Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

Takaya Soujou looked toward the doctor as if urging him on while putting on his tabi socks.
Douen Kakou wore a grim expression as he meticulously wiped his fingers, then pulled the tobacco tray closer and took a puff.

“So it is as I thought,” Takaya asked.

Douen acted as though he hadn’t heard, staring fixedly at the smoke rising from his kiseru pipe.

His thick-lipped, bushy-browed face—ruddy from drink and once handsome—suddenly appeared dark and deeply wrinkled, as if he had aged decades in moments.

"There's no mistake," Douen said. "I regret to inform you there remains no doubt."

Takaya fastened his tabi sock clasps with deliberate care, straightened his posture, and met the physician's gaze.

"In that case—how long?"

Douen murmured "Indeed," his eyes drifting toward the garden before refilling his kiseru pipe with methodical precision. The rasp of burning leafpaper punctuated his next exhalation.

“Indeed,” Douen said. “It varies by person, but given how things stand, at most a year, or as soon as a hundred days... Though I doubt it would be sooner than a hundred days, I don’t believe it will be longer than a year.”

Takaya nodded.
He could clearly feel his face stiffening—a sensation as though all the blood were draining from his body, making him feel on the verge of dizziness.

“So a hundred days... that’s about three months.”

“Since it varies by individual, I naturally can’t make definitive claims,” Douen said, looking at Takaya for the first time. “Moreover, this is just my diagnosis—different doctors will diagnose differently, and the human body sometimes undergoes unexpected changes. Well, let’s just say you should proceed under that assumption.”

“Is there anything else?”

Takaya started to speak but fell silent.
Douen looked at him.
Takaya shook his head.

“No—” He evaded the question, “Then just applying that medicine will suffice?”

“If the pain worsens, I’ll prepare that medication for you,” Douen said. “If anything changes, please come see me again.”

Takaya expressed his thanks and stood up.
Afterward, Douen sent something.
In the garden overflowing with bright February sunlight, red plum blossoms bloomed serenely.

“The plum blossoms are still blooming,” Takaya said.

“That’s a wild plum,” Douen said.

After taking his leave and exiting the gate, his chest tightened as if crushed by tremendous force, his breath caught, and Takaya gasped without meaning to.

"You were supposed to be prepared," he muttered. "You must have been prepared. Have some dignity, Takaya."

He stopped and looked up at the sky.
In the clear sky, several white cotton-like clouds floated.
Takaya's eyes looked at them while seeing nothing.
A great hollow opened in his chest, and a cold wind seemed to blow straight through it.
He gasped violently again, shook his head, and started walking.

*He had to go to Tsubota.*

While thinking that to himself, Takaya walked in the opposite direction.
His gait was unsteady, as though bearing an indescribably heavy burden.
Cold clammy sweat flowed in rivulets from his forehead toward his temples.

*He had to go to Tsubota.*

He thought it again inside his head.
He was supposed to go see Yohee Tsubota in Koizumi Village about the land boundary dispute.
Yet he—even while thinking this—kept walking in the opposite direction of Koizumi Village instead, crossed Ohashi Bridge, left the main road, and turned down a back street.

The Tsuganosho Village where the Monzen estate stood could be reached more quickly by taking the back road over Pine Hill. He climbed the slope toward Pine Hill. Along the way he encountered three farmers who removed their head coverings and bowed in greeting, but Takaya—uncharacteristically—neither returned their greetings nor spared them a glance as he passed by. Pine Hill was a gently sloping hill about a hundred shaku high, covered with pine woods as its name suggested. Long ago there had supposedly been a fortress of the Nanigashi clan there, and even now the summit retained a flat area spanning about five dan steps along with traces of a dry moat and stones that appeared to have been used for paving.

Takaya, having reached the top of the slope, left the path and entered the pine woods, sitting down on the withered grass.
The north-facing slope showed no hint of green even at the roots of withered grass; ahead lay a gentle incline where thinning pine woods revealed fragments of Tsuganosho Village and, upon a modest hill, the Monzen family's tile-roofed earthen wall standing white and imposing like a fortress.
Takaya rested his elbows on his raised knees and covered his face with both hands.

"A hundred days--" he groaned; "a hundred days?"

In the pine treetops, small birds chattered noisily.
The fingers of both hands covering his face curled like hooks from anguish, and soon a sob escaped.
It was bone-chillingly despairing, with a resonance that felt crushingly oppressive.

About half an hour later, when Takaya returned to the Monzen estate, there was nothing unusual about him.

The Monzen estate was situated on a plateau at the northern edge of Tsuganosho Village. Ascending the stone steps brought one to an old nagayamon gate. Just beyond the gate stood two massive ancient cedars—their towering crowns dwarfing both the expansive front garden and the entire estate as they stretched their robust branches skyward. The samurai-style main house and the adjoining dojo had thatched roofs, while the longhouses where disciples and servants lived were tiled.

“Welcome back.”

Recognizing Takaya’s figure, Taijirou Nishiaki emerged from the dojo’s rear entrance. Still in his training attire and holding a wooden sword, his broad-faced countenance with thick eyebrows flushed with vitality. From inside the dojo, the sounds of practice could be heard.

“How did it go?”

Taijirou approached and asked.
Takaya looked quizzically at the other man.

“It’s about Tsubota,” Taijirou said. “Did you reach an agreement?”

“Well, no—” Takaya averted his eyes. “He wasn’t there. I’ll try going again properly.”

“You’re quite the burden.”

“I’m taking a break from training today.”
Takaya started walking as he said, “Sorry about this, but I’m counting on you.”

“Yaroku caught a bear cub.”
“It’s tied to the persimmon tree by the well,” Taijirou called from behind.

Takaya entered his own residence in the tenement.

The tenement formed a T-shape with two buildings—one for the servants and the other for the disciples—with seven residences lining this side, each containing two rooms. There were three others besides Takaya and Taijirou now. Takaya’s was at the southern end.—In the evening, Oshina, the maid, came from the main house to inform him about the meal. Only Takaya had the custom of taking meals in the main house (with the Monzen father and daughter). Oshina called twice at the doorway; then, from the inner room, the sound of Takaya refusing could be heard.

“I won’t eat,” he said. “Tell them I’m feeling a bit of a stomachache.”

Two

That night, Takaya could not sleep.
He tossed and writhed beneath the bedding, groaned in anguish, leapt up to pace around trembling violently, then ventured out repeatedly into the dark garden.

After day had fully broken, Katsura came to visit.

She was the only daughter of Nobutaka Monzen (Koumonosuke), eighteen years old.—A short while earlier, he had told Taijirou Nishiaki, “I’m taking a break from training,” and it seemed Katsura had come to visit after hearing this.
The moment she saw Takaya’s face, Katsura’s eyes widened in shock.
He had thick stubble with an untrimmed beard and hadn’t washed his face yet, but the haggardness evident in his face and eyes was abnormal.

“Were you feeling that unwell?”
Katsura said reproachfully, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“No, it’s nothing serious.”

“I’ll send for a doctor at once.”

“No need,” Takaya said. “It’s nothing. I’ll come pay my respects soon.”

Katsura remained silent.
Takaya's manner of speaking felt dismissive, and his eyes refused to meet hers as they normally would.
He shot a quick glance at her before coldly looking away.

Something had changed.

Katsura thought.
Holding this thought, she watched Takaya's face in silence.

"Please don't tell the Doctor—it's truly unnecessary now," Takaya said. "I'll visit him later... I heard Yaroku caught a bear cub."

He suddenly twisted his lips into an ugly grimace and left toward the inner rooms without looking at Katsura.
About half an hour later, Takaya went to the main house.

By the bedding where Nobutaka lay sleeping, Katsura was present.
She slid her hand under the quilt and began massaging her father’s feet.
When Takaya greeted him, Nobutaka looked up from his pillow and nodded with his eyes.
His complexion was ashen-black, his frame skeletal, with only his sunken eyes appearing large—eyes that held a vivid light and movement, as if to prove he still lived.

Nobutaka Monzen Koumonosuke had collapsed from a stroke two winters prior.
At that time it had been mild, but about half a year later he collapsed again, this time resulting in hemiplegia.
Having resigned himself to his condition, he decided to have Takaya marry Katsura and succeed the Monzen lineage.
They had not yet made a public announcement; after obtaining consent from Takaya and Katsura, while preparing for the formal engagement, he suffered a third stroke that left him completely paralyzed and confined to bed.

That Nobutaka was concerned about the engagement was clear to both Takaya and Katsura.
Having lost the ability to speak, Nobutaka began conveying his demands through his eyes, and Katsura swiftly grew accustomed to interpreting them.
Ever since her mother had died when she was seven, she had lived at her father’s side, sleeping and waking there while tending to his daily needs, so discerning his wants through eye movements required little time.

“It seems Father is concerned about announcing our engagement,” Katsura said to Takaya. “Since he seems terribly concerned, wouldn’t it be better to hold at least a private announcement?”

That had been in October of last year.
Takaya understood Nobutaka’s concerns and had no reason to oppose them, yet strangely found himself unable to agree to proceed immediately.

“Let’s wait until after the dedication martial arts tournament,”
Takaya said at that time.
“I will inform Master of that myself.”

Since Katsura had agreed, he told Nobutaka.
Nobutaka seemed dissatisfied.
Perhaps due to his weakened vitality, he seemed eager to see the two of them together with his own eyes sooner rather than later—even if only in form.
Thus Katsura insisted, and they began having meals together in front of Nobutaka.

“Since yesterday I’ve had a bit of a stomachache,”
After the greeting, Takaya said, “I skipped meals as a precaution. But I’m fine now—I think I’ll take today off from training as well.”

Nobutaka nodded with his eyes.
Having failed to meet Tsubota, Takaya announced his intention to try again and soon left the sickroom.

When he peeked into the dojo, Taijirou Nishiaki was conducting training.
Takaya entered and watched it for a while.
The current live-in disciples were Taijirou Nishiaki from the Asano family as the senior member, followed by Yunosuke Shoji from the Sakai family, Benzaburo Mashima from the Toda family, and Chuubei Miyahara—a country samurai from Hitachi.
Additionally there were seven commuter disciples; only Nishiaki stood apart from them all.
He was not merely senior but evidently gifted.
Takaya Soujou—who had served four years as acting instructor and was said to surpass Nobutaka—would sometimes display swordsmanship so masterful it stole one’s breath.

"Will that do?"
Takaya muttered to himself, "It should work—it should hold. There might still be one thing lacking, but there’s time to complete it."

Of course no one could hear it; his eyes remained sharply fixed on Taijirou.
However before long, Takaya grimaced deeply.
It had only been a quarter-hour, but standing still seemed to be the worst - the pain in his right leg began there.
He nonchalantly left the dojo.

The Monzen family had served the Hojo clan through martial arts since ancient times and had been granted the hereditary title of Koumonosuke for generations.
During the time of Koumonosuke Nobutsuyoshi four generations prior, they left Odawara, settled in this land, and—while engaging in farming—taught their family’s inherited Kuruma Koryu kodachi.
Currently possessing over twenty *chō* of mountain forests and more than fifteen *chōbu* of rice fields; their household finances were prosperous enough that those who sought instruction and were deemed qualified could reside within their estate and train while being provided meals.
Monzen’s kodachi was an antiquated style—already fallen out of mainstream practice and nearly forgotten—yet those who admired its old methods never ceased coming despite their small numbers.—Takaya was of course one of them.
He was the son of a rōnin and grew up in Edo before becoming an orphan at sixteen.
His father—Soujou Ichijuurou—had served as an accounts officer for the Echizen family but was forced to take responsibility and resign when corruption arose among senior officials.
After becoming a ronin—thoroughly embittered with society—Ichijuurou did nothing but drink until he died not long before or after his wife.

“If something were to happen to me...” Father had said this before his death. “Go to this person and have them read this letter—they’ll probably take you in.”

After his father’s death, he visited that person. That person was a senior official of the Echizen family, but upon reading the letter, he entrusted Takaya to Nobutaka Monzen. “Once you complete your training,” came the promise, “we will recommend you to the main house.” However, a few years later, that person too died.

Three

If that person had lived, would Takaya have served the Echizen family?
That likely wasn’t the case, for Nobutaka, who had no sons, seemed to have had his eye on him early on.

"I too had come to desire that," Takaya muttered. "I began to think I’d rather spend my whole life here than make a name for myself—was it because I’d fallen for Katsura? Yes—because I’d fallen for Katsura. If I could call her my wife and live here my whole life, I thought it wouldn’t matter if the Soujou family name died out. And yet—even though it turned out exactly as I wished—even though I was soon to wed Katsura and inherit the Monzen legacy—"

Takaya stopped in front of the bear cub.

It was a round, tumbling bear cub like a black fur ball.
Fitted with a thick collar and tethered by a chain to a persimmon tree, it played fiercely alone.
Perhaps someone had given it as a toy; facing a pine firewood log about two feet long, it growled menacingly, pressed it down with its paw to bite, retreated backward, then suddenly leapt at it.
And occasionally—in an intensely boastful manner—it glanced sideways at Takaya.

“This one’s been caught and chained up,” Takaya muttered to the bear cub. “But you could chew through those chains and escape—listen here, little one, you could get away. I’m not wearing any collar or shackles, yet I’m trapped all the same. The chain binding me might be invisible, but there’s no breaking it no matter what I do. I can’t escape.”

The invisible chain seemed to constrict him with tremendous force—in reality.
Takaya gasped heavily—to fight against the tormenting impulse—and while taking deep, labored breaths, he left that place and began walking toward his residence.

Three days later, Takaya went out to Koizumi Village, completed his errand, and returned.

Yohee Tsubota of Koizumi Village was an established large landowner, but after becoming the current Tsubota about ten years prior and beginning service as financial agent for the Matsudaira family, he suddenly grew tyrannical, instigating border disputes everywhere his holdings adjoined others.
He cloaked himself in the lord’s authority, and in practice, two or three samurai retainers (seemingly bribed) constantly accompanied him.
It had been heard that most would end up tearfully surrendering—then last spring, trouble finally arose even on the Monzen estate.
In a place called Nishiyama, which adjoins the north of Koizumi Village, there was a rice field owned by the Monzen family, approximately 2 chō and 5 tan in area.
The land had belonged to the Kouno family—the natal home of Nobutaka’s deceased wife (Katsura’s mother)—but about ten years ago, when the Kouno were nearing bankruptcy, the Monzen purchased it and left it under their management.
Tsubota’s tenant farmers had entered that land without permission, arbitrarily erecting boundary markers in unauthorized locations and illegally altering the weir’s waterways.
Of course, since it had been done deliberately, even if Kouno complained, it would be futile.
Thereupon, Magono Magoemon, the Monzen family’s steward, went to negotiate and did so repeatedly.
As a result, both parties appeared at the domain’s district magistrate office, compared the tax ledgers, restored the boundaries to their original state, and erected markers.
This occurred in late January of this year, when the district magistrate, both parties, and a third party exchanged a written pledge stating, “We shall not cross the boundaries henceforth.”
Magono Magoemon seemed to have carelessly done so; Takaya later heard about it and thought it problematic.
The disturbance of the boundary was Tsubota’s responsibility, and since they were the victims, there was no reason for them to present such a document.
If any problems were to arise in the future and the other party were to misuse that written pledge, it could imply that their side was also at fault.
Therefore, Takaya had gone there, explained the reason, and retrieved the written pledge.

Fortunately, he was able to meet Tsubota Yohee and retrieved it with unexpected ease, but two samurai were by his side and made derisive remarks.
The aforementioned retainers of the Matsudaira family were Daidouji Kujuurou and Hino Kazuemon; Hino had once studied at the Monzen dojo.
Due to his misconduct, he had been effectively expelled after about half a year, and even now seemed to harbor resentment over it—during his conversation with Yohee, he glared maliciously, sneered, and turned toward the man called Daidouji to—

“Do you think a mere scrap of paper will be of any use?”

He said such things in a loud voice.
But of course, Takaya did not dignify them with a response; he completed his errand and returned.

After returning from Koizumi Village, Takaya began attending the dojo again and taking meals in the main house; his daily life returned to its former routine.
However, Takaya’s training of Taijirou became noticeably more enthusiastic and strict than before.
Moreover, though no one noticed this, his attitude toward Katsura began to change, growing increasingly distant and coldly indifferent.

There must be some reason.

Katsura paid close attention with that thought in mind, but she simply couldn’t find anything specific.
She even tried asking him indirectly, but Takaya never gave a proper response.

Could he have come to dislike me?

Even such suspicions began to arise.
When considering her father—bedridden with no hope of recovery—and the future of the Monzen family, it was difficult to endure such suspicions for long.
Katsura could no longer endure it and resolved to consult Taijirou.

One night in mid-March—Katsura met Taijirou in the backyard.
There was a pond fed by water drawn from the mountain behind, with two benches and a pavilion by its shore; the two met there at the pavilion.
It was a cloudy night with a warm temperature, and in the pitch-dark tea fields, the chirping of ground insects could be heard.

Taijirou listened to Katsura’s story.
He didn’t seem to fully grasp her concerns.

“Is that so? I hadn’t noticed,” Taijirou said. “How exactly has he changed?”

“How should I put it?”
Katsura shook her head impatiently, “I don’t know how to put it—I can’t put it into words. That’s why I’m all the more worried.”

“Actually—this might be unrelated,” Taijirou said, “but there’s something that doesn’t sit right with me too—no, it’s nothing major. It’s about my training. You may not be aware, but for over half a year now, I’ve been training under others instead of Mr. Soujou.”
“From Mr. Soujou, it used to be just occasional verbal corrections, but for about twenty days now, he’s been training me daily—and in a way that’s more thorough and far stricter than ever before.”

“Mr. Nishiaki, don’t you find that strange?”

“I don’t know.”

“Didn’t it occur to you that there might be some reason?”

“Wait.”
Taijirou said, “I hadn’t considered such things—but wait a moment.”

At that moment, Takaya approached from the direction of the back gate.

Four

Takaya had just returned from the Monzen family's family temple at that time.

He went to meet Priest Mugen at Kouunji Temple. He had often received teachings from that elderly priest of the Rinzai sect. He had sat in the zendo and attended lectures. He thought that if he met and spoke with the priest, he might be saved from that anguish.

That's right—just meeting Priest Mugen might allow me to overcome this anguish.

And he visited the abbot's quarters at Kouunji Temple.

The old priest brewed tea and roasted chestnuts himself to entertain him.
Takaya couldn't say anything.
Priest Mugen was an extraordinary writer, but he was someone with no connection to him.
He was someone far removed, with no connection to his anguish.
While sitting face-to-face with Mugen, Takaya recalled how the priest had once spoken about "the gateway of life and death."

Blossoms scatter; leaves fall.

The old priest had transcended life and death.
He too had broken through that critical juncture alongside him.
There is life; there is death.
Blossoms scatter and leaves fall—death being a perfectly natural thing. He had believed himself to have grasped that transcendent state.
Yet now, facing Priest Mugen, he understood the terror’s true depth—how vast, how irredeemable.

That’s right—the priest couldn’t fathom this dread. Even if he did, he’d be powerless against it.

He stayed in the abbot’s quarters for only a short while before taking his leave.

After returning to the Monzen residence, entering through the back gate, and walking through the tea fields, Takaya detected voices conversing near the pond.
He stopped and listened intently.
Then he quietly moved closer.

"That's right—in the dead of night," Taijirou was saying. "Sometimes it lasted till dawn."

"Does he seem that tormented?"
It was Katsura's voice.

“He seems to be in terrible pain.”
“I thought I was just tossing and turning from exhaustion,” Taijirou said, “but after hearing what you said—”

Takaya called out “Who’s there?” as he strode toward the pavilion.
The two sprang apart as if startled.

“What are you doing here at this hour?” Takaya said. “Who’s there?”

Though it was dark night, as he drew closer he could make out their figures—Taijirou stammered.
Takaya came and stood before the two.

“Young lady—” Takaya said, “You’re Nishiaki. A secret tryst?”

Katsura let out an “Ah!”

Taijirou stepped forward as if to shield Katsura.

“An excuse? Try saying it,” Takaya said. “Young lady, go home. Leave.”

“Please wait, let me speak,” Katsura said. “Mr. Nishiaki isn’t at fault. I asked him to come here.”

“Go inside the house!” Takaya shouted.

“Please listen.”
“You’re misunderstanding,” Taijirou said. “A secret rendezvous? That’s absurd. We were just now—”

“Mr. Nishiaki,” Katsura interrupted.

Taijirou fell silent.
That was something that must not be said.
Takaya silently watched the two of them.

For an extremely brief moment，an oppressive，awkward silence weighed down on the three of them．

“Go into the house，”Takaya said to Katsura，“go in before someone sees you．”

“Please go，”Taijirou also said to Katsura，“the rest will be fine，so please．．．”

Katsura left toward the main house. After walking four or five ken, she seemed to burst into tears but hurried away without stopping. When Katsura had left, Takaya also started walking.

“Please don’t misunderstand.”
“There’s no need to even mention the young lady,” Taijirou said while following Takaya, “and you know whether I’m the kind of person who would do such a thing.”

“I know, I tell you.”

“Please.”
Taijirou said, “It was wrong for us to be talking here at night, but there was a reason we couldn’t do otherwise.”

“I know, I tell you.”
“Stop it,” Takaya said. “Who can know a person’s true heart? What manner of man you are—I neither know nor care to find out. Just cease these disgraceful displays within these walls.”

“You’ve lost your senses.”

“Shut up!”
Takaya halted and shouted, “You—dare criticize me? You who hide your own misdeeds while pointing fingers at mine?”

“That’s not it, I was just—”

“Speak.”
Takaya shouted, “Try saying it—what I’ve done wrong! Go on, say it, Nishiaki—you won’t speak?”

“Stop.”
Taijirou lowered his head.

“You can’t say it, can you?”

“I’ll stop for now,” Taijirou said. “Since it seems you won’t understand even if I explain. I’ll bring it up again tomorrow.”

“Forgive me,” Takaya said. “Don’t ever bring this up again—I’ve had enough.”

And then he briskly left the spot.

Takaya shuddered when he found himself alone.
Even after getting into bed, he would shudder upon remembering, let out groans, and then mutter questions and answers to himself.

"That was for the best. It was a good opportunity."
"It might have been a benefit from going to Kouunji Temple."
Takaya kept his eyes closed as he muttered—an extremely quiet, whisper-like muttering—"Of course that was acceptable. Don't be ashamed. You must have felt jealous. Thankfully, you felt jealous. Jealousy is ugly. Jealousy is ugly and base. Never forget the jealousy you felt then. Become more despicable. More—that Taijirou bastard."
Takaya shook his head on his pillow. “I can become that—I’ll show you how thoroughly despicable I can be. For Katsura, contempt would surely be easier than hopeless sorrow. And for my own sake as well.”

From the corners of his closed eyes, a tear traced a threadlike line onto the pillow.
His throat clogged with a sob.

Takaya began to change visibly.

When training Taijirou, his ferocity and mercilessness were absolute: if even the slightest thing displeased him, he would berate Taijirou without listening, and no matter how exhausted Taijirou became, he wouldn’t let him stop practicing until he himself was satisfied.
Of course, he wasn’t the only one sparring with him—he had Shouji Yuunosuke, Masushima Bensaburou, and Miyahara Chuubei take turns as partners too, staying to harshly correct them. Moreover, as days passed, he himself took up the wooden sword less frequently, usually having the three serve as opponents.
Given these circumstances, Taijirou’s overwork gradually accumulated, and when April arrived, the depletion of his physical strength became noticeable.

V

Taijirou did not voice any protest.
He had become obstinate, seeming to think, *I’ll keep going until I collapse.*
However, the three men seemed unable to bear watching any longer; one day, they refused to spar with Taijirou.

“Why?” asked Takaya.

“You must understand the reason.”
“Look at Mr. Nishiaki’s condition,” Miyahara Chuubei said. “This is too cruel. We refuse to wear him down any further.”

“Stop it,” Taijirou said. “I’m not tired, I tell you.”

“No, we refuse.”

“Listen well,” Takaya said. “Have you forgotten about the dedication martial arts tournament this October?”

“I know,” answered Miyahara Chuubei.

“The once-every-five-years dedication martial arts tournament is an important event to demonstrate to society the legitimacy of Kuruma Koryū. Especially since Master is ill, we cannot afford any lapse in preparedness—it would be inexcusable. This year above all, we must win no matter what it takes.”

“However,” Masushima Bensaburou said, “the acting instructor will be participating in that match, won’t he?”

“What matters is skill, not seating order.”

“But isn’t it the acting instructor?”

“If Master were well, Master would make the nomination,” Takaya said, “however, it remains unchanged that the most skilled fighter participates in the match. Nishiaki excels not just in rank but in skill. Nishiaki should train for the match—he bears the responsibility to train for participating in the match.”

“So you’ve understood the reason now,” Taijirou Nishiaki said to the three. They kept their gazes averted from Takaya and spoke in tones suggesting they didn’t believe his words. “Let’s continue,” Taijirou said. “It’s Shouji’s turn now. Don’t worry about me—I’ll hold up.”

And he took up the wooden sword again.

That night, Taijirou met Katsura.
The two had an opportunity to meet once every seven days.
Once every seven days, Takaya would go to the castle town on errands; after training ended, he typically left around four o'clock and returned past nine.
That day too, since Takaya had gone out, the two met after dusk.
At the northern corner of the estate stood a shrine called "Monzen Myoujin," where the clan's deity was enshrined.
Since it was surrounded by cedar groves and people seldom approached, Katsura had chosen that place as their meeting spot.

That evening, Katsura was applying makeup.
The warm April evening air was scented with her sweet fragrance.

“How was it?” Taijirou asked first. “Did you manage to find out?”

“It didn’t work.”

“What happened?”

Katsura spoke.
She had tried three times so far to track down where Takaya was going.
She had wanted to properly ascertain—once every seven days—what exactly he was going to do in the castle town and what business he had there.
So she had her servant Yaroku follow him, but Takaya borrowed a horse at the highway entrance and rode off.
Since following on horseback was impossible, the previous time she had someone go ahead and wait at the East Gate of the castle town.

“Yaroku kept waiting, but he never appeared,” Katsura said. “Since he was certainly traveling along the highway on horseback, there’s no way he wouldn’t have been spotted if we waited at the gate...”

“Then perhaps his destination wasn’t the castle town after all.”

“I’ve had enough—I’ve resolved to abandon this,” Katsura said. “Even without confirmation, I can surmise well enough. Counting since February, it’s been nine instances now, hasn’t it? However scatterbrained I might be, I can envision what’s occurring.”

“This is what I think.”

Taijirou began to speak but faltered.
Katsura asked, “What do you think?”
Then again, the fragrance wafted from her body.
Taijirou recounted the incident from that afternoon at the dojo.

“I can’t believe it,” Katsura shook her head, “that it’s for the dedication martial arts tournament. I just can’t accept that.”

“This is what I think.”
Taijirou said, “Mr. Soujou is misunderstanding what happened that night. If we had said we were talking about him out of concern, that would have been better—but we couldn’t say it then. Even when we tried to explain later, he wouldn’t listen... Or if he did listen, he might have thought it was just an excuse... I think there are probably various reasons for that.”

“But that was in March,” Katsura said. “He started acting differently before that. His visits to the castle town began in early February.”

Taijirou nodded.
The change in Takaya's attitude toward him had become markedly pronounced since that night.
He had thought it was jealousy born from misunderstanding—and on that point still believed himself not mistaken—but what Katsura said was also true.
Takaya had started changing even before that; he had begun changing toward her too, and had resumed training himself—something long neglected.

"What am I to do?" Katsura said. "Father could pass at any moment. He has pulled away—completely pulled away now—Mr. Nishiaki. What will become of me?"

“Please don’t think that way.”

Taijirou said unsteadily.
He desperately restrained himself.
Katsura looked up at him and let out a panting breath.
Taijirou swallowed saliva.

“Please don’t press so hard.”
He stammered, “I’ll confront him once. I’ll find the right moment to confirm the truth.”

“No, it’s no use anymore. There’s no point in doing such things now.”
Katsura sobbed, “I already understand.”

“Please—I’ll confirm it for certain.”

“Confirm what?”
Amidst her sobs, Katsura said, “What could you possibly confirm? That he’s hiding some woman somewhere?”

“You shouldn’t say such a thing, young lady.”

“No, I’m saying it.”

Katsura began to cry. “You think so too—I know you do.”

Katsura wrung her body as she cried.
Taijirou gasped and tried to reach out toward her, but bit his lip and turned aside.
A strong scent of perfume rose from Katsura’s body.

When Taijirou returned to the nagaya, Takaya was standing in front of his residence.
He usually returned much later; this was at least half a period earlier than normal.
When Taijirou saw Takaya standing before the doorway, he was suddenly overcome with a slap-like shock and intense anger.
He strode toward Takaya.

“What is it?”
Taijirou said, “Do you have some business with me?”

“The light is still on.”
Takaya pointed. “Leaving the light on while away is prohibited. If you go out, turn it off.”

Six

“Is that all?”
Taijirou said.

“That’s all.”

“You’re not saying it. There’s more you want to say.”
Taijirou challenged, “That’s not what you want to say. You must have something else. Why don’t you say it?”

“Turn off the light when you go out,” Takaya said. “That’s all I want to say.”

Takaya started walking.
Taijirou stepped forward to block his path; he couldn’t restrain himself.

“Please wait—I have something to say.”
“Let’s not have that conversation.”
“No—I’ll say it. You ought to want to hear this too.”
“I won’t listen. Move aside.”
“Is this truly final?”

“Not a chance.”

Taijirou flared up.
“Mr. Soujou,” he said, involuntarily grabbing the other’s arm.
Takaya tried to shake him off.
Taijirou yanked the arm forcefully.
Then Takaya let out a pained cry of “Ah!” and collapsed sideways, completely losing his strength.
Taijirou was startled, his excitement cooling at once.
There was a sharp ring of pain in the cry, and the body felt through the arm offered no resistance.
Without any resistance, Takaya collapsed, keeping his right foot quickly drawn up as he placed his hands on the ground.
Taijirou cooled from his excitement as if doused with water and tried to help him up by offering a hand.

“Please forgive me,” Taijirou said. “I didn’t mean to be rough.”
“I’m drunk.”

“I’m sorry.”
Taijirou flustered. “I just lost my temper—did I hurt you somewhere?”

“I’m a bit drunk.”
Takaya finally stood up. “That’s enough. I’m fine.”

And he turned his face away and started walking.
His gait was terribly unstable, as if dragging his right leg.

“Mr. Soujou.”
Taijirou called out.

“Let’s do it tomorrow.”

Takaya departed toward his residence.
Taijirou watched him leave, seized by an indescribable turmoil of emotions.
The sweet scent of spices in the dark cedar grove and Katsura’s fiery gasps overlapped with Takaya’s all-too-fragile collapsed figure, then drifted apart again, seeming to agitate his thoughts.

“Let’s do it tomorrow,” Taijirou muttered. “That’s right—maybe something will become clear by tomorrow.”

However, even when the next day came, there was no change in Takaya's attitude.

The only thing he noticed was that Takaya's movements were somehow lacking in strength, and upon closer inspection, he walked with a slight drag of his right foot.
Moreover, despite it already being mid-April, he always wore tabi socks.
Even when going to the dojo, he wouldn't take them off, and wore his training hakama with the hems pulled down so that they almost concealed his ankles.

Had he sprained his ankle when he fell back then?

Taijirou thought so.
But he also felt it might have been that way since long before.

There's something—there's definitely something.

He began keeping constant watch over Takaya's condition.

A few days later, a messenger arrived from Kawano in Nishiyama Village with news that Tsubota's tenant farmers had caused trouble again.
Taijirou went to Nishiyama with steward Magonoemon Matano as Takaya had instructed.
Then, after seeing how blatantly the property boundaries were being ignored, the next day Taijirou went alone to negotiate at Tsubota's place in Koizumi Village.
At Tsubota's residence, the master was away, and they kept repeating, "We know nothing about that."

“We can’t afford to stay passive.”
Taijirou reported to Takaya, “Tomorrow I’ll stop by the magistrate’s office and bring officials along with me.”

“That should be fine.”
Takaya nodded. “At Tsubota’s place, people from the Matsudaira family often come around. One of them’s a nasty piece of work who used to train at this dojo.”

“It must be Hino Kazuemon. I know he was expelled, and I even met him at Tsubota yesterday.”

“Didn’t he try to pick a fight?”

“I didn’t engage them there.”

“I want to go myself,” Takaya said. “He’s thoroughly dangerous—but bringing officials might work.”

“I’ll be fine. I won’t start any fights.”

The next day, Taijirou returned and reported, “The negotiations went well.” He guided the magistrate officials to the site, showed them that the property boundaries had been violated, and then went to Tsubota. At Tsubota’s place, the master Yohee came out to apologize and reportedly answered, “It must be some kind of mistake, so I’ll have the tenant farmers stop immediately.”

“I’ll go check tomorrow and report back.”
“I’ll confirm whether they’ll really do it,” Taijirou added. “If they don’t, I’ll head straight to Tsubota.”
Taijirou seemed fired up.

Takaya felt uneasy.
He hoped no mistakes would occur given Taijirou’s excessive eagerness.
However, when Taijirou returned that day after verifying the situation, he simply stated, “I’ve confirmed everything. It should be fine.”
His manner was so thoroughly nonchalant that there remained no opening to interrogate him about the details.
He added.

“Just to be safe, I’ll go check again, but I think that should be fine.”

Takaya nodded in acknowledgment.

That evening, Takaya went out to the castle town.
Since he couldn't walk long distances, he borrowed a horse at the cart shop by the highway entrance.
To avoid being seen by acquaintances, he crossed the bridge, detoured from the middle of the raised path onto backstreets, entered town through the samurai residence district, left his horse at a restaurant called Fujijuu in Okeyamachi district, and walked from there to Kakou Douen's house.—Though people would eventually learn of it (and that time wasn't far off), he didn't want anyone knowing until "that moment" arrived.
Day and night, the terror and despair that seized him and would not let go could be understood by no one but him.
Having it discovered and being pitied or sympathized with would only double his pain.
No matter what he did, he endeavored to prevent that fact from being known.

After receiving treatment and getting his medicine, Takaya returned to Fujijuu and drank sake.
About half a month ago, the affected area had begun to hurt, and he had started using medicine to stop the pain.

“When this medicine reaches double the dose,” Douen said, “I’m sorry, but please resign yourself.”

The meaning of resignation was clear.
While drinking sake, Takaya noticed that the dose he’d received that day had undeniably grown.

“If they don’t come, I’ll storm in myself. This time I’ll finish it.”

He could hear customers talking in the adjacent room.
About three people seemed to be there—already drunk by the sound of it, their voices raised and carrying straight through to where he sat.

I have to get drunk.

Takaya gulped down the drink using the lid of his soup bowl.

Seven

He had been told it could be as little as one hundred days.
Nearly seventy of those one hundred days had already passed, and the symptoms the doctor had predicted were progressing almost exactly as foretold.
Trying to forget that, Takaya gulped it down violently.

“There’s probably no need for that,” the customer next door said, “but I’ll keep it covered just in case.”

“We can’t afford to be careless. As it stands, they’re using him as practically second only to the master now.”

“Nah, a life-or-death duel’s different business,” another voice cut in. “Dojo spars and real blade work ain’t the same beast. Just wait—you’ll get your show soon enough.”

Takaya turned toward the sliding door.
The voices could be heard from just beyond that sliding door.
Takaya stopped drinking and strained his ears.

“Then I’ll head back first,” one of them said. “I’ll go to Miura now to coordinate. The time was set for ten o’clock, right?”

“It’s quite a way to Pine Hill, so yeah,” said a different voice (he recognized that voice), “how about coming to Tsubota’s before nine?”

He recognized that voice.
Takaya knew it was Kazuemon Hino’s voice.
And from their fragmentary conversation, Takaya keenly pieced together a certain situation.

A life-or-death duel.
Second only to the master.
At Pine Hill. Ten o'clock.
Go to Tsubota.

Takaya tried to recall Taijirou’s demeanor from that afternoon.
There had been nothing suspicious about his demeanor. "That should be fine," he had said.
“Just to be safe, I’ll go check again, but”
He had said it quite plainly.
There wasn’t the slightest indication that anything had happened.
"But how does that prove anything?"
Takaya said to himself, "He went to Nishiyama.
Couldn’t we consider that he met Hino and the others there and couldn’t avoid the fight that was forced upon him?"

Takaya listened to the neighboring conversation a while longer. Then he paid the bill and led the horse outside. Because he had left the sake unfinished, when he walked a short distance, the affected area began to hurt. He took out the medicine pouch and put two doses of powdered medicine into his mouth. The powdered medicine was bitter and carried a nauseating smell; Takaya slowly moistened it on his tongue with saliva before swallowing it down.—At a busy street corner where people came and went, he stood holding the horse’s reins. The medicine would make his lower body go numb after about an hour. He wanted to return before then. Judging from the conversation next door, they too seemed about to leave—he had gone out ahead of them—but even so, he still had to wait about a quarter of an hour.

The two came out holding a lantern marked "Fujijū".
Takaya recognized them and mounted his horse.
The two who had exited the teahouse did not come this way, instead turning toward the samurai residences.
Takaya quietly advanced his horse and caught up with them halfway down the side street.
The two heard the sound of hooves and moved slightly to the left.
Takaya stopped the horse there.
The two raised their lantern and looked toward him.

“Move aside—”
Kujuurou Daidouji said, “Oh, it’s Monzen’s Soujou.”

“I am Soujou Takaya,” he said from horseback.

“What do you want?”

“Are you calling off the duel?” Kazuemon Hino said.

So it was true after all, Takaya thought.

"No, it's a change of time," Takaya said. "At ten o'clock people might interfere. I want to make it earlier in the morning."

"You planning to back him up?"

“It’s just me,” Takaya said. “Nishiaki won’t come—it’s just me.”

“What time in the early morning?” Kazuemon said.

“At four it’ll be light—how about four?”

The two men exchanged glances.
“Fine,” Kazuemon said. “Four o’clock tomorrow morning at the fort ruins on Pine Hill.”
Takaya turned his horse around.

That night, Takaya wrote two letters.
One to Koumonosuke Nobutaka, and one to Nishiaki Taijirou.
Then he went outside and headed to the bear cub’s cage.
Not long after that incident,Yaroku had made a cage,and the bear cub had been placed inside it.

“Hey, what’s up, little one? You okay?”

Takaya knelt before the cage.
The bear cub appeared to have been asleep.
But it soon opened its eyes—perhaps thinking food was coming—and rattled the cage with a growling throat.

“I’ll send you back to your mother,” Takaya said. “I’m going back to my parents—probably will have to go back. So I’ll let you go home too. Got it, little one?”

The cage door was bound with wisteria vines. Takaya drew his short sword, cut through them, and opened the door. The bear cub came out and looked up at him. Its eyes glowed bluish-white in the dark. Apparently intending to play, it let out a threatening growl and leaped at his feet.

"Don't mess around—go home," Takaya said as he stood up. "Alright, time to head back to the mountains, little one. This way."

When Takaya began walking, the cub followed playfully behind him. He passed through the tea fields and released it through a gap in the back hedge. Beyond lay thickets merging into mountain woods. After listening intently until the sounds of rustling undergrowth faded into the distance, Takaya returned to knock at the servants' quarters and summon Yaroku. The servant appeared wearing a hanten coat over his sleepwear, having evidently been roused from bed.

“Come here.”

Takaya moved away from the servants’ quarters.
Yaroku followed in silence.
Takaya took out a sealed letter from his breast pocket and handed it to Yaroku.

“At seven tomorrow morning, give this to Nishiaki,” Takaya said. “I have business and need to leave early. Don’t do it before seven. Hand it over exactly at seven. Understood?”

“Understood,” Yaroku answered.

“Don’t tell the others,” Takaya said. “Got it? Seven o’clock.”

“I’ll hand it over at seven o’clock.”
“Sorry for waking you.”

Yaroku returned to the servants' quarters, and Takaya went back to his residence.
He tidied up the room completely and burned unnecessary items.
He straightened the desk, placed the sealed letter addressed to Nobutaka, and then lay down in his clothes.
His mind was calm.
Since that day in February when Douen had delivered his diagnosis, he had never felt this calm.
The time when his medicine would wear off had passed, but strangely, there was no sign of pain arising, and he even managed to sleep for a short while.

Before three o'clock in the morning, Takaya bathed and prepared himself.
He took two doses of medicine at once, burned incense, and sat quietly for a short while.

"This should do," Takaya finally muttered. "Yes, this is right."
He stood up and extinguished the lamp.

Eight

A thick mist swayed across the ground, and a pale moon hung in the sky.
Just before cresting the slope, Takaya dismounted and tethered his horse.
There he methodically readied himself.
He fastened his tasuki sash, tightened his sweatband, adjusted his hakama’s thigh ties, and checked his straw sandal cords.
From his right ankle downward, numbness had erased all sensation.
This meant he couldn’t firmly plant that foot or make swift leaps.
Applying forceful pressure risked snapping the bone somewhere in his shin.
The disease had ravaged his right leg’s bones, leaving them brittle as rotted timber.
Takaya carefully tested his footing before ascending the slope through pine trees rather than taking the path.

He was considerably early for the appointed time—they likely hadn’t arrived yet. As he reached the summit with this thought, he heard a horse whinnying behind him. It was the horse he had just tethered; as if mourning their parting, it let out three successive neighs. Takaya turned around. Not toward the horse, but trying once more to glimpse the Monzen estate—yet the mist appeared thicker than before, blurring his vision in a hazy gray that swallowed both the mansion’s white walls and the landmark fir trees.

“Goodbye, Katsura,” Takaya murmured under his breath. “May you find happiness—”

He moved toward the fort ruins.
Though the slope he had climbed remained dimly lit, the flattened area beyond lay fully brightened, with mist only crawling along the ground.
Takaya tilted his head back toward the western sky and saw the pallid moon stripped of its glow.

Near the path approaching the fort ruins, Hino and Daidouji stood.

They had come.
They had already arrived, heard the horse’s whinny, realized Takaya had come, and had been waiting for him to appear.
When Takaya recognized the two men, they began walking toward him.
Daidouji approached from the right, Hino from the left, closing in from about nine feet apart.

Takaya also moved forward with sliding steps.

“I see,” Hino Kazuemon said. “I see you’ve come alone. Admirable.”

Takaya advanced in silence.
Step by step, with sliding steps, quietly—the two men halted.
The distance was about four ken. Daidouji drew his sword; Hino drew his.
Daidouji Kujuurou’s sword was a slightly elongated, thick-bladed sturdy sword.
Takaya also drew.

“Listen,” Hino Kazuemon said. “Anything to say?”

Takaya kept advancing in silence.
When the distance narrowed to about two ken, he spoke.

“Kazuemon,” he said, “don’t forget the techniques I taught you.”

Hino’s lips curled back, baring his teeth.
Daidouji stepped forward from the right flank, adopting an attacking stance.
Takaya fixed Hino with a direct glare and advanced step by step.

Hino Kazuemon’s face suddenly contorted with tension.
Takaya let out a sharp cry and swung his sword rightward.
The blade seemed to fly toward Daidouji’s face as he closed the distance.
Daidouji Kujuurou recoiled backward while Hino screamed and charged.
Takaya had anticipated this exact move—Hino swung downward from overhead but collapsed mid-lunge with a shrill cry.
He fell like a felled log, clutching his flank as he tried to rise, only to groan and curl tightly on the ground.
The hand pressed against his side quickly soaked through with blood.

Daidouji was watching from a distance.
He raised his right hand high and shouted something; it seemed he was signaling to someone.
Takaya gasped.
The sound of hooves echoed on the slope.—I’ll take cover just in case—better safe than sorry.

Takaya recalled those words.
In the room adjacent to Fujijuu’s, they had spoken those words.—There were ambushers.

Takaya thought that.

The sound of hooves was coming up the slope. Daidouji moved to Takaya’s right. Takaya adjusted his stance toward that position without moving from where he stood. Then from behind came a whistling sound like a taut thread being plucked, and an arrow was shot into the left side of his back. Takaya staggered forward. Then another arrow was shot into the area above his hip bone. As Takaya dropped to his knees with a thud, Daidouji, who had lunged in, slashed at his right shoulder.

So it was a bow.

Takaya collapsed while thinking that. As he instinctively turned to avoid Daidouji’s second strike, his body lurched backward onto his back, and the arrows embedded in his chest and abdomen pierced through his internal organs. Takaya’s breath caught from the pain, and his vision dimmed. The sound of hooves and the voices of many people shouting reached him, and someone came to his side and called Takaya’s name in a strained tone.

“Nishiaki… Too soon.”
“That guy broke the agreement,” Takaya said.

Takaya opened his eyes.
Taijirou Nishiaki's face was before his eyes.
Next to Taijirou's head, he could see the white moon in the high sky.

“I forced them to tell me,” Taijirou said. “Shoji, Masushima, and I rushed here on horseback immediately, but we were a step too late. Mr. Soujou, why did you do this?”

“Calm down,” Takaya said. “What happened to Daidouji and the others?”

“He was killed, but the others escaped.”

“I want to talk with just the two of us.”

Takaya gasped and weakly waved his right hand.
Taijirou turned around. There stood Benzaburou Mashima, Chuubei Miyahara, Yuunosuke Shoji, and five other senior disciples (all armed).
They too had heard Takaya’s words, so when Taijirou gave them a look, they quietly withdrew from the spot.

“Look at my leg, the right one.”
“The reason why,” Takaya said, “is this.”

“Oh… Mr. Soujou.”

“Don’t touch it. That’s gangrene. Even untouched, this body won’t last fifty days.”

“Gangrene—the rot that consumes bone and flesh—”
Taijirou inhaled sharply. “But when—when did this sickness take hold?”

“The sentence was pronounced in February.”

Taijirou’s eyes took on an “Ah…” kind of look.

“Then—so you...”

“I think I handled it well.”

“Mr. Soujou... Was this why?”
Suddenly Taijirou’s voice trembled. “Did you go through all this because of that?”

“Don’t you think I handled it well?”

“That’s cruel—too cruel, Mr. Soujou.”

“Listen.”
Takaya spoke through labored breaths. “This body’s dying. Must carry what I can carry. Can’t say it plain anymore—here’s the truth. If I make myself repulsive, what follows will settle cleanly. In her heart... I’ll leave no lingering trace. Taijirou—I entrust her to you. The Monzen legacy... That’s yours now.”

A sob surged up in Taijirou’s throat.

“You read the letter,” Takaya said.

Taijirou nodded while crying.

“Don’t cry. This settles everything,” Takaya said. “Once reported to the district magistrate, Tsubota won’t be able to struggle anymore. I’ve been blessed with a good place to die. I—I didn’t want to die from this disease, this damnable disease.” He turned his head slightly. “Nishiaki—keep this illness secret. Burn or bury me as I am. Can you promise that?”

“I promise.”

“That’s fine.”
Takaya nodded.

“Mr. Soujou.”

“I leave her to you,” Takaya said. “The bear cub—I was the one who released it.”

Taijirou grasped Takaya’s hand.
Takaya’s breathing stopped.
Taijirou began to cry violently while gripping Takaya’s hand.

The mist was almost gone.