Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

“You know Senior Official Shigeno?”

“Shigeno—”
Ishizawa Kinnosuke stopped writing and looked up at Tsunaga Kihee. “There are two senior officials,” he said. “What’s this about?”

“The older chief retainer.”

“If you mean the chief retainer, that’d be Lord Hyōgo—course I know him. What of it?”

“I’m tellin’ ya—” Kihee began, then waved at Ishizawa’s desk. “Ain’t you finished yet?”

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Then let’s talk after leaving the castle,” said Kihee. “I’ll wait at Nakano-kuchi.”

He briskly left the spot.

“Senile fossil! Country hick! Thick-headed mule!” Tsunaga Kihee cursed in his heart. After exiting Nakano-kuchi, he kept cursing all the way to the gate. Even as passing junior officials greeted him while waiting for Ishizawa to arrive, he barely acknowledged their bows and continued his tirade.

“Why don’t you come have dinner at my house?”
Ishizawa said as soon as he arrived, “The folks at home are worried since you haven’t been showing up lately.”

“I need a drink.”
As he started walking, Kihee said, “I’m so damn frustrated I can’t stand it—I absolutely need a drink today.”

“Drinking in that mood won’t do you any good. Why not just head home instead?”

“If this is a bother, we can part ways here.”

“Your old habits are showing.”
Ishizawa shook his head. “That wasn’t what we agreed on.”

“You never told me that damned old geezer would be around!”

“Where are you going?”

“Tell me if there’s any decent place besides Yukinoi,” Kihee said. “When it comes to somewhere you can drink proper, Yukinoi’s the only option in this godforsaken town—not a single geisha to speak of.” He spat out the words like bad sake: “I feel downright swindled.”

Ishizawa Kinnosuke walked in silence.

Exiting the Ōtemon Gate and turning right along the moat, they passed through Kuramachi into Yokoi Alley, reached the riding grounds, turned left along the tree-lined path bordering its fence, came upon Myōjin Forest, then turning right at the gatefront and walking about two chō, emerged at the edge of a large pond.
The Yukinoi teahouse stood at the edge of that pond, but all the way there Kihee kept up a constant stream of complaints, and even after being led by the maid into the private room, he showed no sign of his tongue tiring.

The teahouse faced east toward the pond, with pine groves to its left, right, and rear.
The two men were led to a private room at the western end, which had verandas on two sides and steps leading down to the garden.
From there to the pond measured about twenty shaku; across the water extended a small pier where two boats were moored.
The opposite shore of the pond was a densely wooded hill dark with trees, connecting to Tsurugaoka where the castle stood. Part of this hill held the Tsurugi Hachiman shrine, said to be built upon the site of an ancient fortress.

“Do you remember a gardener called Kumahira at the Edo estate?” Kihee abruptly changed the subject and asked. “An old man with a big lump on his right temple—people also called him Kobuppe.”

“At the upper residence?”

“He managed the plum grove.”

“Seems I might remember him.”

“Bring the sake quickly,” Kihee told the maid. “For the dishes—the usual: fish paste, salt-grilled fish, miso soup, and plenty of pickles. Hey—” He shrugged his right shoulder and twisted his lips. “In a castle town yielding forty-two thousand koku, the only decent thing to eat is pickles! Do the people here even have tongues?”

The maid called Okaya laughed and stuck out her tongue at Kihee.

"I'm sorry," Okaya said, "but around here we call this a tongue. What do they call it in your Edo?"

"We call it 'jita'."
Kihee slapped his knee. "Put that away and bring the sake quickly!"

Okaya made as if to hit him and walked away.

"It's a bad habit," Ishizawa said calmly. "Coming to places like this makes you come alive like a fish back in water. Let's hear your grievances before you get drunk."

“There was an old gardener called Kumahira who distrusted everything,” said Kihee. “He didn’t believe in a single thing that exists or happens in this world. Say it’s raining right now—he wouldn’t believe the rain was real. Even if his own robe got soaked through, he’d claim that didn’t prove anything about rain falling.”

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“Just listen,” said Kihee. “He doesn’t believe in the hut he lives in. Doesn’t believe in teacups. Doesn’t believe in the pond or the carp swimming in it. Doesn’t believe in himself either—not the ground, nor the sky, nor the sun or moon. He says everything just appears to exist that way.”

"What a pointless story," Ishizawa said. "You'll find cantankerous old folks anywhere you go."

"But Kumahira's wasn't just ordinary stubbornness—his refusal to believe anything became a genuine conviction for him. One time there was a toad by the plum grove. I called Kumahira over and showed him that toad. But he wouldn't accept it was really a toad. So I took a stick and poked its rear. The toad started crawling off, and I asked Kumahira, 'Well? What do you say now?'"

“I’m not trying to mimic your way of speaking,” Ishizawa Kinnosuke interrupted, “but let’s set aside that toad and Kumahira for now. You came here because you’ve got something to tell me, right? Let’s hear that story.”

“So I’m now—”
Kihee glared up at the ceiling, licked his lips, and waved a hand dismissively. “Hey! You keep yappin’ nonsense and snapped the thread of my story! This ain’t no joke—let’s see...”

“The sake’s here,” Ishizawa said. “Take a sip and it’ll come back to you.”

Okaya came bringing the meal trays with a young maid, and Kihee immediately took up his sake cup.
The young maid left, and Okaya sat down to serve.
Until he had drunk three cups, Kihee sat tilting his head in thought; Ishizawa struck up a conversation with Okaya.
The retired master of this house had begun practicing archery and seemed to have become acquainted with Ishizawa.
Ishizawa inquired why he hadn’t been seen lately, and Okaya replied that he was healthy and lively.
I wonder if he’s given up archery already.
"I suppose so. After all, he’s a fickle person," Okaya replied as she poured sake for Kihee.

"What's the matter? What has you so lost in thought?"

"It's about that toad," Ishizawa said. "I'm struggling to connect Chief Retainer Shigeno with a toad."

“Then I’ll just state what’s crucial,” Kihee said with lingering reluctance. “I wanted to build up from the Kumahira story, but—never mind. The real issue is that old man.”

“This concerns Mr. Shigeno, I take it.”

“Of course it’s that geezer.”

“Mind your language.”

"Let's get back to the matter at hand," said Kihee. "I've been in this land for over ninety days now—though you could also say it's only been ninety-odd days. Just remember that number: ninety-odd days."

He went on to say he had come here to inherit the discontinued Tsunaga family name from his home province. He had taken on the position of Magistrate Control under the agreement to restore the Tsunaga household and marry Sumi, daughter of Middle Elder Izumi Sakuzaemon. He had met frequently with the Izumi family's daughter and had grown quite fond of her. She seemed gentle and graceful—a girl who would make a perfect wife. The residence wasn’t bad. It seemed Shigeno’s old man had opened his secondary residence for him—the garden was quite spacious, and the house’s layout was well-designed. The house servant Nihee and his wife were good people, and the meals prepared by the wife were decent. The magistrate’s office gave him no particular cause for complaint—the subordinates worked diligently, and none among the magistrates showed resentment or engaged in acts of disobedience. In any case, there had been no such individuals up until now. In short, all the fundamental conditions for settling down were in place, and he too had wanted to settle down.

"I truly did want to settle down," Kihee said emphatically.

“But it’s no use,” Kihee shook his head. “I’ve endured until today, but I struck that damned old man Shigeno. I’m resigning and going back to Edo.”

“You can’t go back,” Ishizawa said. “You’re no longer the second son of the Kitajima family—you’re Tsunaga Kihee now. Out with it—what exactly did Shigeno do?”

“He treats me like his mortal enemy—summons me to his chambers to yell, comes to my office to yell, even storms into my residence to lecture me!”

“Mr. Shigeno is a kind-hearted man, I tell you.”

“The Magistrate Control position is difficult,” Kihee said after taking a sip of sake. “That goes without saying—it’s not something you can manage unless you’ve been here long and understand local affairs thoroughly. But I’m from Edo, and it’s only been ninety-odd days since I arrived. With help from two deputies and other subordinates, I’ve just barely started getting the hang of things.”

Shigeno Hyōgo should have known that, of course.
And yet he showed absolutely no mercy.
From the very moment Kihee began working at the office, Hyōgo would never overlook even the slightest mistake, scolding him with harsh reprimands like a child.
“Even the deputy’s misunderstandings and the subordinates’ errors—he blames them all on me and berates me,” said Kihee.

“I’ve never met such a twisted, mean-spirited old man before.”
Kihee twisted his lips to one side. “I’d love to see what kind of face the son of that old geezer has.”

Two

"No," Ishizawa Kinnosuke said, "Mr. Shigeno has no children."

"At his age—no kids?"

"In his household, Mr. Shigeno maintains such quiet it borders on loneliness. There isn't a soul unaware of his modesty and gentle nature—this is fact without embellishment."

"Then why's he riding me so damn hard?"

"There are likely several reasons," Ishizawa said. "First, your own history. When they spoke of the Kitajima family's second son at the Edo estate, your name led discussions of brutishness and debauchery. Having been there myself until seven years past—and as your cousin—I know you well. That's why I counseled you earnestly when you arrived."

“I did try to follow that, you know.”

“I’ll grant that,” Ishizawa said, “but Mr. Shigeno might be apprehensive—they say beginnings are crucial in all things, so he may be trying to tighten things up where necessary now.”

“If he truly felt that way, I’d have sensed it—I’m not completely inept at reading people’s feelings.”

“The other reason,” Ishizawa pressed on undaunted, “and this is mere conjecture—is that Mr. Shigeno actually favors you.”

“The hell you say?”

“That such a mild-mannered man would be so severe must mean he favors you—yes,” Ishizawa nodded firmly. “Were it merely the relationship between chief retainer and magistrate control, there’d be no cause for such harshness. You said he scolds you like a child, but isn’t it precisely because Shigeno cares for you that he’s strict—the way a parent disciplines their child? That makes perfect sense to me—doesn’t it strike you that way?”

"That's right," Kihee said, looking up.

"Do you think so?"

"No, that's not it," Kihee said, shaking his head. "I brought up Kumahira because that's what I meant to say."

Okaya stood up to go get more sake.

“That old man never believed in anything,” Kihee continued. “And I can’t believe anything now—even if Chief Retainer Shigeno himself were to say he thinks of you like a child, I’d never accept it!”

“A toad, you say?” Ishizawa laughed. “Stop acting like a spoiled brat and endure a little longer. You’re in a position where you must endure it whether you like it or not—but resentful endurance won’t achieve anything. Resolve yourself here and now—if you consider his nagging unjust, tell Mr. Shigeno plainly; if you deem it not your responsibility, clarify that too. Don’t hoard complaints in your chest—confront him directly. You’ve surely got courage enough for that?”

Okaya brought the sake.
Kihee still seemed unable to quell his resentment. While picking at the food and drinking sake, he continued muttering complaints, but Ishizawa no longer engaged with him and left alone after about half a period.

Ishizawa had a six-year-old child named Masanosuke, and it was said there was an agreement to always eat their evening meal together; breaking this would incur punishment.

"I know I sound tedious, but give it a try," Ishizawa said as he left. "You won't learn the flute's melody just by watching."

Kihee did not respond.

“Endure, huh?” Kihee said after Ishizawa left. “Back in Edo he was all sharp edges, but seven measly years here and he’s turned into a full-blown country bumpkin. Heh.”

Okaya, who had returned after seeing Ishizawa off, overheard this and reprimanded him.

“You shouldn’t say such things,” she said. “Someone like you shouldn’t speak such harsh words.”

“Hey now,” Kihee retorted, “even you’re giving your opinion?”

“What Mr. Ishizawa said is true,” Okaya declared as she poured him a drink. “That part about Lord Shigeno thinking of you like his own child—I don’t believe that’s just Mr. Ishizawa’s speculation. I think it’s the truth.”

“Don’t talk nonsense!”

“Please hear me out first,” Okaya said. “From age thirteen to seventeen, I served at Lord Shigeno’s mansion.”

Kihee stopped the cup at his lips and kept it there, gazing fixedly at Okaya’s face.

“Back then,” Okaya continued, “there was Lord Shigeno’s only son named Gishūrō. Five years my senior—a handsome yet high-strung young man. But around sixteen or seventeen, he discovered drink, soon fell in with bad company, and began indulging in women and gambling.”

"Wait a minute—I heard Shigeno doesn’t have any children!"

"Yes, everyone says that," Okaya replied. "Out of deference to Lord Shigeno, no one would mention that such a person ever existed. They say Lord Gishūrō had been frail since childhood—the slightest scolding or displeasure would send him into convulsions, causing great commotion with doctors and medicines. Being the only son born nine years after their marriage, he must have been deeply cherished. That’s why they couldn’t properly discipline him, and he grew up utterly spoiled. Once he took to debauchery, it became uncontrollable—stealing money and valuables from the mansion, staying at teahouses for ten days straight, picking fights in gambling dens. Finally, eight years ago, Lord Shigeno could endure no more and disowned him."

Kihee sipped his sake and stared blankly at the empty cup.

"That alone would have been trouble enough," Okaya continued, "but when he left after being disowned, they say he stormed through a gambling den and wounded three men—one was maimed for life. Since this happened after the disownment, there was no official censure. Still, Lord Shigeno became gravely concerned—he called on all three victims to make apologies and paid them hefty compensations. After that, he withdrew into seclusion for nearly half a year in atonement."

Kihee held out his cup. When Okaya poured, he drank in silence before suddenly looking up to ask.

“What happened to that son named Gishū?”

“I don’t know. There’s been no word from him for eight whole years now. If he were alive and had become a decent person, he would have returned long ago himself. If he still hasn’t come back...”

“There’s no sake left,” Kihee cut in. “Heat it up good this time.”

Okaya stood up and left.

"So he's had it pretty rough," he muttered under his breath. "Maybe he's not just a contrary, mean-spirited old coot after all. Huh... maybe not."
After a brief pause, he added quietly, "I'll keep my eyes open and take another look."

A doctor-hating man caught a terrible cold and, while suffering through sneezes, coughs, and fever, stubbornly refused to summon a physician or take any medicine.
And when he finally broke through his stubbornness and took some patent medicine, his condition strangely improved—this happened because the time for recovery had come, so even if he had swallowed rice bran paste instead of medicine, it would have had the same effect.
Tsunaga Kihee's inability to endure any longer and his venting of grievances to his cousin Ishizawa Kinnosuke similarly indicated that the time for a situational shift had arrived—moreover, this transformation resulted not from a single factor alone, but from the fortuitous collision of two separate circumstances.
It seemed to have been accompanied by such a result.

About ten days after their drinking at Yukinoi, in a long corridor of the castle compound, Kihee was addressed by Ishizawa Kinnosuke.

“How have things been since then?” Ishizawa asked. “Can you endure it?”

“Yeah.”
Kihee squinted as if dazzled and hesitated slightly. “Well, I suppose it’s manageable.” Then he added quietly, “That old man seems rather pitiable.”

Ishizawa narrowed his eyes suspiciously, while Kihee averted his face and hurried away.

This had occurred in late January, but not long after February began, Kihee was invited to Ishizawa’s house for dinner.
As the wedding with Izumi Sumi drew near and there were arrangements to discuss, Kihee drank himself into an uncharacteristically good mood.
Then suddenly, he hung his head and muttered, "Poor soul."

The words were simple, yet delivered in a tone so heartfelt and brimming with emotion that Ishizawa instinctively turned toward him.
And he immediately understood who he was talking about.

“Hey Ishizawa.”
Kihee raised his face. “Do you remember a foot soldier named Tokioka Hachirōbei at the Edo estate?”

“Don’t know.”

“Kei-san,” Kihee called out to Ishizawa’s wife, “could I get a bit more sake?”

Kei looked at her husband’s face.
Ishizawa nodded, and Kei stood up and left.

“This foot soldier named Tokioka,” Kihee continued, “was already about sixty years old. He had a wife and a married son of his own. Being poor, he did some sort of side work.”

“You sure know all sorts of odd people—gardeners and foot soldiers and whatnot.”

“When that old man was young,” Kihee pressed on undeterred, “he caught his newlywed wife having an affair with a fellow foot soldier.”

Ⅲ

Hachirōbei was furious.
He was still young and had been betrayed by his newlywed wife, so he despaired and raged with such intensity that he thought his very body might disintegrate.
However, he deliberated.
Even if he killed them both there, his honor would not be restored, and those about to die would feel only a moment’s pain.
Rather than that, he resolved to keep them alive and slowly inflict upon them over time the same despair and suffering he had endured.
So he simply let them know he’d witnessed their act, then left them be.—A year passed. Then two.
Their relationship apparently ended after that single incident—the wife became pitifully obedient in her conduct, while the man eventually fled.
Hachirōbei did not forgive his wife.
Yet in the third year a girl was born, and a year later a boy came into the world.

“I still haven’t forgiven my wife,” Hachirōbei told me.
Kihee said, “‘I married off my daughter and saw my son start his own family. We’re still poor as ever, but we live in relative peace.’ So I asked him—‘How? You hated her enough to want to kill her, still say you can’t forgive her, yet you’ve stayed married this long?’ Then Hachirōbei answered: ‘That’s just how people are. However fierce the hatred, you can’t live on hatred alone. Just like you can’t survive on love alone. No one can endure living by a single emotion.’”

Thinking that Ishizawa was about to ask a question in return, Kihee shook his head.

“No—I mean,” he said, “I’m not trying to talk about that old man. What I want to say is—what must Mr. Shigeno be feeling now that he’s nearing sixty? How does he think about his disowned wastrel son?”

Ishizawa said something else about Gishūrō.
Unable to make out the words clearly, he grew irritated and snapped back, “Enough already—what the hell do I care about Gishū?” But the sound of his own voice jolted him awake.

Damn, I passed out drunk.

As he lifted his head with that thought, there was a dimmed lamp by his pillow, and he found himself in sleeping robes properly laid out beneath the futon.
He had clearly meant to keep talking with Ishizawa, but it seemed he had returned home at some point and gone to sleep.
He couldn't tell whether he'd come back after finishing their conversation or gotten too drunk to complete it and kept talking in his dream—his still-muddled head couldn't distinguish between these possibilities.

“Was I really that drunk?”
He crawled on his stomach trying to drink water. What a slob.
And then he suddenly fell silent.

From the kitchen came voices, the clattering sound of someone stomping about wildly, and a shout of "Gishūrō!" could be heard.
What he had thought was Ishizawa speaking in his dream must have actually been that voice shouting in the kitchen.
Kihee awoke fully to the clamor of rough noises and that shout, and at the same moment comprehended what was happening; he immediately rose and changed clothes.

In the kitchen, the house servant Nihee was grappling with a man. By the light of the hand candle placed nearby, Kihee first observed the man's appearance. He appeared to be thirty-two or thirty-three, with a gaunt face sporting unkempt stubble and the shaven crown of his head grown out. Whether from the struggle or not, the front of his faded striped robe hung open, exposing his flat chest and stomach wrapped in bleached cotton cloth. "I am the master of this house," Kihee called out. "Who are you?"

The man shoved the servant aside.

“Master?” the man snarled. “Lies! This is my house—the Shigeno family’s annex! I am Shigeno Gishūrō!”

I had fought a man like this in Fukagawa, Edo before. Three or four years ago—at the foot of Shin-Ōhashi Bridge, Kihee thought.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kihee said, “but why don’t you come inside? Have Nihee show you in.”

“But Master...”

“Don’t worry,” Kihee nodded to the servant. “Let him through. I’ll be fine.”

And he returned to the bedroom, took the andon lamp, and entered the guest room.
The man, seemingly familiar with the house’s layout, came in ahead of the servant and sat cross-legged with his back to the tokonoma.
From the man’s body wafted a nauseating stench—a mingling of sweat, grime, and strong alcohol—and before he knew it, Kihee’s face twisted in disgust.

“Hey. You’ve got booze.”
The man turned around and said to the servant trying to close the sliding door, “Cold’s fine—gimme all you’ve got. Bring every last drop!”

“Bring it,” Kihee said. “No need for snacks. A large cup will do.”

The servant left.

“Seems you get the picture,” the man sneered, baring stained teeth. “Heard you were a wastrel in Edo same as me. Figured you ain’t some hayseed. Dug up every scrap about you—no use playin’ lordly airs now.”

“What do you want?” Kihee demanded.

“Don’t rush me. The sake’s coming now, ain’t it?”
The man scratched his head vigorously. “Let me make one thing clear—you ain’t got no right to act high and mighty with me. You took my estate, even stole my fiancée. The wedding ain’t happened yet, but I hear the date’s already set. Don’t you dare put on airs, or this gonna cost you dearly.”

The house servant brought a sake flask and tray. On the tray were plates of some preserved dish and pickles, along with a cup about the size of a bowl lid, and after seeing Kihee nod, the house servant departed.

“Ain’t you gonna drink?”
The man immediately grabbed the cup and said while clutching the sake flask, “Too good to drink with trash like me?”

“Overdid it tonight. Drink by yourself.”

“Don’t talk big—this five-gō flask ain’t even seventy percent full.”
The man set down the cup and drank straight from the flask’s mouth. His throat bone bobbed up and down as gulping sounds echoed through his neck. “Ain’t half bad,” he said with a heavy exhale. “Nothin’ beats cold when your gut’s burnin’. Seeps right into every corner.”

One couldn’t live on hatred and anger alone, Kihee thought.
Time wore down even the deepest resentments—Tokioka Hachirōbee had proven that truth himself.

Mr. Shigeno must be the same way.

The reason he hadn't adopted an heir even as he approached sixty was that he must be waiting, thinking that someday his own son would return—that his son would mend his ways and come back as a proper samurai.
The anger and hatred he'd felt when disowning his son had already softened; perhaps he was simply waiting for his child to return. That's why I'd brought up Hachirōbee's story—but if that were truly the case, then his waiting had been in vain.
In that case, it would have been better if he hadn't come back, Kihee thought.

"The reason I turned out like this ain't my fault, ya get it?" the man ranted. "Hey! You listenin' or what?"

The man had been ranting all along.

"I'm listening," Kihee answered.

“People are made by how they’re raised, not by blood.”
The man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Kids turn out good or bad depending on how they’re raised—right? My folks failed at that. But you bastards got your precious little heir! Must’ve been your darling treasure—coddled like sugar sticks, spoiled rotten without a single proper scolding. Tiptoeing around their precious brat like he’s some fragile relic! You think a kid grows right with that kinda coddling?”

The man pinched some simmered preserves between his fingers, flung them into his mouth and chewed while gulping straight from the sake flask.

"As you see here," the man pressed a palm against his sunken chest, "I turned out like this. Never did time eating prison slop, but done my share of thieving. Sold women off five times or six—no—more'n that even. Killed two men too, down at Osaka's gambling pits."
He leaned in close to peer into Kihee's face, voice dropping to a rasp. "You ever snuffed a life out?"

"This is the first time I've had someone boast to me," Kihee said. "You can get to your point now."

"Fifty ryō," the man said. "Have it ready by dawn two days from now."

“What’s the reason?”

“Compensation for the estate and Izumi’s daughter,” the man said. “I came back to this castle town half a month ago, but here I am still havin’ to keep messin’ up again. No place left in town to hole up—ended up hidin’ at Tsurugi Shrine. Fifty ryō by the mornin’ after tomorrow. That’ll let you shake off your troubles too. Cheap price, ain’t it?”

“I’ll give one small koban for your travel expenses. Not a single badō copper more.”

“One small koban—and just one bu?”

“That’s too much for travel expenses.”

“Hey now!”
The man hiked up one trouser leg, baring his thigh, and slapped his kneecap. “You deaf or somethin’? I’m Gishū the Nine-and-a-Half—got wanted posters circulatin’ all down the Tokaido! Fifty ryō’s me cuttin’ you slack ’cause I’m hard up. If I really wanted to bleed you dry, I’d squeeze out a hundred—no, two hundred ryō easy!”

“Interesting,” Kihee said. “Go ahead and try to take it.”

The man’s face hardened abruptly, his lips pressing into a thin line.
Kihee relaxed his muscles and stared into his opponent’s eyes—Come on.
Then the man bared his teeth in a grin, slapped his bare knee, and said, “I lose.”

IV

“Good rhythm. I yield.”
The man smiled obsequiously, took the sake flask, and while bringing it to his mouth said, “As expected of an Edo native. You’ve got the skills refined in the capital.”

He appeared to drink from the flask’s mouth but suddenly flipped his elbow to hurl it, lunging at Kihee as he dodged.
Though he should have been quite drunk, his movements remained precise and swift, the dagger in his right hand glinting as he struck.
Kihee ignored the thrown flask and focused on the dagger instead, deliberately falling backward while seizing his charging opponent’s dominant arm and sweeping the man’s leg.
The man somersaulted over Kihee and slid to the shoji screen’s edge from the throw’s momentum.
He likely could have sprung up, but the flawless execution left him momentarily dazed.
Before he recovered, Kihee was already straddling him.

“You’re not human!” Kihee wrenched the dagger away and threw it aside, pinning the man’s neck with one hand while punching his face with the other. “You’re worse than a beast!”

Each time he swung, the man’s head rocked right and left, his lips splitting and bleeding.

“Okay, okay! You’re tough.”
“I lose,” the man said soothingly. “Let’s stop this—it’s too humiliating.”

“Talking to the likes of you is probably pointless, but listen well.”
While increasing pressure on the man’s throat with his restraining hand, Kihee said, “You claim you became this way because your parents spoiled you—had they raised you strictly, you’d resent them for being too harsh. That’s how all cowards and spineless wretches operate. You commit wrongs yourself yet try making others bear the responsibility—the most shameless, filthy, despicable nature imaginable.”

The man's face swelled livid purple, his eyeballs bulging grotesquely.
Strength fled his body, limbs sprawling limp across the tatami.
Kihee slackened his throat grip, dealt one final open-handed blow, then released him and rose.

"You filthy wretch," Kihee said. "Get out."

The man coughed while stroking his throat, still lying flat on his back as he stared up at Kihee.

“So,” the man said in a hoarse voice, “fifty ryō’s no good?”

“Get out,” Kihee said.

“Just fifty ryō—it’s cheap really.”
The man coughed hoarsely, massaging his throat as he slowly sat up straight. “Damn that hurt! Thought my Adam’s apple was gonna get crushed. You’re fuckin’ terrifyingly strong.”

Kihee stood in silence.

“Didn’t know it’d come to this—seems I picked the wrong opponent. Thought you’d understand reason, but...” The man looked at Kihee and shrugged exaggeratedly. “Quit makin’ that scary face—my legs are shakin’ so bad I can’t stand. I’ll get out right now.”

The man let out a shout as he stood up, staggered dramatically, and once again clutched at his throat.

“Can’t be helped. My luck’s run out,” the man sighed. “Since thrashin’ around won’t do shit, guess I’ll play the old man’s name card.”
Kihee remained silent.

“Even if I’ve been disowned, blood still binds us,” the man continued. “I’m Shigeno Hyōgo’s son—this domain’s chief retainer. Once I reveal myself as Gishūrō, those bastards won’t dare touch me! From now on, I’ll parade through town flaunting the name Shigeno Gishūrō!”

“That might resolve matters here in the castle town,” Kihee said, “but what of your criminal record? They’ve got wanted posters circulating along the Tokaido Road.”

“Oh, spare me the concern.”
The man sneered, “This carcass is destined for the executioner’s block anyway. If I swing from gallows here, it’ll burnish my father’s name—sharpen Izumi’s daughter’s worth too, since she’s been your betrothed since childhood. At least your bride won’t go to waste on you.”

Kihee steeled his resolve without hesitation.

“You win,” Kihee said. “I yield. I’ll arrange the money.”

“Fifty ryō, got it?”

“I’ll deliver it to Tsurugi Hachiman early the morning after tomorrow. However, once you receive the money, you will leave the castle town immediately. Can you agree to that?”

“A verbal promise is good enough?”
The man sneered again, “Or shall we draw up a written contract?”

“No promises or contracts needed. It’s simply whether you leave or not.”

“I’ll decide after I see the cash.”
The man glanced around, picked up the fallen dagger, and said, “Well then, the morning after tomorrow—I’ll be waitin’.”

He pulled a scabbard from his sleeve, sheathed the dagger and tucked it into his kimono, then bared his filthy teeth in a grin. Shrugging his bony shoulders, he headed toward the back exit.

Kihee stood motionless, listening to the back door open and close, then called his servant’s name: "Nihee."
The house stayed silent; no answering voice or sound could be heard.
He took the lamp and entered the bedroom.—The next morning, Kihee sternly ordered his servant not to speak of last night’s events before departing for the castle.
He never once considered consulting Ishizawa.
There was no need for discussion—only one path remained.

Kihee nurtured anger within his chest.
Fearing that his anger might diminish even slightly or his resolve grow dull, he constantly recalled Gishūrō’s words and attitude in meticulous detail.

“What Ishizawa said was true.”
As he descended from the castle, he muttered, “Mr. Shigeno regretted how he raised his child and was excessively strict with me. He’s awkward—too honest to be anything but awkward. If human nature were determined by upbringing, there’d be no villains in this world. Hmm, seems it’s true that he does care for me. Probably feared I’d end up like that bastard. He’s a good man.”

“To have such a good father and yet...” he muttered again. “You inhuman bastard,” he spat. “I’ll settle this cleanly.”

That night, Kihee took out his spare sword and polished it.
He didn’t want to use his regular sword.
He thought it more defiling than killing a dog—once this was done, he would simply discard it. After informing his servant of the time to wake him, he retired to bed earlier than usual and fell into a deep sleep without thinking of anything.

The next morning, before the servant came to notify him, Kihee had already risen, changed clothes, and gone out to the wellside to wash his face.
The east was growing light, but the surroundings remained dark, and the ground lay white with frost.
Immediately after washing his face, he said, "I'll go for a short walk," and left home without eating.
It was about twenty chō to Tsurugaoka; though the town was still mostly asleep, farmers transporting vegetables from the countryside in carts kept emerging through the fog only to pass by.
As the sky brightened, the fog thickened, and by the time he reached the base of Tsurugaoka Hill, even the trees on the slope were no longer visible.

To reach Hachiman Shrine required climbing fifty stone steps followed by a zigzagging slope beyond.
On either side were moss-covered cliffs where a thin trickle of water perpetually seeped out, and the stone steps were thinly coated with ice. Kihee slipped three times there.
“Hey, get it together,” he clicked his tongue for the third time. “No discipline at all.”

The stone steps ended and became a slope.

The slope was gentle, but the red clay path bristled with frost pillars, and as loosened soil clung to the soles of his straw sandals, each step became a grueling effort.
First he climbed leftward, then rightward.
At the second hairpin bend, Kihee's hand flew to his sword as he froze in place.

Someone was coming down from above.

—Gishūrō?

That's what he'd thought, but the figure emerging through the fog was Shigeno Hyōgo.
Kihee stood gaping, transfixed by Hyōgo's faltering descent.
The moment felt impossibly brief—Hyōgo's form seemed less real than a dream vision.
——Yet in the next instant, Kihee was scrambling upward.
He slipped on frost pillars and crashed to his knees, rose only to fall again until both hands were caked in mud.

Hyōgo collapsed before his eyes and let out a low moan.
Covering a distance of less than twenty feet, Kihee crawled upward, becoming covered in mud.
“Chief Retainer,” he gasped for breath, peering down at Hyōgo and called out, “What happened, Chief Retainer?”

“I’ve settled it,” Hyōgo said through clenched teeth. “Wanted to do it myself. Didn’t want others meddling.”

Kihee grimaced sharply.
The metallic tang of blood rose from Hyōgo’s body—when he looked down, the hand clutching the man’s flank glistened crimson.

“Let me see the wound,” Kihee said.

“It’s nothing serious—not deep,” Hyōgo declared firmly. “That coward came lunging from the fog and stabbed blindly. The blade didn’t go deep—missed anything vital. The fool started trembling when he realized it was me, babbling about mistaken identity.”

“We need to stop the bleeding. Show me the wound.”

“It’d be quicker to call a doctor. Since we’re here—my apologies—go fetch Bawagaki Yuuseki for me. Have a palanquin prepared too.”

“But will you be all right here alone?”

Hyōgo smiled. “Tsunaga—you mustn’t scold Nihee. He was only following my orders. Understand?”

Realizing that was indeed the case, Kihee answered “Yes” and stood up.

“That coward,” Hyōgo muttered, “—trembling as he said it was a mistake... Pathetic wretch.”

Kihee saw a tear spill from the tightly shut corner of Hyōgo's eye. He immediately averted his gaze and made his way down the slippery path.