fujiroku and approached.

“You are Uda Fujiroku, the ashigaru.”

“Yes…”

He kneeled and lowered his head.

“…As your lordship states—Fujiroku.”

“Do you know who We are?”

“I am deeply awed—I humbly recognize you as the Lord of Ohama Palace.”

“We know you as well.”

Tadaaki glared at him with sharp eyes while,

“…Uda Fujiroku—newly enrolled ashigaru. We confirmed this about fifty days past. …Distinctive features you’ve got—your face suggests uncommon military arts mastery. What’s your skill? Swordplay? Spearmanship?”

“With all due respect, that would be a misjudgment of your lordship’s assessment.”
“As you see before you—a mere ashigaru such as myself could hardly...”

“Is even speaking of it so repugnant?”

Tadaaki laughed sharply.

“...You find repulsive both placing your sister in service and revealing your own capabilities... So be it. But mark this, Fujiroku—Tadaaki is a man of will. What I resolve to do, I shall carry through without fail. Without fail—never forget this.”

Six

Tadaaki's words pierced his chest like a thorn and remained unforgettable.
……Having grasped a way of life, the new existence he had begun now seemed threatened with collapse from unforeseen quarters—what challenges might come raining down? With unsettled anticipation for that moment, yet resolved in heart not to waver no matter what arose, Fujiroku persisted just as before in his inconspicuous service.

In the tenth month of autumn, they held their first Fifth Day celebration. Since leaving Miharu, they had found no peace, passing days without respite until at last they felt ready to begin their celebratory day. ……The meal—a single bottle of sake and small fish from the lake, prepared with Migiwa’s heartfelt care—should have been celebratory. Yet when they sat facing each other beneath the dim candlelight, it was not festivity but loneliness that seeped into their bones. Over a year ago, when they had been in Miharu Domain, Tetsunosuke would always come as a guest, and they would spend enjoyable evenings together. For Migiwa in particular, there was also a secret expectation that Tetsunosuke would soon propose marriage, making even their meager meal seem to glow. Miharu must already be in late autumn—Migiwa suddenly found herself longing for her distant hometown. How was Lord Yokoi faring now? Fujiroku immediately discerned his sister’s thoughts; seeing the loneliness in Migiwa’s brows, his heart was struck, and he quietly turned away.

From Tadaaki came no particular challenges; winter arrived, and days of falling snow began.

And then came the fifth day of the Twelfth Month.

“Since today is a celebratory day, please return early. I have made preparations and await your arrival.”

As he was about to leave, having been told this by his sister, Fujiroku thought, Ah, so it’s already the fifth day of the Twelfth Month,

“I’ll be back before dark.”

Having said that, he ascended to the castle.

The morning sky had been clear, but around midday snow began falling again until wind transformed it into a blizzard.
He had completed his official duties at four o'clock as scheduled when dusk already veiled the surroundings. Though winds subsided snow lay piled heel-deep—unusual for this area—and kept falling relentlessly through an evening so cold it seemed to freeze one's very bones.
When he returned to his residence in the ashigaru row house—twilight having fallen without any lamp lit—Migiwa was absent; calling out to neighbors brought forth a woman's face peering out,

“Oh my, hasn’t she returned yet? It’s already been half a period. She did say she was going out for shopping, though.”

She looked puzzled; assuming she would return shortly, he lit lamps and stirred the embers in the fire bucket.
……However, even as it grew completely dark, Migiwa still did not return; Fujiroku suddenly grew uneasy.
And as he stepped out to the entrance, an old ashigaru from the back of the same row house came approaching,

“It’s really coming down, isn’t it?” he called out and was about to pass by when he suddenly stopped.

"...Has your sister returned by any chance?"

"No—she still hasn't returned, which is why I'm concerned."

"She hasn't returned."

The old man tilted his head with a thoughtful hmm.

"...Then it might indeed be as I thought."

"Do you know something, Elder?"

“Well, I can’t state definitively—but about half an hour past, when I went on an errand to Lord Sugaya of the Elder Council—it did seem certain that your sister was whom I encountered before Ohama Palace.”

“Ohama Palace…”

Fujiroku jerked upright.

“What was my sister doing then?”

“About two people emerged from Ohama Palace, addressed Migiwa-dono as she passed by, and took her hand to lead her inside the palace gate—I saw it… Though it might not have been your sister, perhaps it was.”

“That’s good news you’ve brought me. In any case, I’ll go and see for myself.”

Fujiroku could vividly see Tadaaki’s sneering face—“I’m a willful man. What I set my mind to, I’ll see through without fail”—even the timbre of those words now revived itself with startling clarity in his ears.

“...This goes beyond ordinary matters.”

He resolved himself instantly—burying the fire in the brazier, straightening his attire, taking down his beloved spear that had long hung from the wall rail—then extinguished the lamps and left the dwelling.

If his sister, who had endured every hardship alongside him until this day, were to meet such an unfortunate end, he should rather resolutely end both their lives before Ohama Palace as brother and sister.
The spear he carried out was not meant for confronting Tadaaki—it was to pierce his sister and ready himself for suicide.
……Cloaked in a straw raincoat and tilting his bamboo hat, he hastened along the lakeside path to Ohama Palace.
The gate stood wide open; no figures were visible. He moved toward the entrance but warily detoured through the garden’s side.
Before him lay a garden that incorporated Lake Suwa’s shoreline—a composition of artfully arranged springs and stones. Skirting a snow-buried artificial mound toward the palace, he discovered a detached building styled like a waterside pavilion blazing with candles. A banquet appeared underway; bright laughter and boisterous voices clamored through the air.
Here—Fujiroku swept his spear’s sheath aside and crept closer. In one motion he vaulted onto the veranda and flung two shoji screens wide to either side.

Seven

Beyond the shoji screens lay a hall spanning about twenty tatami mats.
Brilliantly arrayed with candlesticks and surrounded by fourteen or fifteen retainers and maidservants, Tadaaki was now raising a large sake cup—Fujiroku, quickly recognizing his sister Migiwa at his immediate side,

“I have come to take back my sister. Forgive me!”

Having shouted this, he tried to charge forward—but when the suddenness made the retainers leap to their feet, Tadaaki restrained them with a hand gesture.

“...I’ve been waiting impatiently, Fujiroku.”

he declared in a voice that carried clearly,

“I was growing tired of waiting for you to show up—good that you came. There’s someone here wanting to meet you. Wait below for now.”

“The one wanting to meet you is me, Uda.”

While saying that, a figure rose swiftly from beside Migiwa.

“...Surely you haven’t forgotten—I am Yokoi Tetsunosuke.”

Fujiroku let out a sharp cry.
The one who had risen was unmistakably Yokoi Tetsunosuke—Was this a dream?—So utterly unexpected was this that Fujiroku could not immediately find his voice.

“I searched for you quite a bit.”

Tetsunosuke said while glaring fixedly at him with sharp eyes.

“Our meeting here must be the war god’s protection—I have a debt to you, and I intend to repay it.”

“You’ve gone to great lengths.”

Fujiroku opened his mouth for the first time.

“If that’s your wish, then have me return it—whenever, wherever…”

“The unruly Lord Tadaaki also desires this—he grants us the garden grounds. Someone bring this humble one’s spear! Let’s go, Uda.”

With an “Understood,” Fujiroku was first to leap down into the garden.
One of the retainers ran off to fetch a spear; Tetsunosuke bowed to Lord Tadaaki and quietly stepped out toward the veranda.
At that moment, Fujiroku was struck in the chest once more—Tetsunosuke was dragging his right leg.

“That’s the wound from my thrust back then.”

He realized it immediately—he hadn’t known.

“Bring the candlesticks to the edge.”

Tadaaki commanded the maidservants and moved his own cushion closer to the edge.

“...Fujiroku—tonight I’ll witness firsthand the master spearmanship you’d kept hidden.”

When Fujiroku saw Tadaaki’s face wearing a sardonic smile as he spoke those words and the figure of his sister deeply bowing her head beside him, he felt his waning fighting spirit reignite—Alright, he thought—as Tetsunosuke descended to the garden below.
To the garden spread with white snow, amid the still swirling powdered snow,

“Now!”

With that, the two split to left and right.

They both assumed mid-level stances, holding their positions for about five breaths. Fujiroku thought he saw lightning flash from the tip of his opponent’s spear—it rose—rose magnificently.
He now wielded his spear several levels above that time—*He’s suffered*, Fujiroku thought—and in that instant, Tetsunosuke dragged his stiff right leg forward, lowered the spear’s butt, and with a roar thrust forth. Snow swirled up from their feet as—clang!
The spears clashed with a clang—the falling snow and the snow swirling up from their feet obscuring the two figures for an instant, then—

“I yield. This is the end, Uda.”
With that cry, Tetsunosuke collapsed sideways in a heap.
“You…”

Tetsunosuke said in a voice thick with emotion while panting heavily, “...You’re strong, Uda. I thought even in exile your skills wouldn’t dull, but you’ve risen another level since those days. Galling—I still can’t match you. Disappointing.”

“Stand…”

Fujiroku answered quietly.

“The match begins now. Stand up once more.”

“There’s no need for that.”

Tadaaki called out from the zashiki room.

“...Yokoi has brought you an important message. The duel was at our request—enough now. Ascend and sit down. We’ll have another round poured for you.”

Fujiroku couldn’t quite grasp it.
However, Migiwa had come out, and Tetsunosuke too urged him with a knowing look while laughing; so Fujiroku washed his feet, brushed the snow from his clothes, and shuffled into the room beneath the zashiki.
Tadaaki, with an amused look, had someone set food and drink before Fujiroku and addressed Migiwa,

“Go on and serve your brother.”

he commanded.

Tetsunosuke straightened his posture there and delivered formal greetings since their last parting, then recounted his journey from leaving his hometown in summer until arriving at this Takashima. He had entered Takashima castle town three days prior; Tadaaki noticed him trudging through the slushy path with spear on shoulder and dragging leg, then—true to his temperament—summoned him to his own residence, growing close enough to even learn of his circumstances searching for someone named Uda Fujiroku.
That story immediately caused Tadaaki to recall the new ashigaru; having noticed Migiwa, he had orchestrated tonight’s prank—having explained up to that point,

“Now then,”

With that, Tetsunosuke straightened his posture.

“I’ll explain why I sought you out; in truth, an official order for your reinstatement has come down from the domain.”

“...Reinstatement.”

Fujiroku widened his eyes.

"My father has retired from his position as head instructor due to old age and recommended you as his successor. Many among the senior retainers recognize your character and spearmanship lineage, so it’s been decided you’ll be reinstated as assistant spearmanship instructor for now. Uda... your spear will finally make its mark on the world."

“Wait.”

Fujiroku quietly raised his face.

“...I deeply appreciate and am humbled by the esteemed instructor’s gracious intentions and the benevolent treatment from all members of the household—I am profoundly grateful—but I have no intention of returning to Miharu.”

“What? You won’t return? Why is that?”

“I’m filled with shame toward myself—I’ve no right to accept reinstatement.”

Fujiroku spoke as though laying bare his anguish.

“That quarrel between us back then stemmed from my wretched arrogance—just because I’d gained some small skill with the spear, I grew swollen-headed thinking I deserved samurai rank, started resenting my ashigaru station... How pathetic.”

He groaned as if rebuking himself.

“...Service isn’t something that changes with social status—samurai have their service, ashigaru have theirs. When I think how I forgot that duty and got dazzled by my meager skills—how I swaggered about putting on airs… I’m crushed by shame and regret.”

It was a confession that laid bare the depths of the man’s being.
Tetsunosuke too was profoundly affected.
For Migiwa, there were many recollections that made her think Ah… And even Tadaaki, cup in hand, listened vacantly.

“After being exiled from Miharu Domain, I swore I’d become a samurai devoted solely to spearmanship by any means necessary—it was during those wanderings, at a poor inn along the Tenryu River, that I heard an old candy-seller’s reminiscences and felt as though I’d awakened from a dream.”
“…An ashigaru must serve single-mindedly as an ashigaru—there lies the path of service, there lies everything. I served the Tadaaki household as an ashigaru, as if reborn—my life begins here, Yokoi… Can you understand this feeling?”

Tetsunosuke deeply lowered his head.

“I see.”

He nodded, and when he started to raise his eyes as if to say something, Tadaaki cut him off.

“Those words will make a fine souvenir for you, Yokoi. Take them—and Migiwa—as your keepsakes and return to Miharu.”

“What do you mean by this, my lord?”

“Don’t play dumb—you already let slip about Migiwa in last night’s tale. Uda will be kept in Takashima. Having acquired such a warrior, I’d be a fool to let him go now. Uda stays with Takashima. You take Migiwa back—that should leave Fujiroku with no complaints.”

“Please wait a moment.”

Tetsunosuke exclaimed in surprise,

“...If My Lord has commanded it as such.”

“Didn’t Fujiroku himself declare as much?”

Tadaaki laughed.

“...You’ll take Migiwa, whom I desired, and I’ll take Fujiroku, whom you desire—an even split. ...When you return, inform the Lord of Miharu: in Takashima Domain, we keep the greatest spearmanship master in the land as an ashigaru.”

The sake had cooled; Lord Tadaaki’s voice ordering it to be replaced infused the solemn palace hall with lit-lantern vitality.

Outside, the snow was still falling heavily.