Pathway to Japanese Literature

I. The Clan's Assessment of Him

Grandfather (the late Koide Don'ou) said.

“Heigo? Hmm... Can’t say he’s bad. His grandmother spoiled him rotten – turned him into a bit of a softie – but I wouldn’t call him worthless. Quick-witted too. Get him a decent adoption placement and who knows? Might even blossom into something. Not that such sweet deals come easy these days. Ah well... He’ll manage as he is.”

Grandmother (the late Ichi) said.

"He's a solid child through and through—completely different in nature from Keijirou and Mokunosuke. More reliable than those two older brothers put together. His grandfather spoiled him, and being the youngest adds to it, but at his core he's a clever boy with good sense. Yes, of all my grandchildren, Heigo's my favorite. Just wait and watch with a long view—that boy will achieve success beyond all measure."

Koide Genba - his father - says.

"That boy shows no promise. As his parent, I hate to say this, but I fear he'll someday disgrace our family name. First and foremost - he's never respected me, not even as a child. Let me give you an example: When he was just an infant - yes, barely thirty days old - he'd stick out his tongue whenever he saw my face. An infant can't hold grudges, of course. I thought it mere coincidence at first, but no - he never did it to others. Seeing that pink little muscle flicker at me... it left a bitter taste. I couldn't tell a soul - not even my wife - but that sense of humiliation still burns fresh. Over the years I've watched him closely. Everything's superficial with him - no samurai spirit whatsoever. No awareness that he's heir to a 7,200 koku hatamoto lineage! They think I don't know about the steamed buns? The old tabi socks and undergarments? His dealings with antique dealers? Oh, I know it all. Words fail me. When I consider our honorable lineage stretching back to Mikawa... it breaks my heart."

The eldest brother, Keijirou, said.

“That guy’s the spoiled brat of the family. They say youngest children come cheap, but ours got extra coddling from Grandfather and Grandmother. Leave him as he is and he’ll bungle any adoption chance that comes his way. Utterly hopeless.”

Koide Itsu (mother) said.

“I don’t understand that child’s feelings. He’s so inscrutable. Being the youngest, I thought I mustn’t spoil him—I tried my best to raise him carefully. No, it’s not that he’s violent or undisciplined. He’s probably the cleverest among all my children—never talks back to his parents, obeys promptly with ‘Yes, yes.’ But that’s just surface-level. Deep down, I can’t shake the feeling he looks down on everyone. For his studies, he attended Seisaka; for martial arts, since the dojo was nearby, he trained under Yagyū-sama. Even now, he still occasionally attends lectures at Seisaka—his marks were good in both. Perhaps that success made him complacent? Since he doesn’t get along with his father or Kei-san, I’m often caught in the middle. There were two or three adoption proposals, but Kei-san refused them all—saying sending him off as-is would disgrace the Koide name. And Heigo himself shows no interest! What does he plan to do at twenty-four? Is he still clinging to youngest-child privileges? I simply can’t comprehend it—truly an enigma of a child.”

Haru Onna, the eldest brother’s wife, says.

“Mr. Heigo? Well now... I don’t really know him well. My husband might be overstating things, and perhaps everyone’s being a bit too harsh... but truly, I can’t say for certain. No, I really don’t know him well at all.”

The second brother (Mokunosuke, adopted into the Kinoshita family) says.

“That bastard’s the spoiled youngest brat – all bluster despite being spineless, with this weirdly sharp tongue that grates on your nerves. A reckless fool you can’t let your guard down around. Every time I see his face, my knuckles itch to punch it. Mark my words—he’ll never amount to anything decent.”

The eldest sister (Yone, who married into the Hijikata family) says.

“Heigo was such a peculiar child—spoiled yet oddly precocious, utterly lacking in charm, a boy who never returned his siblings’ affection. When the Hijikata relatives proposed adopting him as a son-in-law—a splendid match by all accounts—he refused outright. Back then both the Hijikatas were furious and I felt bitterly disappointed, but looking back now, I realize it was for the best. The mere thought of him joining the Hijikata clan sends shivers down my spine these days. Whenever I imagine how Father and Mother still struggle with him… well, my heart truly aches for them.”

The second sister (Kuni, who married into the Yoneda family) says.

“Him? Well… Being the youngest child, Grandmother spoiled him like a pampered kitten, so he does have a touch of indulgence about him. But he’s surprisingly dependable—deeply considerate too. Though no one else knows this, he’s been secretly supporting Uncle Shinshou now and then. Even my husband speaks highly of him—says Heigo’s the most capable among the Koides. I’m rather easygoing myself, and since we’re just a year apart, we’ve always been closest among the siblings. We quarreled plenty growing up, but he still visits often—maybe more to see Yoneda than me—but considering he’s even entrusted us with his savings, I think he relies on me too. Ah yes… There’s an adoption offer now—a *kobushin* family with five hundred *koku*, quite comfortable privately. Their daughter seems gentle and refined too. Why he refuses… I can’t fathom it. The other side insists eagerly, and Yoneda urges him as well… Does he have some scheme? He simply won’t say yes.”

Uncle (Genba’s younger brother who married into the Shinshou family) Tonomo said.

“I can’t say anything about Heigo—given how my elder brother from the Koide family is. Yes, my elder brother’s an accomplished man, while I’m here living in such impoverished circumstances myself. Though I’ve done... certain things for Heigo... still, I can’t comment. My elder brother would know best—the Koide brother being such a man of substance. No, truly—I can’t say anything at all.”

II

That year was an unpleasant one for Heigo.
This year's shaping up to be my unlucky year, he thought.
The first incident had been his clash with his second brother Mokunosuke at the New Year gathering.
Every year on January 6th, relatives would gather at the Koide residence.
This was to avoid the hassle of making individual New Year visits - previously rotating annually among households, but after the previous family head Don'ou passed away eight years ago, they had gradually begun gathering solely at the Koide residence.

——Father’s idiotic vanity.

Heigo sneered inwardly.
Being positioned as the clan's central figure, being addressed as 'the Honke of Kojimachi,' and showing off antiques - these were what gave Father his self-satisfaction.
The gatherings had once drawn twelve attendees, but three years prior they'd dwindled to nine.
Heigo suspected people had grown weary of Father's antique boasting - this year saw further decline, with merely five appearing:
Mori Naizen of Hirakawachō,
Kinoshita Mokunosuke of Kamiyachō,
Hijikata Ichinojō of Yakushikōji,
Shinshou Tonomo of Tamurakoji,
and Yoneda Heizaemon of Enokizaka completing the roster.

“Well, well. You’re still here, Heigo?”

When the banquet reached its midpoint, Mokunosuke called out.
Twenty-eight years old—four years Heigo’s senior—he had been adopted into the Kinoshita family six years prior but had never gotten along with Heigo even during their time together in the main household.

Heigo did not respond.
He burned with anger over the seating arrangements.
No one commented on Uncle Shinshou occupying the lowest seat.
This uncle Tonomo—Father’s only younger brother—had been adopted into the Shinshou family in his early thirties.
Likely due both to his prolonged status as a dependent relative and the Shinshou family’s extreme poverty post-adoption, this inherently timid man now needlessly humbled himself at gatherings, perpetually shrinking into a corner at the table’s foot.
Heigo customarily urged him toward a more honorable position; when others joined in encouragement, Uncle would reluctantly comply. Today however, no voice supported Heigo’s appeal.
The eldest brother Keijirou even snapped at Heigo: “Quiet.”

――What’s your damn problem? He’s still your uncle too!

Heigo seethed inwardly.

――If Shinshou had money to spare, they’d all be groveling at his feet. Serves them right.

His anger now turned toward Uncle Tonomo as well.
"What a pathetic man," Heigo thought, stuffing his mouth with food while wearing a sullen expression.

“Hey, Heigo,” Mokunosuke called again. “You gone deaf?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Then you did hear what I said earlier?”

“I did hear you.”
“You heard me but won’t answer?”

“There’s no need,” Heigo replied. “As you can see, I’m right here. My presence is plain for all to see.”

“That ain’t what I’m talking about,” said Mokunosuke. “You turned down a good adoption offer, so I figured you must’ve had some scheme brewing. But seeing how you’re still shuffling about like always, I had to ask.” He jabbed a finger across the table. “Ain’t you hitting twenty-five soon?”

“Twenty-four.”

“You’ll hit twenty-five next year—what’re you gonna do?” Mokunosuke said. “Keep being picky about marriage proposals and you’ll end up eating cold rice your whole life.”

Unnecessary meddling—Heigo flared up.

“Fine by me,” Heigo retorted. “If going into adoption means pinching pennies and cooping yourself up without even drinking the sake you love, I’d rather eat cold rice.”

Mokunosuke’s complexion changed.

“What the hell? Who’re you talking about?” said Kinoshita Mokunosuke.
“No one in particular.”
“It’s an analogy,” Heigo answered.
“Don’t bullshit me! That was aimed at me!” Mokunosuke snapped. Their petty squabble had just begun when the eldest brother barked from across the room, “Enough!”

“Shut up, Heigo—” Keijirou said. “Even if you leave, I’m still your elder brother. You hopeless fool—apologize.”

Heigo remained silent.

“Apologize,” Keijirou said. “Won’t you apologize, Heigo?”

At that moment, Yoneda Heizaemon intervened.
He was thirty-two, the same age as Keijirou, but in both appearance and temperament seemed much more mature; moreover, among the relatives, he was Heigo’s sole ally.
Now, this Heizaemon—lacking any proper means to mediate—went on to say something outrageous.

“That’s enough now, Mr. Kei—no need to scold him so harshly,” said Yoneda. “To all of you, he may still seem like the spoiled youngest child, but Mr. Heigo here is already twenty-four. Why, I hear there’s even a young lady who’s caught his fancy.”

Heigo opened his mouth, then flustered, tried to cut in with “Mr. Yoneda!” but it was too late—Mori Naizen burst out laughing, saying “That’s rich!” and everyone followed suit with laughter.
Even Father Genba laughed, his “That idiot!” audible, and Heigo stood up and fled from there.

About three days later, Heigo visited Mr. Yoneda in Enokizaka and reproached him about that incident.
Yoneda smirked and said, “I thought that was the only way to divert Mr. Kei’s attention.”

“If I offended you, forgive me,” Mr. Yoneda apologized. “But you did mention there being such a girl.”

“I never said anything about having feelings—I only told you I met her two or three times at some shop.”

“Oh really?” Sister Kuni said from beside her husband. “But from how you spoke then, you seemed quite taken with her.”

“How could there be such a thing? That’s a misunderstanding. Even you all would say such things?”

“Getting worked up over nothing,” Mr. Yoneda smirked again, steering the conversation elsewhere. “Did you know we’ll be holding monthly gatherings in Kojimachi from now on?”

“At our house? I wasn’t aware.”

“Every tenth evening—they decided it after you left.”

This time Heigo laughed. “Poor souls—they’ll have to endure Father’s endless antique bragging sessions.”

“Seems so. Everyone’s bringing an item each—meant to sharpen our appraisal skills through mutual study.”

Heigo laughed out loud. “That’s utterly pitiful! They’ll just have to endure Father’s endless lectures—did everyone actually consent to that?”

“Tamura Koji was the first to raise both hands in agreement.”

“What did you say—that uncle? No way!”

“He was the first to call it a brilliant idea—everyone was quite surprised, you know,” Mr. Yoneda said with a smile. “At any rate, the first gathering should be on the tenth of next month.”

III

Heigo did not attend that gathering.
He hadn't been told to attend and had no interest in doing so, but he occasionally caught wind of what transpired there.
Sometimes he would hear his father and brothers talking about it; other times he learned details from Mori Sukesaburou in Seizaka.
Sukesaburou was the son of Mori Naizen, a cousin of Heigo, and twenty-two years old.
He was said to be exceptionally gifted in his studies, but from Heigo's perspective, it didn't seem like genuine ability—rather, it felt like he was merely inflating his grades out of vanity.
This was evident in his manner of speaking and debating, and equally apparent in his tendency to mock those he deemed less intelligent.

Heigo went to listen to the daily lectures at Seizaka Academy three or five times a month.
He would occasionally meet Sukesaburou during those times, but unless called out to, he never initiated conversation himself.
After the second Tenth-Day Gathering in March, Heigo was stopped by Sukesaburou and told how his uncle Shinshou had been humiliated.
Uncle had claimed it was a family heirloom and produced a peculiar incense burner.
It was clearly—without needing closer inspection—a crude altar implement meant for Buddhist rites, but when Uncle added that "It's said to have been passed down in the Shinshou family for five generations," everyone had burst into laughter.

“Isn’t that delightfully eccentric?” Sukesaburou chuckled deep in his throat. “They don’t grasp it at all, do they? Mr. Shinshou’s quite the tea master—wouldn’t you agree?”

On his way back, Heigo detoured to Enokizaka.
Yoneda Heizaemon also said that it was exactly so.
"I can’t tell whether he’s feigning ignorance or being serious—though I suspect he’s feigning."

“Do you really think that uncle could pull off playing dumb?” Heigo sighed and shook his head side to side. “The man’s hopeless.”

“Right—changing topics—there’s something I need to ask,” Yoneda said, raising his face. “Kuni mentioned that when counted, the money you’ve been depositing surpassed twenty ryō.”

“Yes, it should amount to eighty-three bu now.”

“What’s this ‘eighty-three bu’ business?”

“I avoid saying ‘ryō’ because it causes friction—I count everything in bu instead. But why do you ask?”

“Hmm,” said Yoneda, “does saying ‘ryō’ really stir up trouble?”

“After all, I’m in the position of a dependent.”

“Here’s the thing—when a dependent like Mr. Heigo saves three or five ryō, that’s one matter, but accumulating two—no—eighty-three *bu* means the responsibility on my part as the custodian grows heavier. I’d like to at least ask what nature this money holds.”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Heigo tilted his head. “Or perhaps I didn’t mention it to my sister?”

“I wasn’t told,” Kuni said.

“Mr. Yoneda,” Heigo suddenly asked, “do you know why I refuse the adoption proposals?”

Heizaemon slowly shook his head.

“In other words,” Heigo said, “in other words, I don’t want to be adopted.”

“That much is obvious.”

Kuni burst out laughing.

"That’s not what I mean—no, there’s a reason behind my reluctance to be adopted," Heigo restated. "Take Uncle Shinshou, Mr. Moku who went to Kinoshita, and two other friends of mine—they’ve all ended up in pitiful circumstances."

Heigo enumerated the miseries of adopted sons.
With meticulous detail that bordered on nitpicking, the Yoneda couple seemed somewhat taken aback.

"I see," Yoneda said. "You cornered Mr. Moku during New Year’s, but... Hmm, so it truly is a pressing matter."

“Mr. Yoda isn’t like that,” Kuni objected. “I don’t know about Mr. Shinshou or Mr. Kinoshita or the others, but when it comes to Mr. Yoda specifically, that’s certainly not the case.”

Yoda referred to the prospect of a son-in-law adoption that Mr. and Mrs. Yoneda had recommended, and Heigo had once met him. The father was apparently also an adopted son-in-law; Heigo had met the mother and daughter. The daughter was seventeen years old. Though petite in build like her mother, she had a rather elegant figure, was demure, and always seemed to have a smile in her eyes. The proposal for him to become an adopted son-in-law had come after meeting the mother and daughter; while he heard the other party was extremely eager, Heigo had flatly refused.

“You may say that, Sis,” Heigo said, “but Mr. Moku’s wife was perfectly fine before marriage too. Once she bore one child, she changed completely. My two friends’ wives followed the same pattern—demure and elegant before the wedding, then completely transformed after the ceremony. The saying ‘a woman changes once she holds three measures of rice bran’ isn’t exaggerated in the slightest.”

“If that’s how you feel, then fine—but what exactly do you plan to do? Do you intend to live as a dependent your whole life?”

“That’s why I’m saving money,” he said, looking at Yoneda. “With fifty ryō, I can buy a gokenin rank.”

Yoneda fell silent for a moment before remarking quietly, “That’s quite a shrewd plan.”

“After investigating various avenues,” Heigo said, “it appears fifty ryō would suffice. A samurai’s worth may have diminished these days, but for townspeople it’s another matter entirely. If I were already a samurai, even that sum might prove workable.”

Yoneda hummed thoughtfully, then added as if recalling a discrepancy, “Still—to have accumulated this much already.”

“Even if you say I’ve saved well, it still doesn’t reach half—but there’s a tearful story behind this,” Heigo said. “I can’t tell others, but will you listen?”

“If you go around calling it ‘tearful’ yourself, there’s nothing more to discuss,” Kuni said.

“For my own edification, let me hear it,” Yoneda said.

“I’ll start with the most embarrassing part first—it began when I was seven years old,” Heigo continued. “At that time, Uncle Shinshou was thirty and still living as a dependent in Kojimachi. People around him said that at his age, he’d likely spend his whole life eating cold rice—something he himself seemed to have resigned himself to.”
“I witnessed that and, even with a child’s mind, thought deeply about it—I still remember resolving that I couldn’t go on like this.”

And so, he earnestly resolved to save money.
He had no concrete purpose for saving money—it was a nebulous feeling of "as long as I have money"—but he pursued it with single-minded determination.

“This is the embarrassing part—not only did I save my allowance, but at that age I even devised ways to earn money,” Heigo said, rubbing his cheek with one hand. “Do you know what I did?”

Yoneda shook his head in silence.

Four

“It started with sweets,” Heigo continued. “I’d receive snacks for afternoon tea—like Ryugetsu’s manju buns worth five mon each—and sell them to attendants or folks with children in the samurai tenements for about three mon.”

“Goodness!” Kuni’s eyes widened. “My word—to think you schemed like that despite being so young! I just can’t believe it’s true!”

“Next came old undergarments,” Heigo continued undeterred. “Undergarments, worn-out tabi socks—all hand-me-downs from my elder brothers. Mother never paid them any mind. She’d bundle them up for the ragpicker, but I’d extract the slightly decent ones and sell them. People in the samurai tenements or servants gladly bought them.”

Kuni was generally of a carefree disposition, but her brother’s confession seemed to have struck a nerve. She kept sighing and muttering things like “How pathetic,” “What a disgrace,” and “Can you believe such a thing?”

“However,” Yoneda asked with a smile, “it’s remarkable that your parents never found out.”

“It’s only natural they didn’t find out. If it were discovered that I was selling such things, who knows what punishment I might face? After all, I was still a mere child back then.”

“I can only imagine how ‘innocent’ you must have been.”

“There’s no use you getting angry here,” Yoneda said to his wife. “Why not go prepare some sake instead?”

As Kuni stood to leave, Yoneda urged her on with a “Then…” and looked at Heigo.

“I kept that up until about twelve, then noticed the old man’s antique obsession,” Heigo continued. “I must’ve been thirteen or fourteen when dealers started coming to our house—after Grandfather died—but even before that, I was often sent to places like Matsujuu and Oshou and made to buy worthless trinkets.”

Matsujuu was located in Kyōbashi Yazaemonchō, and Oshou in Nihonbashi Fukushimachō; though they were second-rate as antique shops, Genba had convinced himself from the start that it was precisely such establishments where one could find hidden treasures.
This was because they were a 7,200-koku hatamoto family, and while the dealers didn’t engage in outright swindling, the customer—convinced of his discerning eye for hidden treasures—would end up hauling back something preposterous one out of every three purchases, even without malicious intent from the shops.
Eventually, he would realize his misjudgment, and then, to conceal having made such a mistake, he would toss those "preposterous items" into storage closets.
These things were usually forgotten as they were and, when paying ragpickers for disposal, would end up being bundled together and sold for a pittance.

“I pulled those out and sold them,” Heigo said with an air of nonchalance. “The idea struck me while extracting things from the discard pile—ragpickers pay a pittance when it’s mixed with other junk, but antique dealers might give it some value. After all, even if they’re misjudged pieces, the old man did unearth them himself.”

“The man himself must have known that.”

“The old man? Don’t be absurd,” Heigo shook his head. “His vanity would never permit admitting his own misjudgments. He’d either toss things into storage or forget them entirely—never to be recalled again.”

When extracting items from the discard pile, he naturally gave prior notice.
He then took them to antique shops, but proper establishments wouldn’t touch them at all.
They would only say things like, “We don’t handle such items here,” “Try another shop,” or “Don’t make a mockery of this,” and that was all.
After scouring for ragpicker-like antique shops, he finally found a regular haunt in Inabachō near Etchūbori—a narrow alleyway establishment with a nine-shaku frontage and a single back room measuring just four and a half tatami mats.
The signboard reading “Seikantō Hall” hung above the front eaves, but the use of “Hall” felt presumptuous—glancing at the items displayed in the shop made one blush with secondhand embarrassment.

“I really clicked with this guy,” Heigo said. “I once showed him our place in Kojimachi. When I laid out the items’ backstories, Seibee—in his own way—must’ve gotten ambitious. Probably thought he might strike gold…… Why’re you grinning?”

“Wasn’t exactly grinning,” Yoneda said, rubbing his mouth. “Go on, then.”

“It seems the sake has arrived.”

Kuni and a servant brought in the meal.
Since Heigo didn’t drink, only Yoneda took a cup and began slowly sipping sake poured by his wife.
Heigo continued his account, saying his dealings with Seikantō had spanned nearly ten years.
During that time, Seibee made significant profits several times.
From among the items Genba had mistakenly purchased, there were pieces that could fetch surprisingly high prices at markets, and others that even left fellow dealers astonished at their value.
What made it interesting was that this wasn’t the items’ true value; rather, it seemed they were actually being ordered by a certain type of customer—like Genba—for whom they were well-suited.

Yoneda listened and said, “You wouldn’t say Kojimachi bought that again, would you?”

“This is serious talk,” said Heigo, sipping lukewarm tea. “While doing that, I found a new method—partly because the old man’s items ran out. I’d buy things from the junk at Seikantō’s shop that seemed promising and sell them to other secondhand dealers. Of course, it was futile at first, but I suppose I developed an instinct over time. Among them, blades occasionally brought quite decent profits.”
Then he quickly said to his sister, “Oh, how pathetic—isn’t it? I know.”

“Around what age was that?” Yoneda asked.

“I’d say around sixteen or seventeen.”

“It’s remarkable no one ever discovered it.”

“It was found—no, the money itself,” Heigo said with a shrug. “Right when I’d saved twenty-one ryō and one bu. I’d wrapped it in paper and hidden it in the nageshi beam, but Mother found it and confiscated everything.”

“Confiscated?”

“Of course I couldn’t admit I’d earned it myself—I claimed I’d saved allowances and gifts. But she said such hoarding was unbecoming of a samurai’s son—that she’d provide what I needed when required. The humiliation—truly unbearable! I couldn’t stop weeping.”

“When it comes to twenty-one bu,” Yoneda said, “twenty-one… Hmm, that would be five ryō and one bu?”

“Then you started entrusting it to me,” Kuni said.

“It wasn’t long after your marriage, was it?” Heigo said. “After all, there’s no household I can trust besides this one.”

“If they find out, I’ll be the only one who gets scolded.”

“We’ll be fine as long as you don’t say anything.”

“So,” Yoneda said, “you’ve earned over twenty ryō in these past seven years or so.”

“At the latest, I intend to reach the target amount within five years—by the time I’m thirty,” he said, “though personally I believe it’ll take just three more years.”

When Yoneda said, “That’s rather pressing,” a young retainer arrived and announced a guest: “Master Keijirou from Kojimachi.”

Heigo reflexively raised his knee. “That’s no good—I’ll make myself scarce.”
“Do you think so?” Yoneda said to the retainer with a laugh. “Please have them wait in the guest room.”

“I’ll get your footwear,” Kuni said as she stood up.

Five: Seikantō’s Assessment of Him

Seikantō’s proprietor Seibee said.

“Young Master Koide’s been patronizing my shop seven or eight years now. Aye, he’s something special—a waste keeping him as a samurai. They say his father’s unmatched in appraising antiques—no empty flattery intended. Doesn’t Ohsho of Nihonbashi and Matsuju of Yazaemonchō do business with him? Hear the talk at the markets—he’s got that blood in him. My shop’s just a jumble of odds and ends as you see, but whenever that young master spots something in this rubbish heap, it’s bound to fetch a price. Lost count how many times that’s happened! That’s why I tell him—quit being a samurai! Third son and the youngest? Better ditch those swords, marry Miss Hosoe from the back alley, start an antique shop! More freedom there—sure to make a fortune! Oh, the Hosoe folks? Masterless samurai in the tenement across the way. Husband died three years back—just the widow and her daughter Mino left. Miss started selling things here when her father fell ill. Proper samurai upbringing—side jobs barely keep ’em afloat. Still comes by often enough. Got some fine pieces early on—made decent profits too—but lately? Nothing worth a damn. Even took her short sword reluctantly—see it there in the corner gathering dust? Can’t be bothered taking it to market. Young Master knows her well enough—they’ve crossed paths here plenty of times. Don’t show it, but there’s a spark between ’em. Miss is eighteen—six years younger than him—good age match. No use though! He’s set on being a samurai founding his house—not a speck of interest in turning townsman. Shame wasting that eye for valuables! Ain’t seen him ten days or so—reckon he’ll come today.”

Six

Heigo immediately regretted having confided in Yoneda.
Yoneda was reliable enough, but his own sister was another matter.
This second sister had been closest among all his siblings and always taken his side—but she now belonged to the Yoneda household, and above all else, her husband came first.
Having been married seven years yet still childless, she seemed burdened by constant inferiority over it—and with how often she visited their mother at the family home, there was no telling what might loosen her tongue.

"Why did I blather like that?" he clicked his tongue in self-reproach. "This year's been off-kilter since New Year's—if I don't stay sharp, who knows what might happen."

The next time I go to Yoneda's, I'll make sure to get Sister to keep quiet, Heigo thought.

April, May, June—the days passed without incident.
In Kojimachi, elder brother Keijirou’s third child was born, and in Kamiyachō, twin girls were born to the Kinoshita family.

In Hirakawacho’s Mori household, an elderly mother passed away in late June. Koide Itsujo—Heigo’s mother who had been nursing her from Kojimachi—collapsed on the day of the funeral, perhaps overwhelmed by her biological mother’s death, and remained bedridden at the Mori residence throughout July.
During those thirty-odd days, Heigo visited Hirakawacho once daily to pay his respects.
It wasn’t merely a matter of paying visits—he was made to carry sweets, fruits, and food prepared by his sister-in-law. The sweltering heat of lingering summer was at its peak, and even the daily commute between Kojimachi and Hirakawacho took its toll, yet he still made his way to Seikantō in Etchūbori once every three days.
Seibee, the proprietor, was usually at the shop in the afternoon, but even when away, he would return to rummage through the shop’s wares or engage in idle chatter with his wife.
Seibee and his wife saw deliberate purpose in this.
In other words, Heigo’s visits to kill time like this were undoubtedly because he was waiting to see if Hosoe’s daughter might come by—or so they concluded.

“Of course I don’t dislike her,” Heigo answered honestly. “But there’s no use thrashing about when I can’t marry her.”

“Why won’t you at least make a formal promise? You must know the young lady holds affection for you.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” Heigo said, flushing slightly. “It’ll still take me considerable time to leave home and establish my own household—could be three years, could be five. You can’t get engaged under such circumstances. I might be fine waiting, but she’d end up an old woman by then.”

“That’s why I’m telling you to just go ahead and become an antique dealer!”

“Drop that talk,” Heigo said coldly, shaking his head. “A samurai has samurai blood. Even if I wanted to become an antique dealer, the blood passed down from our ancestors wouldn’t allow it—I know that well enough.”

“That’s just how it is, I suppose—downright fearsome business, if you ask me.”

“Look, let’s not talk about that girl anymore.”

When August came, Mother returned to the house in Kojimachi.

After the Tenth-Day Gathering that month, Heigo heard that it had been decided they would bring together the family-stored swords the following month.
The first thing he thought of was Uncle Shinshou, and he visited the Tamurakoji residence.
The uncle was forty-seven years old with seven children; having married past thirty, his eldest son had just turned fifteen while his youngest daughter remained under two.
With a live-in wife and her elderly mother besides, the cramped house maintained constant henhouse-like commotion.

Heigo spoke with his uncle in the living room—a three-mat space that opened onto a garden with a wooden fence so close one might bump their nose against it, where a gaunt aoki tree drooped withered leaves, creating an oppressively sweltering and desolate scene.
The discussion concluded quickly, and Heigo left after about fifteen minutes. But even in that brief time, the children kept coming in and out of the parlor, running around and fighting, leaving no moment of peace.

Tonomo saw Heigo out while putting on his usual wheedling look.
Due to his constant poverty, whenever he saw his nephew—even when there was no need—he seemed to feel compelled to ask for something.
During evening visits he would usually invite him to stay for dinner, but since this was still daytime, Heigo pretended not to notice and took his leave.

"When it comes to swords, that's my specialty," Heigo muttered as he walked.
"There, I'll make Uncle look his best. Father knows nothing about swords, and the lot gathering there are all blind—just wait till I make them goggle their eyes."

He headed toward Seikantō in Etchūbori.

When he turned into the alley and came before it, that girl was inside the shop.
She was a girl named Hosoe Mino.
She wore a washed-out unlined kimono secured with an old obi and patched tabi socks.
Because she was sitting sideways on the narrow shop’s raised threshold, the slender, supple curve of her waist revealed a surprisingly feminine allure.
Her skin was slightly dusky and taut, with small eyes and mouth.
Heigo found himself irresistibly drawn to those small eyes and mouth.
From the first time he had seen her at that shop, those small eyes and mouth had strongly and deeply captivated him whenever they met.

Somehow hesitating to enter, just as Heigo was about to pass by, Seibee called out from inside the shop.
“Mr. Koide, what’s the matter? Won’t you come in?”

Heigo came to a halt, then indecisively entered the shop.
The girl quickly rose to her feet, lowered her eyes in a polite nod, and moved aside.

“Please,” Heigo returned the bow. “Please finish your business. I merely stopped by in passing.”

“Thank you very much,” the girl replied in a low, thin voice that was nevertheless clear. “I have just concluded my business as well. Please go ahead.”

She made a gesture as if to tell him to sit down.
Seibee opened the cashbox and was taking out some amount onto paper.

"The lingering heat is still severe," said Heigo.

The girl replied, "Yes," and after a moment, Heigo spoke again.

“We could really use some rain.”

“Yes,” the girl answered.

“Ah,” Heigo suddenly said, “my apologies. I am Koide Heigo.”

The girl silently lowered her head.

“I apologize for the wait,” Seibee said as he handed the girl the coins laid out on paper. “Please verify the amount.”

The girl received them, counted them carefully, wrapped them in the paper, and placed them into her sleeve.
She bowed to Seibee and Heigo, then quietly left the shop.
Heigo sat down on the entrance frame, and Seibee chuckled quietly while ordering toward the back, “Bring tea.”

“What’s gotten into you?” Seibee said with a laugh. “You already introduced yourself three years back, haven’t you? Have you forgotten?”

Seven

“Was that so?” Heigo played dumb. “That doesn’t matter either way—I came today because I have a request.”

Though he feigned ignorance, the truth stood exactly so—he had indeed introduced himself once long before and had even heard the girl’s name at that time. But finding himself at a loss for how to continue the conversation, he ended up feeling as though he had never properly introduced himself at all.

Seibee accepted Heigo’s request and said he would immediately look into possibilities. Then, as if suddenly recalling something, he indicated the white-sheathed dagger lying nearby.

“What do you think of this? I just received it from Ms. Hosoe.”

"You only paid two bu and two shu."

“Even two bu and two shu makes me want to cry,” said Seibee. “I heard your mother injured her back and was in quite a bind, so I had no choice but to buy it. The swords I bought before are still piled up over there, but this dagger matches your request, young master.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your order was supposed to be a counterfeit old sword, but this one’s apparently a Masamune.”

“No good,” Heigo shook his head. “Even for a friend’s sake, a Masamune won’t do.”

“I suppose so,” Seibee said with a deep sigh. “Very well. I’ll look into it, so please come back in a couple of days.”

He waited until the latter part of the month.
He visited Seikantō five or six times and was shown two or three swords, but none proved satisfactory.
Since his goal was to astonish the gathering attendees and restore his uncle’s honor, ordinary items wouldn’t suffice. He absolutely needed a counterfeit of a renowned old sword—something that would elude authentication by amateur eyes.
But when the month drew to a close, Seibee threw up his hands.

“It’s hopeless,” Seibee said. “Swords were never my specialty to begin with—this venture was doomed from the start.”
Once more he picked up the dagger acquired from Hosoe and presented it. “What about this one? Won’t you give it even a glance?”

Heigo took it and slightly drew the blade, but immediately shook his head and placed it back down.
“Um...” Heigo said, “show me the one you said you bought from Ms. Hosoe before.”

Seibee stood up, took out the sword set from amidst the jumble of clutter filling the shop, wiped off the dust with a cloth, and handed it to Heigo.
Heigo examined the wakizashi first, then the sword.
Neither was well-made. They appeared to be Bizen work, but their form lacked refinement.

“The value lies solely in the fittings,” said Seibee. “The scabbard’s still usable, and the kōgai and menuki should fetch something. Though I’ve been thinking of taking it apart to sell off the pieces.”

Heigo suddenly said, “Wait,” placed the sword there, and took up the previous dagger.
This time he removed the scabbard and carefully examined the back of the blade, then pulled out the peg and inspected the tang.
“What’s wrong?” Seibee asked.
Heigo silently examined the blade and inspected the tang.

“This blade’s been through fire,” Heigo muttered. “No doubt reforged after burning, but the base metal and edge remain intact. Can’t be certain without polishing, but the hamon’s flow resembles old Soshu works.”

“Surely it’s not...the genuine article?”

“Impossible,” Heigo said with a wry smile. “But the Soshu resemblance is undeniable. Hmm...with some work, this blade might actually pass.”

“So, as a Masamune then?”

“That’s impossible—it’s Sadamune or Hirohira.” Heigo said, “The lack of inscription can be explained as a piece from his training period. The muted sheen of this blade and the boldness of its temper pattern capture the essence of old swords well. Alright—let’s pass it off as Den Sadamune and give them a scare.”

“Will you take it off my hands?”

“I’ll take it for three bu.”

“That’s too harsh! You know full well I bought it for two bu and two shu. If it’s going to be useful to you, at least let me make a little profit.”

Heigo shook his head.
“I’m not buying this for its value—it’s just to shock those blind fools at the gathering. After that, it’ll be useless to me. If you refuse three bu, I’ll simply walk away,” said Heigo.
Seibee persisted.
The items he bought from Hosoe usually ended up left untouched as they were, and though his wife always nagged him about it, he couldn’t help buying them out of pity for that mother and daughter.
The young master wasn’t exactly a stranger—he ought to lend a hand at a time like this.
Seibee pleaded in that manner.

“That’s some twisted logic,” Heigo laughed. “Fine—I’ll throw in another two shu. Three bu and two shu. If that’s still not enough, forget it.”
“You drive too hard a bargain, Young master,” Seibee said, scratching his balding head. “It’s a waste you’re a samurai—you’re better than any professional.”

The next day, Heigo delivered the dagger to Tamurakoji Avenue. He considered sending it out for polishing but reconsidered that leaving it as-is would be safer, then gave his uncle a thorough explanation.

"The luster in this steel grain, the boldness of the temper pattern, and how these small irregularities mingle—these are precisely the distinctive qualities found in old Soshu blades."

Heigo pointed to specific details of the temper pattern and continued, "The thinness relative to the blade width likely comes from polishing wear. It appears to have been reforged after fire damage—that's what caused this deterioration in the tang. But look at this rough-hewn quality in the nakago here. This rugged refinement is something you'll never find in new swords. Make sure to tell them to examine this section closely."

“I don’t fully grasp this,” Tonomo said with an unsteady look, “but is it acceptable to call it a Sadamune?”

“Simply state it’s been handed down as a Sadamune. If you arrange the key points I explained skillfully, they’re all blind anyway—they’ll never tell. They’ll be floored for certain.”

“But if someone recognizes it as counterfeit...”

“Even if discovered, you bear no responsibility—it’s a Shinshou family inheritance. Daimyo collections hold countless fakes too. There’s no cause for concern.”

“Shall I try it?” Tonomo said. “Very well—let’s give it a try.”

Heigo wasn’t worried in the least.

They'll all fall for it—without fail.

He believed this wholeheartedly.
For over seven years he had frequented antique dealers' shops, often turning profits with ceramic pieces.
This likely owed something to his father's antiquarian hobby, but when it came to swords, Heigo's own instincts proved decisive.
Of course he never ventured into formal appraisals—examining pieces remained merely an enjoyable pastime—but compared to his father and relatives, he felt certain his discernment far surpassed theirs.

As long as Uncle didn't bungle things.
Though circumstances differed from that incense burner incident years prior, his uncle's timidity meant genuine risk of self-betrayal through careless words.
Provided that disaster was averted, all would be well—so Heigo reassured himself.

On September 10th, he headed out to Seizaka.
He considered observing the gathering but, his conscience pricking him, went out despite it not being a regular lecture day. After peeking into the academy’s lecture hall, he headed to the dormitory and was chatting with friends when Mori no Sukesaburou approached and called out to him.

“Why aren’t you at home?” Sukesaburou said cheerfully. “My old man went to Hon’ami with yours today!”

Eight

Heigo stared fixedly at the other man.
He didn’t immediately grasp its meaning.
Sukesaburou came over and said, “If you’re interested in swords, you should’ve attended today’s meeting—why are you here instead?”

“What about Hon’ami?” Heigo shot back.

“The Hon’ami I’m talking about is Taga from Kyoto,” Sukesaburou answered. “A man named Kan’emon Taga who’s been staying here four or five days. When I heard today’s gathering involved bringing swords together, I said I absolutely had to see them.”

“Did he go?” Heigo demanded urgently. “Did that person go to Kojimachi?”

“He went. Should’ve stayed away if you ask me—wasn’t like any decent swords were gonna show up anyway. But my old man went and happily dragged him along.”

Heigo groaned.

“What’s wrong?” Sukesaburou said. “Did something happen?”

“Mind your own business!” Heigo snapped as he stood up. “Damn you!”

“What did you say?” Sukesaburou challenged.

“I was talking about myself!”

“Hey,” Sukesaburou blocked his path, “Take back what you just said.”
“I told you it was about me!”

“Aren’t you going to take it back?”

Sukesaburou clenched his fist.

“When I said ‘meddling,’ I was talking about myself. Are you telling me to take back what I said to myself?”

“No! You said ‘Damn you!’ Take that back!”

Heigo looked at Sukesaburou and said, “Oh, I see. Then don’t take that kind of thing.”

Sukesaburou started to say something more, but Heigo bid his friends farewell and rushed out of the dormitory.

“This is awful, absolutely awful,” Heigo muttered. “Having an actual expert like Taga show up is beyond belief—this is practically fraud! What am I supposed to do?”

He passed through the Kido gate of Neribei and emerged onto Seizaka along Baba.

If only Hirakawachō had introduced him as Taga first.
If he'd done that, Uncle probably wouldn't present the dagger—but no, Taga alone wouldn't be enough.
His uncle didn't know about the connection between Hon'ami and Taga.
Even if introduced, he'd likely present the dagger.

"This is a Shinshou family heirloom," he imagined his uncle saying, "said to be a Sadamune work."

Such was his mental image of Uncle making that declaration.

He could almost see his uncle speaking in that manner. And when he thought his uncle would even explain the blade pattern and tang, Heigo felt his whole body shrink inward, letting out low groans several times as he walked.

"I can fool Father and the others, but there's no deceiving an expert's eye," Heigo muttered. "Uncle's going to be humiliated. This was all unnecessary meddling—instead of saving face for him, I've made him a laughingstock in front of everyone. Disgraceful. Absolutely disgraceful."

He berated himself.
His own frivolity.
Meddling born of shallow cunning.
Self-conceit and arrogance.
Heigo lowered his head and mentally removed his helmet.

He visited Tamura Koji in the evening.
His uncle had not yet returned.
The wife suggested he come up and wait, but he said he had some business to attend to, walked around for about an hour, then visited again.
Tonomo had just returned home and, upon being informed he was taking a bath, Heigo waited in the usual three-mat room.
The children were making a noisy commotion, and the seven- and five-year-old boys came in and teased Heigo.
They probably wanted him to play with them, but he was in no position to do so and had no energy for pleasantries, so he remained silent.

When Tonomo appeared, wiping sweat from his face, Heigo abruptly bowed his head and apologized.

“Hon’ami—no, I never imagined Taga would come,” Heigo said, looking up at his uncle apprehensively. “When I heard about it, I thought I’d made a terrible mistake. I’m terribly sorry for causing you trouble. You did show him the dagger, didn’t you?”

“I showed it,” Tonomo answered. “I didn’t know this Taga person was an appraiser, and Hirakawacho didn’t say anything about it either. If I’d known he was an appraiser, I wouldn’t have shown it.”

“I never dreamed things would turn out like this. Please forgive me.”

“No—that’s not it,” Tonomo said, waving his hand. “There’s no need to apologize—they say it’s genuine.”

Heigo stammered, “What did you say?”

“This is what happened.”

Tonomo spoke while wiping away sweat.
Taga Kan'emon examined the dagger twice.
The first time he just gave it a quick glance, but after examining two or three other swords, he requested to see it again.
The second time, with a solemn demeanor, he meticulously turned it over and examined it, carefully inspecting the tang as well, muttering "Strange..." several times under his breath.
Then he said that while he couldn’t state it definitively without polishing it, he believed this wasn’t Sadamune but rather Shintougo or perhaps even Masamune.

“The lack of a signature likely makes it Masamune,” Tonomo said, wiping sweat again—not post-bath perspiration but sweat from reliving that moment. “Though parts of the hamon pattern closely resemble Shintougo’s work, the bold simplicity in its form and the intense spiritual force imbued within leave no doubt it’s Masamune’s creation.” He repeated this firmly. “At any rate, he insisted on taking it to polish himself. The whole assembly fell silent—thanks to that, I managed to uphold my honor splendidly.”

Heigo swallowed his saliva and retorted, “Is that true? You’re not just teasing me, are you?”

“If you go home and check, you’ll see,” said Tonomo. “A professional appraiser wouldn’t make such a mistake. You’ve dug up something incredible.”

“I don’t understand! There’s no way that’s possible,” Heigo said, unable to suppress his agitation. “Granted, I’ve never seen a Masamune before, but I just can’t believe it’s real. Not at all.” His voice rose sharply. “And if by some chance it’s true, I’d have to return it to the original owner or pay a substantial sum—if it really is genuine, that is.”

"But you bought that yourself, didn’t you?"

“We know who originally owned it,” Heigo said as he stood up. “I’ll go meet this Taga and verify things directly. Is he still at Hirakawacho?”

“I suppose so. He said he’d do a quick foundation polish and give his reply within two or three days.”

“Anyway, I’ll go to Hirakawacho.”

Heigo rushed out of his uncle’s house.
He moved with far greater vigor than when he’d bolted from the Seizaka dormitory—and made quite a scene.
Though he normally avoided such extravagance, he hailed a street palanquin, paid an exorbitant fare, and pressed them to hurry.—Taga Kan’emon was in Hirakawacho.
Heigo avoided encountering anyone from the Mori family, had the steward summoned to the entrance hall, and declared his wish to meet Taga directly.
The steward went once to the rear quarters, returned immediately, and guided him through the garden to the tea house.

Nine

Kan'emon was a portly man in his early forties with a sturdy face and build, and sharp eyes, but his Kyoto-accented speech had a feminine quality, creating a jarringly mismatched impression.
The matter was settled simply, and Heigo received the dagger and left.

Kan'emon had not yet polished it, but he declared it was undoubtedly a Masamune and explained his reasoning.
Heigo also honestly explained the circumstances and asked what the price would be if it were indeed a Masamune work.
Kan'emon answered that if he were to issue a certificate of authenticity, it would be worth eighty-five gold coins.
He answered that if it hadn’t been retempered, it wouldn’t be valued under a hundred and fifty gold coins, but since it had undergone retempering, it would likely be around that amount.
Heigo then asked what the reimbursement amount would be if he were to compensate the original owner.
Kan’emon laughed and replied that there was likely no need, but if it would ease his conscience, twenty gold coins should suffice. “However,” he added, “this dagger is supposed to be transferred to the Kojimachi residence.”

On his way back from Hirakawacho, Heigo was tormented by various thoughts.

Because his father was keeping watch, he took the dagger back.
Taga had insisted on polishing it thoroughly, but letting that happen would mean certain confiscation by his father.
If Father demanded its surrender, his timid uncle wouldn’t refuse.
That would be like having your fried tofu snatched midair by a kite.

“Exactly like a kite stealing fried tofu,” he muttered while walking. “No way this ends well for me. Quit joking around.”

He thought he would explain the circumstances to the Hosoe family.
When they came to sell it to Seikantō, the daughter had reportedly said it was a Masamune.
Though this had been reported as such, neither the mother and daughter—nor even the late Hosoe himself—had truly believed it.
Otherwise, they would never have sold it for a mere two bu and two shu.
Therefore, now that it had been confirmed to be genuine, informing them of this fact was my natural obligation.

"But the real problem comes after telling them."
If they demand to buy it back as a family heirloom, what should I do?
There's no way I could demand eighty-five gold coins from them. While I could rightfully claim that amount as Seikantō's purchase price, given they're struggling to manage even two bu of silver, arranging three bu and two shu would likely prove difficult enough. Knowing its true value makes it bitterly disappointing to relinquish it for a mere three bu and two shu.

“This isn’t just regrettable—it’s sheer cruelty,” Heigo muttered. “Selling this could let me buy a lower samurai rank immediately. Leave home. Gain independence.”
“Besides, if I hadn’t found it, this thing would’ve stayed gathering dust in Seikantō’s corner forever. That is to say—”

Heigo stiffened suddenly, tilting his forehead upward as he shook his head violently.
An unsavory idea had surfaced in his mind.
He berated himself internally: This was unworthy of a samurai—shameful even for any ordinary person.
Yet once conceived, the notion refused to retreat.
They’ll never know if I stay silent—didn’t I uncover this through my own discernment? What’s more, this fulfills my years-long aspiration. Telling Hosoe would only complicate matters. The whisper clung obstinately—stay quiet, stay quiet.

“Hah!” He halted to steel himself. “Hah! Get a grip, you fool!”

A pedestrian coming from the opposite direction abruptly jumped aside.
Startled by Heigo’s shout—or perhaps startling himself—he began walking briskly.

Heigo wrestled with his thoughts for three days.
He would leave the house—leave it he did—but his feet simply wouldn’t carry him toward Etchūbori.
If he went to Hosoe’s place, she would surely speak courteously.
She would undoubtedly speak courteously and might even return the dagger without compensation.
I probably won’t resist that temptation—my pride’s too warped for that, he thought.
Then on the third evening, he suddenly found a solution.
It was to take both the dagger and Hosoe’s daughter as his bride.
The Hosoe family name could be perpetuated through one of their future children.
Since Koide households tended to have many offspring, two or three would likely come from him too.
Of course I’ll take her mother along with her—under those terms it should work out fine, he concluded.

"What foolish reasoning," Heigo muttered with a suddenly brightened expression. "After loving that girl so deeply, how could I have failed to notice this sooner? Greed—" He furrowed his brow, "My greed to keep the dagger took precedence. How despicable."

Tomorrow I'll go visit Hosoe.
Having made that resolution and returned home， he was immediately summoned by his father.
The one who came to inform him was his mother， who said， “Your father is terribly angry， so when you go there， apologize immediately.”
When he asked what he was angry about， she just kept saying， “It doesn’t matter—just go and apologize right away.”

Father was writing in the living room.
Heigo sat down, and Father turned toward him—just from seeing that face, he knew terrible anger simmered there.

"What did you do with the dagger?" Genba suddenly roared.

Heigo floundered. "What do you mean?" he tried deflecting.

"Don’t play dumb! You’ve got that Masamune blade—bring it here!"

"Why—no, what would you do with it?"

"This isn’t for gutter trash like you to handle! Bring it here—I’ll be keeping it!"

Heigo stammered, “That’s… problematic. That belongs to Uncle Shinshou, and besides—”

“Shut up!” Genba roared. “I know everything you’ve done.”
“Tonomo told me everything! You… You utter fool! Just bring me the dagger now!”

Heigo remained silent.

"There’s no mistaking that you have it," Genba snarled. "I went to Hiragawa-cho to learn the polishing results, but when they said it had been returned to Shinshou, I summoned Tonomo."
"Tonomo spilled everything—said it was you who took it back. There’s no denying that."

Heigo’s chest burned with anger.

——What a pathetic man.

If it were anyone else—but Uncle Shinshou had no right to speak. That was precisely what he should never have done.
What a spineless coward—no better than a rotten woman! Heigo ground his teeth.

"You listening?!" Genba roared. "When I say bring it, you bring it! Or there’ll be consequences!"

Heigo looked at his father. “What do you mean by ‘consequences’?”

“Are you talking back?”

“What do you mean by ‘consequences’?”

“I told you to bring the dagger!”

“No,” Heigo cut in, interrupting his father. “If Uncle told you everything, then you already know. That dagger is something I myself found and I myself bought. Even if you order me to hand it over, I absolutely refuse.”

"You said it! You actually said 'absolutely'!"

“There’s no need for concern—I stated,” Heigo retorted challengingly. “Now then, let us inquire. What do you mean by ‘consequences’?”

“Disowned,” Genba declared. “You’re disowned effective this instant!”

“Please state your reason.”

Just then, Mother came in, saying, “Heigo.”
Genba, as if this only served to fan the flames of his anger, bellowed at the top of his voice, “Don’t interfere!”

"If you want to hear the reason, I'll tell you! You've sullied the Koide family name and dragged our clan's honor through the mud! I know everything—every last thing you've done! I'm neither blind nor deaf!"

"What have I done?"

"Heigo," Mother said.

"Shut up!" Genba harshly rebuked his wife, then turned to Heigo and stammered, "You—from when you were this small! Selling buns and sweets—the afternoon snacks you received—for money! Then peddling old undergarments and tabi socks! Born into a 7,200-koku hatamoto household—a son not even ten years old yet! Isn't that right?"

“Oh, you...” Mother gasped, “No... it can’t be... such a thing—”

“You’re at fault too!” Genba snapped at his wife. “You coddled him because he’s the youngest—that’s what made him this way! Worse yet, he took up imitating antique dealers! I won’t soil my tongue with details, but this wretch skimmed profits from scrap dealers and ran shady antique deals! That five-ryō silver you once found and seized? He earned it through those filthy schemes!”

“Oh, Heigo!” Mother cried out in a tearful voice.

“This dagger follows the same pattern!” Genba continued, trembling. “According to Tonomo, you bought this cheap counterfeit intending to mock us all—I’ve had enough! You’re no son of mine! Keeping you here stains the Koide name—a disgrace to our clan! Get out now! Disowned!”

“Understood,” Heigo said. Though pale, his words and demeanor remained composed. “If you declare me disowned, I’ll leave. No—Mother, please stay silent. There’s one thing I must say before I go.”

“What are you—your words mean nothing!”

“Just one thing—if you’re not too afraid to hear it,” Heigo said. “I did exactly as Father accused—from the buns to the antique dealings, it’s all mostly true. But have you ever once considered why I did those things?”

“Because you lack samurai pride—because you possess no samurai essence!”

“Is that all?”

“It’s your merchant’s disposition—antique dealing matches your very nature!” Genba roared. “Now you might fabricate any justification, but mark this—had your actions been honorable, you’d offer no excuses whatsoever!”

Heigo’s face froze in shock.
As though physically slapped, he stood gaping in stunned silence before finally swallowing thickly.

“Understood,” Heigo nodded. “Understood. Then I’ll say something else. Just now, Father blamed you, Mother—said you spoiled me rotten because I’m the youngest. This is what I’ve heard nonstop from everyone since I became aware of things around me. If Elder Brother Keijirou is to be believed, being the youngest with my three-copper cheapness plus all that spoiling gave me ‘bonus flaws.’ What nonsense! Absolutely absurd! I have no memory of ever being spoiled even once since birth—starting with you, Mother.” He turned to face her. “You’ve probably forgotten, but whenever I tried to ask for something—before I could even finish saying ‘Mother, I—’ you’d cut me off with ‘No!’ without hearing me out. You may have forgotten, but I remember clearly. My brothers and sisters could beg freely—their requests usually granted. But for me alone? Every plea ended with ‘No.’ Dismissed with ‘No.’”

“I... I only...” Mother pressed her sleeve to her eyes, her voice choked. “You being the youngest child—I thought it would be bad to spoil you.”

“Grandfather and Grandmother were the same,” Heigo continued. “Grandfather would say Grandmother spoiled me, and Grandmother would say Grandfather spoiled me. That’s how you all kept saying I was being spoiled—yet not one of you ever actually spoiled me. Did you ever let me act spoiled even once, Mother? Do you have any memory of that happening even once?”

“I... I only...” Mother said again, pressing her sleeve to her eyes. “I only wanted to raise you properly.”

“That’s right, exactly right,” Heigo nodded again. “I’m not blaming you, Mother. I may be the youngest child—three-copper cheapness and all—but I was never spoiled. I just want you to understand that. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Ten

Heigo returned to his room, donned both swords, took only the dagger, and left through the inner entrance.
During that time, Mother followed him around, tearfully pleading with Father to make him apologize.
"What do you plan to do after leaving home? You have no means to survive—or do you have some plan after all?" she asked.
“I’ll be fine. Please don’t worry about me,” Heigo said. “Just as Father said—antique dealing suits my nature. I made up my mind tonight. I’ll become a dealer.”

“Oh, Heigo, what are you saying?”

“I’ll let you know once I’m settled. Well then—”

Ignoring Mother’s calls, Heigo dashed outside.
As he hurried through the evening streets, he shook his head, clicked his tongue, and muttered to himself.
He regretted not saying what he should have said while also feeling proud for having endured without saying it.

“That old man really went and said something good,” he muttered as he walked. “Never thought he could come up with such a clever remark. That ‘samurai spirit’ line really got me.”

That’s right—no need for excuses.
Even if I stated my position and refuted the old man, that would be the end of it.
All I needed was to prove through facts that my actions had been justified for me.

"I’ll become a first-rate antique dealer!" he declared fiercely under his breath. "To hell with samurai spirit! If I reach the top through my own efforts, that’s far more human than idling on a hereditary stipend like those leeches. Heh—just wait till I show you proof! That’ll make you choke on your surprise!"

Heigo first visited Seikantō.

Seibee seemed to be enjoying his evening drink.
When he heard the story, his red face lit up. “Did you do it?” he exclaimed, slapping his knee.
In a tone that suggested his own point had been proven, he urged, “Though my help may be insufficient, I’ll take care of everything. Anyway, come on in and have a celebratory drink.”
Heigo declined, saying he would come later, and asked for Hosoe’s residence.
Seibee slapped his knee again and said he’d expected that response, then instructed him to enter through the gate at the far end of the alley and take the fifth house on the left.

“But why don’t you hold off tonight? This isn’t the hour for such matters.”

“No, I’ve other business too,” Heigo said as he rose from his seat. “I’ll just go and return straightaway. We’ll speak when I come back.”

He immediately found Hosoe’s residence.

The alley was narrow and dark.
The smells of cooking from various tenement houses, mud ditches, and the pungent stench of garbage dumps hung in the air. Heigo felt hunger gnaw at him even as his stomach churned with nausea.

At the Hosoe residence, they had already closed the shutters and did not immediately open the door even upon hearing Heigo’s voice.

“I am Koide Heigo,” he repeated. “I’ve come regarding the dagger you sold the other day—the one you sold to Seikantō.”

Mino had apparently consulted her mother, for after a moment she opened the stubbornly sticking shutters and said, “Please come in.” When the door opened, there was no lattice—just an earthen floor about one shaku deep that immediately gave way to a two-tatami stepping frame. The girl set an andon lamp beside her, sat properly, and greeted him with formal etiquette.

“I apologize for visiting so late at night,” Heigo said while remaining standing. “The fact is, that dagger from the other day has been authenticated as a genuine work by Goro Masamune.”

Mino raised her eyes skeptically.
Heigo explained the general circumstances.
Speaking in a rather loud voice so that her mother—likely lying down in the back—could hear, a call came from beyond the sliding door. Mino responded and went over there.
The instruction to “Come in” was heard, and Mino looked at Heigo with a troubled expression.
The two-tatami space with its torn mats made inviting him up unthinkable. Heigo said, “Pardon me,” removed the sword from his waist, placed it down, and went to sit by the sliding door edge.

“I am Hosoe Shinobu,” came the voice from beyond the sliding door. “As I am ill, I must apologize, but please allow me to remain as I am.”

Heigo also returned the greeting.

"Regarding the dagger," Shinobu declared with ceremonial precision, "we have heard the matter here. While we are gratified to learn that what had been passed down as a Masamune has proven authentic, having once relinquished it, we maintain no further involvement with it. Please take it back without concern."

Her formal pronouncement carried an unexpectedly resolute quality that struck him like a physical blow.

This one's going to put up a real fight.

Steeling himself with this realization, Heigo stated his desire to wed Mino. In his agitated state—detailing how the dagger affair led to his disownment, his decision to abandon samurai swords for antique dealing, and his pledge to support both bride and mother-in-law—his words tumbled out in disordered bursts between stammers and verbal stumbles, yet he managed to voice every essential point.
Shinobu listened in silence until he finished, then delivered her verdict: "We cannot consent."

“Though I cannot disclose our former lord’s name, the Hosoe family maintains an unbroken lineage with a 750-koku stipend. Even reduced to ronin status and living in such poverty, we cannot possibly send our daughter to someone who would become an antique dealer. I must decline.”

“However,” Heigo retorted without thinking, “when it comes to lineage, the Koide family has been hatamoto since Mikawa.”

“Your family may be such, but though born into that house, you have been disowned. To put it plainly, you should no longer be able to invoke a lineage dating back to Mikawa.”

"What about the Hosoe family?—" The words rose to Heigo’s lips.
If they fell into poverty as ronin with no male heir, the Hosoe house would likely have no chance of restoration.
He was about to retort—Then to hell with lineage! It’s all the same!—when a faint sob came from beside him. Looking over, he saw Mino hiding her face in her sleeve.

"I apologize," Heigo finally said, restraining himself. "My approach must have been improper. I shall present this matter again at another time."

“No, I must decline,” said Shinobu. “There is no need to hear that proposal again, and I must refuse your visits as well.”

"I apologize," Heigo said to Mino.

After taking the sword and going outside, passing through the alley and emerging onto the street, Heigo went to the embankment and stopped.

"That’s—" he muttered through ragged breaths, "That’s what Father calls ‘samurai spirit,’ huh? How awful—I couldn’t make headway against it at all. This year really is my unlucky year."

He suddenly turned around.
He had sensed someone behind him, but when he turned around, Mino was approaching.
She must have followed immediately after Heigo left—when she drew near, she stopped and again covered her face with her sleeve, bursting into sobs.
She had followed him but could do nothing more—her demeanor suggesting she couldn’t even speak.
For Heigo, that sufficed.
He quickly scanned both sides of the path—(the dark embankment road held no human shadows)—then moved close to Mino and placed his hand on her shoulder.

“I have confidence in my endurance,” Heigo said. “My father was a more stubborn mule than your mother, but in any case, I’ve persevered until today at twenty-four. Do you understand?”

Mino nodded while sobbing.

“Being an antique dealer would be all right, wouldn’t it?” Heigo said.

Mino nodded again.
He was seized by the impulse to embrace the girl.
Beneath his hand, the girl’s shoulder felt too weak, small, and soft, and he gently pushed it away.

“Seikantō will be of service. Please go home now,” Heigo said. “Do take good care of your mother.”

Eleven: Yoneda's Assessment of Him

Yoneda Heizaemon said.

“Rather than becoming Yoshida’s son-in-law, Heigo ultimately made the better choice. It took three years—nearly four—to marry after Hosoe’s wife passed away, but during that time he established business connections and properly set up his shop. One might say the outcome turned out favorably after all. He endured well—likely because it was a path he loved. After all, he started from selling steamed buns! Yes, the shop name ‘Heigo’ has become quite renowned among dealers. Mr. Koide was that much of an antique enthusiast himself, but when ‘Heigo’ gained prestige, he abruptly quit his collecting hobby. Probably began fearing Heigo might outshine him—from how Mr. Koide tells it, that’s the gist. Between father and son, Heigo seems the clear victor—no, better to say he’s triumphed over the entire Koide clan. That Heigo guy—he truly saw it through.”