Pathway to Japanese Literature

One

In Bizen Province’s Okayama Domain, there was a samurai retainer named Aoji Sannojō—an archery master.
His stipend was a little over three hundred koku, and having lost both parents at an early age, he was raised under the guardianship of his uncle, Aoji Sanzaemon.
At nineteen, he inherited the family headship, and having been skilled in archery since childhood, he joined the archery unit and served.
Sannojō possessed a calm and unhurried disposition since childhood; he never showed an angry face nor once quarreled or argued with anyone.
Moreover, he was a man of remarkably few words who always turned away from idle gossip and trivial chatter.

“A rare fine day—splendid weather we’re having, isn’t it?”
“……Indeed.”
“No—I see strange clouds. It might rain—what do you think?”
“……Indeed.”
“If it rains here, accompanying on the hawking expedition would be arduous—I do hope it holds off for two or three days.”
“……Indeed” was his standard response.
Matters that were not particularly important, he would generally settle with this.
If pressed further, he would eventually fall silent without even uttering his usual “Indeed.”
Yet he was never called particularly unfriendly and was well-regarded by both superiors and subordinates—this was undoubtedly due to his innate moral character.

In amusing contrast to this was his uncle Sanzaemon.
Sanzaemon had been given the nickname "Lord Raizansa" and was impatient, prone to jumping to conclusions, with not a single trace of composure.
He gave the impression of constantly rushing about frantically and yelling at everyone.
It was precisely because of this temperament that his nephew Sannojō’s composed demeanor stood out so glaringly to him.

“Can’t you move with a bit more vigor?”
Seeing his face meant a scolding.
“Watching what you do feels like having a snail crawl down my spine.”
“Look—can’t you do that more briskly?”

He continued grumbling while working himself into a rage all alone.
To be fair, Sanzaemon had a daughter named Natsu who often took Sannojō’s side.
Natsu was four years younger than Sannojō and, while not what one would call a great beauty, was a clever girl with deep consideration for others.

One early spring, Sanzaemon stepped out onto the wide veranda and was looking at the garden when he suddenly noticed a heron resting its wings on the high branches of a pear tree at the edge of the garden and hurriedly called Sannojō.

“You called for me?”
“Look there—a heron’s perched on that pear tree’s top branches.”
“You can see it there, can’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Shoot that down from here with a single arrow.”
“And what would you have me do then?”

“What do you mean, ‘what then’?! You’ve been practicing archery for five years—I’ve yet to see what skill you’ve attained. This being a fortunate chance, I’ll assess your understanding.”
“Do it now! If you don’t hurry, it’ll escape—why are you dithering?”

Once he set his mind to something, there was no dissuading him. Urged on by his uncle’s impatience, Sannojō promptly fetched a bow and arrows.

Sannojō, who had been studying under the domain’s archery instructor since the age of thirteen and practicing for a full five years—it remained entirely unclear whether he had improved or not.
When Sanzaemon occasionally met with the instructor and asked about his progress, invariably,

The only reply he ever received was, “There is promise.”
When pressed further about where exactly this promise lay, he would reply, “There is promise in the way of the bow”—a self-evident statement, given that Sannojō was practicing archery.
Thinking these replies were mocking him, he once went to observe the practice hall himself for a while. However, Sannojō’s arrows did not hit the target at all—no matter how many he shot, they all missed. Unable to bear it any longer, Sanzaemon—

“This is astonishing!”
“It’s pitiful that he can’t hit the target even once after all that shooting. Since there’s clearly no hope, let’s have him quit.”

he said.
“Not at all—there’s no need for such concern,” the instructor replied with a calm expression, continuing as follows.

“Lord Sannojō has attended this dojo for three years now. While others have remarkably honed their skills, he alone shows no visible progress—no matter how many arrows he shoots like that, not a single one strikes the target. Yet I perceive this not as inability, but as refusal to aim.”
“Though I myself am still unskilled, as one of the instructors who has observed the disciples’ abilities, I can roughly gauge their level. When I see Lord Sannojō’s stance, it appears as though he was practically born a natural master of the bow.”
“Even though at that effective range, hitting a hundred out of a hundred shots should be expected, he has yet to land a single arrow on the target.”
“That’s precisely the point: Lord Sannojō is not training to hit targets—he is seeking to grasp the essence of the Way.”
“I cannot say how many years it will take him to fully grasp the depths of the Way, but he will undoubtedly become a peerless master before long. You must consider yourself fortunate to have such a nephew.”
Since it was the archery master’s words and there were parts that did seem reasonable, he had been convinced at the time. Yet he still couldn’t quite grasp this notion of “archery practice without hitting targets,” and had resolved to someday put his nephew’s true skill to the test.

Sannojō returned with bow and arrow. “This is where you show five years of training! Don’t falter now!”
While listening to his uncle’s urging from behind, he measured his footing and readied his bow.
From there to the pear tree at the garden’s edge measured twenty-six or twenty-seven ken—on high branches where buds had just begun to swell, the heron kept still, wings folded.
Sannojō nocked an arrow, stilled his breath briefly, then settled into stance and drew the string taut with a sharp twist.
The arrow flew swifter than thought—a keen twang cutting air—to strike precisely beneath the heron’s perch. The bird startled upward in a wingbeat storm as the shaft stood quivering in the treetop.

“You amateur! What manner of performance is this?!”
Sanzaemon’s face flushed crimson with anger.
“To miss shooting a heron—a large bird unlike sparrows or warblers—at such ideal range! You utterly hopeless amateur! What exactly have you been practicing these five years?!”
“...Ah... Truly... I’ve no excuse.”
“No excuse my ass! Your very face offends me! Chase down that bird this instant and shoot it properly! You’re confined until you do! Understood?!”
He finally erupted into full fury.
Sannojō showed no trace of shame as he wordlessly returned to his quarters. That evening, after Sanzaemon entered the living room following supper, his daughter Natsu soon slipped quietly inside.

“I cannot presume to know what Father thinks, but Lord Sannojō truly has the most gentle-hearted disposition.”
After discussing various matters, Natsu suddenly spoke as if recalling something—Ah, she means to voice another opinion about how I scolded him earlier today.
Sanzaemon had already discerned her intent but asked with feigned ignorance, “Has something happened to Sannojō?”

“Yes—at winter’s beginning last year, Lords Akao and Tanuma came with Lord Moriwaki Umonzaku to invite him to goose hunting, yet he steadfastly refused to accompany them.”
“Why would he not go?”
“When Lord Umonzaku pressed him for reasons, he replied: ‘While hunters taking life as their livelihood cannot be helped, I have always abhorred killing creatures for mere sport. I must decline.’”
“What did Lord Umonzaku say?”
“‘I cannot let “sport” pass unchallenged! Is felling birds in flight not part of archery training?’”
“When Lord Umonzaku said this,” Natsu continued, “Lord Sannojō laughed... ‘That depends on one’s inclinations. For you it may be training—for me it serves no purpose.’”
“‘To kill without purpose repulses me—thus I decline.’ That was his answer.”

Sanzaemon crossed his arms in silence.—Perhaps ordering him to shoot down the heron had been a mistake.
Having realized this, he said with a bitter smile, “Natsu, go to Sannojō and tell him he need not chase the heron anymore—comings and goings are no longer restricted. …It seems I’ve been outwitted by you again.”
Natsu’s way of shielding Sannojō had always been thus.

II

At nineteen years old when Sannojō inherited the family headship, he was promoted to the archery unit through his instructor’s recommendation.
Ikeda Mitsumasa, lord of Bizen-Okayama with a 350,000-koku fiefdom, was a ruler renowned through the ages for mastery of both literary and martial arts—though among martial disciplines he particularly favored archery. He kept a straw target beside the living quarters in his castle and often had archery unit members shoot so he might enjoy their bowstrings’ resonance. [...] Thus while joining the archery unit was considered an honor, Sannojō—having assumed his post—performed duties without distinction of any sort, executing them in an entirely ordinary manner.

One year during Mitsumasa’s residency in Okayama, he went hawking by the Asahi River and returned to the castle with an unusually large haul—so many wild geese they could be tied to his horse. Just as he was about to enter his private quarters, a voice from behind suddenly asked, “How was today’s burdock hunting?”
Turning around, he saw an unfamiliar young samurai standing beside the falconers. “Was it you who just spoke?”
Mitsumasa questioned and called out to him.
“Ah—with all due respect, it was I.”
“It seems you mentioned something about ‘burdock hunting.’ What do you mean by ‘burdock hunting’?”
“Ah—that is… how it is.”
“I do not understand. Speak more plainly.”
“Then, as Your Lordship commands, I shall explain. On each occasion when Your Lordship has gone hawking until now, there have been leftovers of goose soup.”

“Yes, that was Our command.”
“I am deeply grateful to receive it, yet what fills the soup bowl has ever been burdock alone.”
“Thus I perceived that what we call ‘goose soup’ is truly burdock soup, and Your Lordship’s hawking amounts to ‘burdock hunting.’ This being so, I inquired whether today’s hunt too had yielded plentiful burdock.”

Because he had stated it so bluntly, Mitsumasa was astonished and his attendants were alarmed.
It was customary to serve goose soup when game was taken during hawking expeditions, but even considering only the close retainers, their numbers were too great for goose meat to reach them all. Naturally, what ended up swimming in the bowls was nothing but burdock—a matter of course. To bring up such a thing now suggested the speaker was out of his senses.
However, Mitsumasa stared at the young samurai’s face before eventually nodding quietly,

“I see. That must have been disappointing until now. Fortunately, as there is abundant game today, I shall have proper goose soup prepared for you.”
He started to leave after saying this, but then asked, “What is your name?”
“With all due respect, I am Aoji Sannojō, serving in the archery unit.”
“So you are Sanzaemon’s nephew.”
“It is as Your Lordship says.”

Mitsumasa entered his private quarters and immediately summoned the attendant, instructing that every soup bowl served to the retainers must contain goose meat.
Mitsumasa himself had not thought until now that goose meat had reached every bowl.
However, what Mitsumasa realized immediately upon hearing Sannojō’s words was this: if one claims to serve goose soup, then one should serve goose soup properly; to bestow something that cannot be distributed by merely affixing its name to it and then serving an empty vessel is a mistake.
Allowing people to think, “Even if they call it goose soup, it’s just burdock again”—if such sentiments spread unchecked—could undermine trust in an entire domain’s governance.
That was precisely the point.
Sannojō’s facial expression had clearly carried that very meaning.
This became the catalyst for Sannojō’s recognition, and he soon grew so favored as to be called “His Lordship’s cherished retainer”—but it was in Mitsumasa’s ability to discern Sannojō’s true intentions from that initial remark that the magnanimity and depth of his character lay.
Mitsumasa went by the childhood name Shintarō throughout his life—Ikeda Shintarō Shōshō Mitsumasa—a man born with the qualities of a wise ruler. Whether the counsel was good or ill, he always listened to his retainers’ advice, believing this to be the duty of those who govern a nation.
Because of this disposition, he must have understood Sannojō’s single remark quite well.
However, at that time, it ended with that alone, and he had come to forget about Sannojō without even realizing it.

Some time after that, one day, Mitsumasa was reading in his morning quarters. Outside the veranda echoed the crisp twang of bowstrings as archers from the unit loosed arrows at their customary straw targets; Mitsumasa ran his eyes across the pages while listening to this rhythm when he abruptly cocked his head to one side and,

"...Hmm, I don't recognize that bowstring's resonance," he murmured.
The archers permitted to shoot there were twenty skilled men chosen from the archery unit; having listened to them daily without fail, he could usually identify each by sound alone. Though bowstrings might seem unlikely to produce distinctive tones, their resonance in fact varied remarkably depending on the archer's disposition—stubborn individuals, timid ones, the hasty, and those with ill intent: practitioners claimed such traits manifested clearly through the string's vibration.
Mitsumasa had tilted his head because the resonance he now heard differed from any before, its depth and beauty leaving him particularly astonished.

“Hmm, who could that be?” he murmured and quietly stepped out onto the veranda to look.
The one shooting a bow in the courtyard was Aoji Sannojō.—That young man looks familiar. Mitsumasa watched him for a while before finally recalling—ah, the goose soup incident—and called out with a wry smile, “Sannojō.”
Sannojō quietly lowered his bow, then knelt down and prostrated himself there.

“I don’t recall seeing you here before—when did you start coming to the garden?”
“Ah—with all due respect, today is my first time.”
“You’ve been practicing archery quite diligently, have you?”
“Indeed, with all due respect.”
Given that he had said “Indeed,” Mitsumasa expected further words to follow—but no matter how long he waited, Sannojō offered nothing more.

“Who did you study under?”
“Ah—I have received instruction from Master Instructor Yamakawa Jūrōzaemon.”
“You train quite rigorously, then?”
“Ah—… Indeed, with all due respect.”
Another “Indeed.”

“When you say ‘Indeed,’ does it mean you are quite proficient, or that you are not so much? Which is it?”
“Ah—”
Sannojō quietly raised his head but merely repeated the same phrase: “Indeed, with all due respect.”

At that moment, Mitsumasa imprinted Sannojō clearly in his mind—yet still had not witnessed the true extent of Sannojō’s archery skill.
Even during official demonstrations at the archery range, his results remained thoroughly ordinary—neither remarkable nor lacking.
Yet as Mitsumasa kept observing this mediocrity, the moment soon arrived for Sannojō to display his genuine mastery.

III

It was April of the 2nd year of Shōō (1653), when Mitsumasa was forty-three years old.

In Aki Province’s Hiroshima, Asano Mitsuaki, Left Minor Captain and lord of 420,000 koku, stopped at Okayama Castle during his sankin-kotai journey and visited Mitsumasa.
The two men were of roughly the same age and got along well.
They had been close even within Edo Castle, and it was customary for them to stay for two or three days during their sankin-kotai journeys up to and from the capital.
Shortly after the formal greetings concluded, Mitsuaki, Lord of Aki, leaned forward and said, “This time, I have brought a somewhat unusual gift. Would Your Lordship deign to accept it?”
“I am ever grateful for your thoughtful gestures,” Mitsumasa replied. “Since you, Lord of Aki, deem it a rare item, it must indeed be precious. I shall gladly accept it.”
“However,” Mitsuaki continued, “if Your Lordship accepts it, I have a request of my own—though that shall wait until after you have seen it.”
As he spoke these words, he ordered a retainer to bring into the front garden a square box-like object measuring roughly six feet on each side.
“There it is.”
“My,” Mitsumasa remarked, “another excessively bulky item. What could this be?” At Mitsuaki’s command—“Remove the covering”—one of the retainers promptly drew off the drape cloth concealing it.
What appeared was a large cage fitted with iron bars, inside which some creature was kept.

“It appears to be a furred creature.”
“Indeed, it is a wolf captured in the deep mountains known as Tenjōsan within our domain.”
“From head to tip of tail, it measures five shaku nine sun; weighs over thirteen kanme. For years, it has ravaged our lands—devouring countless cattle and horses, claiming thirteen human lives with its fangs. A rare and fearsome beast it is.”
“Ah, so this is the gift you’re bestowing?”
“Indeed.”
“And what is this request you speak of?”
“Lord of Bizen, you are esteemed in archery, and having long heard your retainers’ proud accounts, I humbly wish for you to release this wolf into the riding ground and demonstrate the dog-chasing ritual.”
Hearing this, Mitsumasa slapped his knee.
“This is intriguing—truly worthy of Lord Aki to have conceived such an excellent plan. Let us make immediate preparations and put it to the test.”
“Then I shall come to observe tomorrow.”

And that day, Mitsuaki returned to his lodgings.
Mitsumasa immediately ordered his senior retainer to prepare the small riding ground within the castle.
After all, releasing a ferocious man-eating wolf meant disaster should they miss their shots.
At the riding ground's center, they erected a circular bamboo enclosure and meticulously arranged it for mounted archers to circle [...] Meanwhile, after much deliberation over archer selection, they appointed Moriwaki Umonzaku, Akagawa Heigorō, and Kaname Shichinosuke as the three archers, formally notifying each of their roles.
The following day, upon receiving word that preparations were complete, Asano Mitsuaki, Lord of Aki, ascended to the castle and took his seat beside Mitsumasa in the erected stands [...] Flanking both sides of the curtained enclosure, elder statesmen from both clans and retainers of samurai rank or higher crowded densely in attendance.
The wolf had already been released into the bamboo enclosure but stood tensely at its center—hackles raised, fangs bared—all four paws planted firmly.

Before long, the signal drum boomed resoundingly.

The first to step forward was Akagawa Heigorō.
Wearing a hemp ceremonial dress and carrying a bow, he placed two arrows into his quiver according to protocol and rode his horse into the riding ground. After bowing toward the main stands, he flipped the right side of his shoulder garment, turned his horse’s head, and rode a full circuit around the outside of the bamboo enclosure.
He nocked his first arrow and held the second—the ceremonial life arrow—against his bow in accordance with protocol. As he galloped his horse and glanced over, the wolf remained motionless at the center of the bamboo enclosure, all four legs braced firmly. Yet having been pursued by hunters and exposed to arrows and bullets countless times before, it had already sensed that the man now drawing his bow on horseback was targeting it.
……It slightly arched its back, hackles raised in anger, ears pressed flat as it growled low—all while keeping a vigilant watch on Heigorō’s movements.
Since the wolf remained motionless, Heigorō thought to seize the moment—swiftly spurring his horse forward along the bamboo enclosure with a clatter of hooves—then straightened in the saddle, took aim, and loosed his first arrow.
The arrow flew straight toward the base of the wolf’s neck with a whizz—just as it seemed poised to strike home, the wolf twisted its body nimbly and clattered away four or five ken before halting. The arrow plunged into the ground, kicking up dust as it veered far off course.

“Darn it!” Regripping his second arrow, he wheeled left along the bamboo enclosure. The wolf stood motionless again—he took careful aim and loosed the shot.
This time at optimal range—he released as if pouncing forward, but no!
The instant he fired, the wolf fluidly twisted aside.
The arrow slammed viciously into bare earth while the wolf calmly repositioned itself across the enclosure.
Whether deemed cunning or shameless—its contemptuous bearing chilled observers to trembling disgust.

The second was Kaname Shichinosuke; he too missed both his first and second arrows.
The third to step forward was Moriwaki Umonzaku—a newly recruited retainer and son of Moriwaki Sanzaemon of the same family name, the top archer in the archery unit. [...] Clearly sensing his formidable presence, the wolf—which until now had maintained a brazen composure—changed its demeanor upon Umonzaku’s appearance, beginning to dart back and forth within the bamboo enclosure while casting furtive sideways glances.
Umonzaku had his horse circle the riding ground twice, then nocked his first arrow and sharply kicked the horse’s flank.
The wolf, startled by the movement, turned left—in that instant,

With a shout of “Hah!”, he loosed his first arrow—it whizzed past the wolf’s snout, startling the beast into leaping back in surprise. Seizing the moment, he swiftly nocked his second arrow and took careful aim.
The first arrow struck unexpectedly, startling it into leaping back—then came the second arrow loosed upon that very moment with blinding speed—everyone,
“I did it!” he leaned forward—but the wolf darted sideways in a sudden leap, retreating twelve or thirteen shaku to the right, and the arrow scraped the ground before clattering far off course.
“……How vexing!”
Umonzaku involuntarily groaned on horseback, but he could not reasonably request another attempt and withdrew dejectedly through the hushed, silent spectators.

“Well, that was an entertaining spectacle.”
The Lord of Aki smirked. “All three demonstrated admirable skill. Yet given this beast’s extraordinary nature, a single attempt proving inadequate seems only natural—nay, inevitable.”
Mitsuaki, whose patience had worn thin from constant archery boasts, chose this moment to lace his praise with derision.
For Mitsumasa too—having been the source of those very boasts—retreat now would mean intolerable loss of face.

“What nonsense! Those three were merely a preliminary display. The true archer comes now.”
“Summon Jūrōza.”
They had Yamakawa Jūrōzaemon, the archery instructor, summoned.

“Jūrōza, you did instruct an archer to kill that wolf, did you not?”
“...Hah!”
“The three who were been ordered have all failed,” Mitsumasa kept signaling with his eyes to Jūrōzaemon’s puzzled upward gaze while demanding, “Who is this true archer? What manner of man is he?”
“Ah, that is...”
Having inferred from his lord’s eye signals that he was to have someone else come forward,

“With all due respect, I believe it would be Aoji Sannojō. What would Your Lordship think?”
“Aoji… Sannojō?”
“Precisely, Your Lordship.”
Mitsumasa let out a low groan.

“This is a crucial situation. Isn’t there anyone besides Sannojō? What about Yokogawa?”
“With all due respect, I believe Sannojō remains the appropriate choice.”
Though anxious—for he knew Sannojō’s usual capabilities—Mitsumasa commanded after hearing this reaffirmation, “Summon him at once.”

They searched the seating area but found no trace of Sannojō. When they hurried to inspect the duty station, they learned he had already left the castle earlier due to being off-duty. The messenger spurred his horse in frantic haste to retrieve him.
Sannojō emerged but wore a suspicious expression upon hearing of the urgent summons,

“I was supposed to be off duty today—is there some urgent matter?”
“This concerns no trivial affair. You are aware we must slay the wolf brought by the Lord of Aki in the dog-hunting archery event?”
“Ah, that diversion—what transpired? Who struck it down?”
“Had they succeeded, we’d not be here fetching you. Akagawa, Kaname, and Moriwaki—all three failed. His Lordship’s honor now falters. You’re commanded as fourth shooter—to the castle at once.”
“Me… You would have me shoot that wolf…?” Sannojō’s lips curled in a sardonic smile.

“Though you’ve gone to great trouble, I must decline—no, I formally refuse. Kindly convey this to His Lordship.”
“Sannojō did not study archery for mere entertainment or amusement.”
“Aoji, do you truly mean that?”

The messenger’s eyes bulged in astonishment.
At that moment, Uncle Sanzaemon came galloping up on horseback from the castle.

There was a reason Aoji Sanzaemon had come chasing after the messenger to urge him on.
Upon hearing the report that he was neither at the riding ground’s spectator seats nor in the duty station—having left the castle early on account of today being his day off—Mitsumasa realized Sannojō found today’s event deeply distasteful.
Therefore, he had Sanzaemon summoned and made him relay this message: “Today’s dog-hunting archery event exists to showcase our domain’s archery honor. Its outcome bears upon the Ikeda family’s dignity—you must attend immediately.”

“If His Lordship reiterates his command thus, then refusal would indeed prove impossible. I humbly acquiesce; with utmost reverence shall I attend,” he readily agreed this time.

In the viewing gallery of the riding ground, Mitsumasa was growing increasingly irritated as he entertained the Lord of Aki.
He had already anticipated the excuses Sannojō would likely make, which was why he had deliberately sent Sanzaemon with strict instructions. Yet the uncertainty of whether he would actually come left him restless.

“Jūrōza, is there no one else?”
He asked this repeatedly, but Jūrōzaemon’s reply remained unchanged: “There is no one but Sannojō.”
Just as he was ordering another messenger to be sent, the previous one finally returned.
Upon hearing that he would come to the castle immediately, Mitsumasa let out a sigh of relief.

“Now that the dust in the riding ground appears to have settled, let us have the fourth archer demonstrate his shot for your viewing,” he said in a tone implying they had merely been pausing all along.
Though speaking of the riding ground’s dust now, the earlier dust had likely flown ten ri ahead.
Mitsuaki had indeed deduced that someone had been dispatched to summon [the archer], but maintaining propriety, he feigned ignorance,

“Indeed—then I would be honored to witness your renowned archery prowess,” he settled back into his seat.

At last, the impatiently awaited drum resounded thunderously, and Sannojō, tightening his reins on horseback, emerged.
After circling halfway around the riding ground and bowing to the front of the viewing gallery, he flipped the shoulder flap of his formal attire and quietly turned his horse’s head—but at that moment, the Lord of Aki suddenly turned back toward Mitsumasa.

“That man does not carry a life arrow.”
“……Indeed.”
Upon hearing this, Mitsumasa noticed—Sannojō held only a single arrow nocked on his bow; the quiver at his side stood empty, lacking the ceremonial second arrow.
The thought that he might have forgotten it made Mitsumasa’s stomach tighten.
Whether Sannojō noticed this absence or not, he urged his horse into a trot toward the enclosure barrier—when suddenly,

“Hyaah—!”

he let out a piercing battle cry.
The spectators, caught off guard, jerked in their seats—but the wolf appeared just as startled. It had been glaring as if to sneer *Another one?* when suddenly its ears shot upright. With a flurry of paws, it began racing around the enclosure’s interior.

Sannojō kept his horse at a steady trot along the outer edge while locking eyes with the wolf.
The beast occasionally threw sharp glares his way as it sprinted along the opposite side, its movements so fluid that its paws seemed to skim above the ground—yet Sannojō never wavered in his gaze. Matching the wolf’s pace stride for stride, he circled the barrier’s exterior twice, then a third time.
Still he made no move to nock an arrow.

——What was he thinking?——Perhaps he meant to race the wolf with his horse.
——Ah, if he kept that up, soon enough the wolf would tire and fall asleep—striking then was his secret technique. In other words, this was what the Aoji school called the "Sleep-Inducing Art."

Whispers of disapproval began to ripple through the viewing gallery.
After circling the riding ground five times and closely observing the wolf’s movements and shifts in running speed, Sannojō then once again—

“Haa—!”

No sooner had he let out a piercing scream than he suddenly spurred his horse into a gallop. Until now, they had been running at nearly the same speed, but when he abruptly picked up pace, the wolf too quickened its stride. Inside and outside the enclosure barrier, with the wolf racing like wind toward the far end, Sannojō—for the first time on horseback—re-gripped his bow and nocked an arrow.

The wolf ran; the horse ran. After completing a full circuit of the riding ground in this manner, their speeds locked into perfect synchrony—both at full gallop. The moment Sannojō had awaited was upon them. No matter how nimble the beast might be, evading at such velocity defied even divine swiftness. Judging this to be the instant, he rose in his saddle and drew the bowstring taut. After gathering focus through three measured breaths—one, two, three—he released with a sharp twang.

“He did it—!”

Right at that critical moment—
The arrow that had sliced through the air flew true, cleanly piercing the throat of the galloping wolf.

—Gyaaaagh!

With a horrific scream, even the fierce beast toppled sideways; immediately leaping back up, it thrashed about two or three times while shaking its head and kicking up a cloud of dust—before finally collapsing heavily to the ground.

“They did it! They did it! They did it!”
“Whoa—!” The spectators instinctively rose to their feet, clapping their hands and slapping their knees, their uproar showing no sign of subsiding for some time.
With an expression that suggested it was nothing out of the ordinary, Sannojō calmly draped his haori over his shoulders, guided his horse toward the front of the viewing gallery to bow, then circled the riding ground and withdrew.

“How did you find it?”
Mitsumasa was beaming with pride.

“An awe-inspiring spectacle—truly a rarity across all ages.”
The Lord of Aki, genuinely impressed, declared, “To bring down such a wolf with but a single arrow marks him as no ordinary master—and to have carried no life arrow speaks to a confidence that leaves one in awe.”
“I wish to offer a sake cup—would you not kindly summon him?”
“Then let us change seats and share a cup.”
Thereafter, they moved to the palace and held a banquet, where Sannojō was summoned before His Lordship, praised by the Lord of Aki, granted a gift, and departed the castle with an exceedingly favorable outcome.

Mitsumasa was deeply moved.
His daily conduct remained utterly ordinary and unremarkable in his duties, never betraying any hint of such skill in his bearing; whenever he competed in archery matches, he would always aim for the center of the target and act oblivious.
……Had he not encountered such an event, he might have lived out his entire life without anyone ever discovering his true ability.
Moreover, the firmness of heart that allowed him to calmly conceal his true worth—realizing that a true man of character was indeed such a person as this—Mitsumasa once again came to regard Sannojō as a man of profound refinement.

IV

However, the one who rejoiced even more was Sanzaemon. The very Sannojō whom he had constantly berated as a dawdling, indecisive fool had now staked the honor of the entire Okayama domain and splendidly fulfilled his duty—so profound was the shock and all the greater the joy. ……His colleagues too voiced their delight again and again.

“You are most fortunate to have such an admirable nephew.”
“Were it not for Lord Sannojō, His Lordship’s honor would have been lost—we of the household might have been mocked by other domains. Thanks to him, our standing remains secure.”
“Truly befitting Lord Sanzaemon’s tutelage—to have concealed such skill until today without so much as a hint—this speaks to his profound refinement.”

Praised here and there—being by nature an open-hearted old man, even he himself found it difficult to conceal his delight.

“When praised so highly, I hardly know how to respond properly. As for that, I too had long considered him a promising one, but... Well, he’s still young after all. His service is still ahead of him,” he had been saying, but having set a date for a celebratory feast, he made arrangements to invite several close associates and departed the castle.

And so, on that day.

Those invited to Sanzaemon’s residence were senior retainers Yamauchi Gonzaemon and Iki Nagato, followed by Miyata Hyōgo, Kasuya Ichirōbee, Tominaga Jizaemon, and among the younger men—Ikari Hikohachirō, Sakurai Magosaburō, and Takigawa Kōnoshin—eight individuals in total.
Iki Nagato was a man of principle who had once offended Mitsumasa and been ordered to undergo house confinement.
However, before long, Mitsumasa was to depart for Edo for his sankin-kotai duty, and when that day arrived, Nagato abruptly shaved his forelock, changed his clothes, opened the gate, and stepped outside.
To open the gate and leave during house confinement without permission was a grave crime—this could only be an act of madness.

“Get him inside now!” The retainers burst into an uproar.
Just then, as Mitsumasa’s sankin-kotai procession was already drawing near, from within, Mitsumasa—

“Nagato, Nagato,” he called out.
When his voice rang out, the procession halted as its members exchanged glances that seemed to say “Ah—we’ve been acknowledged.”
Nagato had been waiting prostrated but now glided forward until he stood near the palanquin, lowered his hands, and calmly gazed up at his lord—

“The weather today is exceptionally fine. Though presumptuous, this humble Nagato expresses his profound joy.
“Regarding affairs during Your Lordship’s absence, all members of the household have pledged to attend to matters with utmost care as always—please spare yourself any concern.
“I humbly pray for boundless fortune throughout Your Lordship’s journey.”
He delivered this address without faltering.
Mitsumasa nodded,

“I leave matters during my absence to you,” he declared with a quiet smile, having his palanquin raised.
As neither party made any mention of the house confinement, the attendants wore expressions of utter bewilderment.
Mitsumasa later explained this incident: “A senior retainer who remains confined when his lord departs for another province proves himself worthless.”
“…Had Nagato not emerged then, I would not have let matters stand.”
It is recorded that he spoke thus.

Iki Nagato was such a man.
As for another young retainer, Takigawa Kōnoshin—he was a newcomer whom Mitsumasa had recruited three years prior with a stipend of two hundred koku, twenty-eight years old, a master swordsman of the Itto-ryu school, with a temperament that suggested a short fuse and a face marked by peculiar intensity.
Though likely skilled, his considerable arrogance made him rather unpopular; however, the eccentric Sanzaemon seemed thoroughly taken with him, volunteering to act as mediator without even being asked.
Today, he had especially invited them because Iki and Yamakawa, the two senior retainers, were coming.
The guests assembled.

Before long, as the sake began to circulate, the conversation grew increasingly lively.
Naturally centered on the usual dog-hunting event—from Akagawa’s and Moriwaki’s failures to praises for Sannojō’s masterful technique of felling his target with a single arrow—words of admiration emerged ceaselessly one after another.
Though seated among them, Sannojō himself could not drink a single drop of alcohol; he had been stuffing his mouth with simmered potatoes all this time and remained silent with an expression oblivious to whose story was being told.
Before long, Takigawa Kōnoshin leaned forward.

“Indeed, your archery from two days prior was an extraordinary feat of masterful skill—one that even I found myself deeply impressed by—but there is something I wish to ask you, Mr. Aoji.”
“…Hm.”
“On that occasion, Mr. Aoji, you carried only a single arrow and did not bring a life arrow—am I mistaken in this observation?”
“…Indeed.”
“You indeed carried but a single arrow and did not bring the life arrow, did you not?”
“…Indeed it was.”
He did nothing but noisily munch on simmered potatoes, not even glancing in Takigawa Kōnoshin’s direction.

“Allow me to inquire,”
“Though I claim no particular expertise in that art, I have heard it customary in archery to always keep in reserve a second arrow called the life arrow.”
“Might I ask whether your deliberate choice to carry only the first arrow was made with some particular reasoning in mind, Mr. Aoji?”
“...Indeed.”
Sannojō gulped down the potatoes and answered without raising his eyes.
“Because I judged I could fell it with a single arrow, I brought only one.”
“Naturally.”
Kōnoshin smirked.

“I too surmised as much. However, Mr. Aoji—even if one can fell the target with a single arrow, is it not archery’s etiquette to hold a life arrow in reserve? To deliberately forgo it under the pretense of certainty strikes me as arrogance unbefitting of proper form—what say you?”

Because he himself had a habit of arrogance, others' arrogance seemed all the more conspicuous. Unaware of this flaw in himself, their praise grated on him—and with two senior officials present—he seized what seemed the perfect opportunity to assert himself. However, Sannojō did not respond and continued eating potatoes. His attitude seemed to say they could speak all they wished without affecting him. Sanzaemon, who sat beside him, grew increasingly impatient.

"Sannojō! Do you not find Lord Takigawa's words reasonable? Give a reply! A reply!"
"Yes... At once."
With a gulp, Sannojō finished eating the bowlful of potatoes cleanly and—for the first time—looked at Kōnoshin's face.

“As it is my uncle’s command, though it may be redundant, I shall answer once more.”
“If one can fell [the target] with a single arrow, what need could there be to carry a second?”
“The etiquette of archery does not lie in holding a life arrow, but in felling [the target] with a single arrow.”
“…Lady Natsu, these potatoes are ridiculously good. I’d like a second helping, please.”

“But what if you were to miss?” “No!” Sannojō passed the bowl to Natsu as he replied, “If I were to miss even by the slightest chance, then five or ten arrows would prove just as useless.”

“You may speak thus against a wolf, but what if your opponent were me? Would you still claim to fell me with a single arrow?”
“…Indeed.”
“I too possess some mastery of Ittō-ryū swordsmanship. Should I stand before your arrow and cut down the first one, what would you do without a second?”
“Or do you persist in claiming you need no life arrow?”
“…Indeed.”

Finally laughing softly while still seated,

“Still I shall engage my opponent with one arrow.”
“One arrow?
“Then you declare I cannot cut down your solitary arrow?”
“...That is so.”

“Amusing—this is amusing!”
Kōnoshin turned ashen.
His expression was anything but amused.
Veins bulging on his forehead, he planted his fist on his knee,

“I am one summoned by His Lordship through my Ittō-ryū swordsmanship. Should word spread that I cannot cut down your arrow, I would be shamed before His Lordship. We must decide this through actual combat.”
“Now wait, Mr. Takigawa.”
“No—no need for mediation! This concerns martial honor—no mediation required!”
“Be that as it may, this began as drunken words—let us not escalate matters here.”
As they moved to restrain him from both sides, Iki Nagato—who had been silently listening from the seat of honor—rebuked them all: “Now what are you stopping?”

Five

They parted ways for the day.

The next day, Takigawa Kōnoshin set the date and place.
The date was three days hence, the location at the castle’s outer firearms range, and the hour at ten in the morning.……Since Nagato—that man of renown—had spurred them on with his “There now!”, mediation had become impossible, though someone did fret that surely somebody ought to intervene.
Yet not all shared these misgivings.
Most held Sannojō’s prowess in high esteem from his showing at the dog-chasing archery event—what could a mere Takigawa possibly achieve?—Aoji’s bow stood without equal in all the realm; he would surely prevail, they declared, urging others simply to watch.
Such voices formed the majority.

The day finally arrived.

The firearms range was located at the foot of Mount Kayu, southeast of the castle and across the Asahi River—a desolate place surrounded by pine groves on three sides.

Takigawa Kōnoshin arrived earlier than the appointed time, accompanied by Sakurai Magosaburō and Ikariya Hikohachirō as his seconds.
Iki Nagato was not present, but Yamauchi Gonzaemon, Miyata Hyōgo, Tominaga Jizaemon, and Kasuya Ichirōbei arrived as examiners as promised.
……Sannojō, accompanied by his uncle Sanzaemon, appeared precisely at the appointed time.

Kōnoshin was dressed in a rinzu kimono with wide-legged hakama, a warrior headband, and a sash, wearing chainmail underneath—a formidable appearance—while Sannojō’s cotton kimono, hemp cloth short hakama, and straw sandals made for an unassuming outfit, creating a contrast so stark it bordered on the bizarre.

Since this was not a formal duel, there was no need to declare grievances; Kasuya Ichirōbei stepped forward,

“Now then, I shall outline the rules of engagement.”
“The distance shall be thirty-one normal paces.”
“Lord Aoji shall shoot a single arrow; if Lord Takigawa deflects it, victory shall be his……As this is a martial contest, regardless of outcome, neither party shall bear grudges hereafter—all present witnesses shall attest to this,” he declared.

The examiners lined up on the north side; the two men faced each other at a distance of thirty-one paces.
Sannojō took his position; slowly removing the right sleeve of his kimono, he took up his three-sectioned rattan bow and nocked an arrow while surveying the scene.
Kōnoshin drew his large sword from its sheath into a seigan stance, slightly advancing his right foot as he assumed his position.
Five breaths or more passed.

“Now!”
Kōnoshin shouted.
Sannojō wordlessly watched his opponent for a time, then swiftly raised his bow and drew it taut with a sharp, forceful twist.

The moment he saw it, the bowstring twanged, and the arrow flew like light.

“Hah!”
With Kōnoshin’s gushing scream, the large sword drew a gleaming straight line—the incoming arrow was splendidly severed from the middle and fell to the right.

“Splendid!”
Sakurai and Ikariya shouted in unison and rushed over to Kōnoshin’s side in a flurry.

“Lord Takigawa wins!”
Yamauchi Gonzaemon raised his folding fan and declared.
Sannojō quietly removed his bowstring and, while approaching the examiners,

“I am ashamed to have shown you my unskilled technique,” he said with a polite bow.
Then Kōnoshin also arrived.

“Mr. Aoji, it seems wolves and humans are indeed different.”
“Indeed, Lord Takigawa, your technique was splendid.”
“I must apologize for my discourtesy.”
“It is most fortunate you understand. Henceforth, do not neglect to prepare your life arrow.”
“The world is vast, and people come in many forms.”
“Indeed… indeed.”

Sannojō bowed as if thoroughly conceding to reason, offered greetings to the people, and departed.
Oh, how furious Sanzaemon was—

“What a disgraceful display, Sannojō!” he kept shouting while chasing after him.

When Sannojō returned to his residence, the one who greeted him at the entrance was unexpectedly his uncle’s daughter, Natsu.
She must have come because she was worried about how the match went.
Stepping down from the entrance platform and placing her hands on the floor, she looked up at Sannojō with a concerned expression.

“Welcome home, my lord.”
“Ah, I just got back.”
“What’s wrong?”
“How did the matter proceed?”
“I lost.”
Sannojō passed the bow to Natsu and said with a light laugh.
“I lost.”

And with that, he went further inside.
Natsu, holding the bow she had received, was about to follow after him when she suddenly fixed her eyes on the bow and let out a soft gasp. She turned it over and examined it intently, seemingly coming to some realization, then smiled faintly and quietly followed in Sannojō’s footsteps.
After handing the bow to a servant and entering the living room, Natsu quietly asked.

“Lord Sannojō, won’t you tell me how the match unfolded?”
“Even if I told you about how the match went, there’s no use. A woman doesn’t need to concern herself with such things. More importantly, Uncle is furious.”
“I’ll need you to smooth things over once again.”
“If you will not allow me to hear about the honorable match, then I shall not perform the mediation either.”
“Then that’s fine by me,” he replied nonchalantly.

Six

The next day, when he went to the castle, news of yesterday’s duel seemed to have spread throughout the grounds—every person he encountered pressed him with questions.

“I hear you lost to Lord Takigawa.”
“You must be bitterly disappointed.” “Was the duel unfair? Or did you yield victory willingly?”
“Don’t be absurd.”

No matter what was said to him, he brushed it off with “Sareba”—but that day, in the early afternoon,

“Lord Aoji, His Lordship summons you,” a page announced.
“Understood. I shall attend.”
“The garden, sir. I will show you the way.”

The page led the way down the corridor to the rear and descended into the garden from the cedar door entrance.
When they circled around the spring-fed pond and came out behind the artificial hill, there stood Mitsumasa’s private archery range.
A camp stool had been placed there, and Mitsumasa sat waiting.
At his side stood two pages holding a bow and a quiver at attention.

“By your summons, Lord Sannojō has arrived.”
“Approach.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I command you to serve as my archery partner.”
“You may withdraw now.”

With the pages dismissed, only Mitsumasa and Sannojō remained.
Mitsumasa took up the bow and rose.
Sannojō approached the quiver and presented an arrow—the target was a kusajishi, crafted by carving a hinoki cypress board into a deer’s neck shape and stretching cowhide over its surface.
Between the leather and backing board lay stitched cotton padding.
On the hide’s face gleamed a four-sun diameter target circle (roughly four inches), surrounded by twenty-three white stars of varying sizes painted against chestnut-brown—this was tradition. The whole structure hung from a kakewaku frame: two upright posts flanking the target, connected by a double-twisted cotton cord called semi-no-o.
The ancient standard prescribed thirteen jō for shooting distance—about thirty-nine meters.

Mitsumasa's first arrow missed the four-inch target.

"Sannojō, I command you to take up this bow."
"Understood. If that is your command, I shall humbly bring forth the bow."
"We permit it. Shoot with Our bow."
Having been handed the bow, he respectfully received it, took an arrow, and stood up.

Mitsumasa’s bow was said to require five men’s strength to draw.
By nature, Mitsumasa possessed exceptional physical power.
Sannojō typically used bows requiring only two men’s draw strength—whether he could manage this formidable weapon remained doubtful.—What would he do?
As Mitsumasa watched unblinking, Sannojō—after fixing his gaze on the target for a prolonged moment—quietly nocked an arrow and raised the bow.
His stance remained ordinary; with controlled breathing and mounting tension, he drew the bow until its rattan-wrapped grip creaked faintly, arching like a full moon.
Not once did he seem strained by the overpowering weapon.
Having drawn it completely with natural ease, he released the shot in one fluid motion.
Whoosh! The arrow flew like lightning, striking dead center of the four-inch target with a thunderous crack!
It had splendidly pierced halfway through the arrow shaft.

The target was suspended—a hinoki board wrapped in cowhide with cotton stitched inside—so even when shot with the most powerful bows, it would not be pierced.
Mitsumasa unconsciously struck his knee,

“Splendid!” he praised.
“Splendid. Come here.”
Sannojō knelt with one hand on the ground before His Lordship.

“This bow is a five-person draw—even We find it somewhat strong—yet seeing you now, you drew it effortlessly. Does it not feel strong to you?”
“With all due respect, I humbly believe it is slightly too strong for me.”

“How were you able to draw it so effortlessly? Do you possess some secret technique for handling strong bows?”
“...Sareba,” he replied deferentially.

Whenever this response emerged, Mitsumasa found his inquiries deftly parried—but long accustomed to such tactics, he refused to be diverted.
Pressing harder,

“Do not dissemble. If you hold some arcane method for drawing powerful bows, declare it now.”
“As Your Lordship insists through repeated command, I shall speak.
"In general terms, martial arts are practiced to serve Your Lordship’s needs upon the battlefield.
Even regarding archery—though one might use implements matching their skill during peaceful practice—should one’s accustomed bow break mid-battle, there exists no leisure to seek another suited to their strength. Only through wielding whatever bow lies at hand, regardless of its draw weight, may one discharge their paramount duty of service.”
“Being naturally lacking in vigor, I have ever trained with this principle in mind.”
“Beyond this lies no hidden technique worthy of the name.”

Mitsumasa had been listening in silence; he nodded and said, “I see. We understand well now.”

“I believe that single remark embodies a master’s understanding.”
“However, Sannojō—you just stated that you practice martial arts to be of service on the battlefield before me, did you not?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Then why did you quarrel with Takigawa? To risk your well-being—which should be devoted to serving before me—in some personal duel of your own making... What would you have done if you were injured?”
“This is insolent, Sannojō!”
“I most humbly beg your pardon; I earnestly beseech your clemency.”
“Takigawa is a newcomer; it falls upon you to show him due consideration. To escalate a quarrel into a duel is beyond unacceptable—have you any explanation?”

Mitsumasa had heard the details of the situation from Iki Nagato.
It had been Takigawa who instigated the quarrel, and Sannojō had never suggested taking it to a duel—the outcome lay in Takigawa’s arrogance and Nagato’s instigation. Having heard these details in full, he intended to summon and reprimand Takigawa should Sannojō provide a thorough explanation.
That was why he had deliberately pressed so severely.
However, Sannojō remained prostrate and did not attempt to offer an explanation.

“This failure lies entirely in my own carelessness. I shall henceforth exercise utmost prudence in all matters, and most humbly entreat Your Lordship’s merciful pardon on this occasion.”
“Since you recognize your error, I shall let it pass this once.”
“Takigawa is a man of peculiar disposition; you would do well to show him due consideration in your dealings.”
As Sannojō remained silent, there was nothing more to be done.
Yet Mitsumasa found this silence endearing, and swiftly drew forth a dagger to present.

“Take it. I bestow this upon you.”
“...Huh?”
“There’s no need to look so doubtful. This is your reward for felling that wolf the other day.”
“...Understood.”
“The senior retainers among themselves requested a stipend increase,” he continued, “but I declared that granting an increase for such a matter would undermine the rewards meant for battlefield achievements, and thus it could not be approved.”
“This is in its stead.”
“My deepest gratitude…”

Sannojō moved forward on his knees and received it with reverence. Unusually, at that moment, tears glistened in Sannojō’s eyes.

Seven

Thus, Sannojō’s reprimand was settled—but what of Takigawa Kōnoshin?
Kōnoshin had been constantly preoccupied with rumors ever since that incident......Three years had already passed since his recruitment at a two-hundred-koku stipend.He had assumed that upon coming to Okayama he would naturally become a kendo instructor or similar,yet no such appointment materialized.Instead,the three uneventful years slipped by as he performed ordinary mounted retainer duties.What is this?If these duties could be managed by anyone,there was no need for them to fall specifically to me.I was recruited for my Itto-ryū swordsmanship—since His Lordship took me into service he must intend to utilize Itto-ryū.To leave me doing such work was no different from burying treasure in sand.Such grievances clung incessantly to his thoughts.People who believed so utterly in themselves could never grasp others' perspectives;they viewed everything through self-centered calculations of"I,I"—making themselves the axis of all matters.

While he waited for an opportunity with his self-serving calculations, the issue of Sannojō’s single arrow arose.
Believing this to be his chance, Kōnoshin forcefully turned it into a quarrel and emerged splendidly victorious in the duel.
This time, they must have finally understood my skill—there was bound to be some official recognition.

He waited in quiet anticipation, straining to catch every whisper of rumor around him.
But five days passed, then ten days, and still there was no official notice, nor did he hear any rumors about His Lordship’s thoughts—instead, talk of Sannojō having received a dagger reached his ears.
This was the opposite of what he had long planned.
If that’s true, I can’t let this stand.
I’m the one who can’t let this stand.

Kōnoshin, growing increasingly irritated, one day encountered Sannojō in the castle’s long corridor and immediately seized him.

“If it isn’t Mr. Aoji.”
“Lord Takigawa, I must apologize for my impropriety the other day.”

“Oh? You still recall that incident from days past? How admirable.”
“How admirable that you still remember the duel’s conclusion. I had thought you might have forgotten by now.”
“Oh? You still remember that defeat, do you?”

“As you say.”
Sannojō gave a slight bow and made to leave; Kōnoshin pressed on relentlessly.

“If you recall, allow me to say this—a samurai who has suffered such a defeat ought to show a bit more humility. In a backwater like Okayama, they might tolerate silence [about your disgrace], but if this were Edo, public appearances would be unthinkable—any man with a shred of honor would find it grounds for seppuku… I hear there was some bestowal from His Lordship, but after such a defeat, surely you couldn’t shamelessly accept it? You must have declined—am I mistaken?”
“As you say—though I deemed it improper, I humbly accepted His Lordship’s gracious will.”
“What? You received it.”
“You received it?!”
Glaring hatefully with exaggeratedly wide eyes, Kōnoshin continued in a raised voice.

“Well, this is astonishing! Truly, the customs of the Okayama household are most peculiar.”
“One must possess skills truly worthy of service to receive rewards or bestowals—such is the natural order. Yet here we have someone lacking such understanding, who by some fluke felled a wolf, receiving official recognition—and then accepts it without even declining? How rare.”
“In that case, even hunters could swiftly rise to ten-thousand-koku status! Truly, yours is a household with rare customs indeed!” he declared loudly for all to hear, let out a dry laugh, and hurled every insult and humiliation he could muster.

Just then, a page hurried over and announced, “Lord Takigawa, His Lordship summons you.”

“A summons?”
“Is His Lordship summoning me?”
“His Lordship awaits at the garden pond. Make haste.”

The page promptly turned back and left.
Given the circumstances, he thought Mitsumasa must have heard his earlier words.
However, His Lordship is a wise ruler—he would surely understand my grievances.
Having heard those words just now, perhaps he had remembered me—the one he had forgotten.
In any case, this audience would be the critical moment determining my rise or fall.

While trying to interpret matters in the most favorable light, he proceeded further into the castle interior, but Mitsumasa had already begun holding a modest drinking gathering at the Spring Hall.

“Has Kōnoshin arrived?”
“Hah! I have come in response to your summons.”
“I shall appoint an opponent.” “Approach.” “Your gracious command humbles me.” “By your leave.”

Only two attending pages were by his side.
Mitsumasa deliberately relaxed, engaging in casual conversation while repeatedly refilling his cup for a time, but then, as if suddenly remembering,

“I hear you had some manner of duel with Sannojō the other day.”
Because these were precisely the words he had been waiting for, Kōnoshin set down his cup and leaned forward.

“Hah! With all due respect—since Aoji presumptuously prides himself on his meager skill—I merely demonstrated a samurai’s principles.”
“I humbly beg forgiveness for defiling your ears.”
“We have long been apprised of the matter.”
Mitsumasa turned his gaze outward while,

“But when one is young, mistakes may occur in the heat of the moment. A quarrel over drinks while in one’s cups—there’s no need to dwell on it forever. You would do well to let it go.”
“I do not consider this Your Lordship’s command.”
“What?”
“Though Your Lordship now speaks of that drinking quarrel as an insignificant matter… I serve through martial arts.”
“In matters of martial arts—whether at a drinking gathering or otherwise—I do not harbor such ambiguous resolve as to dismiss them with superficial words.”
“Is that so?”
Mitsumasa’s eyebrows drew tightly together between his brows.

“Then you claim that duel at the archery range was conducted with that same unambiguous resolve?”
“As Your Lordship says, there was no ambiguity in a match fought with martial pride. I was prepared to stake my life had things gone awry.”

“How curious. Did you not swear before my steed when entering my service that you would dedicate your life? All bonds between lord and retainer are forged through this singular death—yet you would discard the life pledged to me for mere stubborn pride?”
“But that—”
Mitsumasa pressed him hard, but Kōnoshin refused to yield.

“However, that is a matter of an entirely different principle.”
“A different principle?”
“How does it differ?”
“That is to say, for the honor of martial arts, naturally—”

“Silence, Kōnoshin! Silence!”

Mitsumasa finally lost his patience.

"You ignorant fool—you arrogantly prattle about martial arts this and that, but cutting down one or two arrows—is that such a feat? Had you taken the first head or claimed first spear in battlefield maneuvers, that would be another matter."
"What does it matter to win some fleeting match? If that’s all it took to discern a samurai’s true worth, even a blind man wouldn’t misjudge people. Earlier, when We happened to pass by and overheard, you were cornering Sannojō with your vile slander."
"You reckless fool who dared slander even Our household’s traditions—and yet you dare claim to understand true martial arts?"
With a snap of his fan against his knee came the razor-sharp edge in his voice.
Even Kōnoshin hung his head.

“I strictly reprimanded Sannojō the other day. Since you are new here, I deliberately let the matter lie unaddressed. Without even attempting to discern this consideration, you instead boast of your achievements—what an utterly hopeless fool. Go and reflect deeply on this. Until you admit your wrongdoing, I forbid you from entering the castle—mark my words.”
“……”
“Stand up. You’re an eyesore.”
Mitsumasa had never been this furious; the two pages attending him had turned ashen.

He should have apologized.
He should have expressed his deepest remorse.

Had Kōnoshin apologized then and there, Mitsumasa’s anger would have subsided—after all, Mitsumasa had recognized his worth sufficiently to newly employ him in the first place. He would not have gone through the motions of discarding two hundred koku for nothing; he had taken him on because he believed he would prove useful. Yet upon closer observation since then, while Kōnoshin’s skill in Ittō-ryū swordsmanship was indeed exceptional, his character remained coarse—utterly unfit to stand among retainers as an instructor. He needed more training.

Having reached this conclusion, he had commanded the mounted guards to observe the situation. Thus, while it would have been better for Kōnoshin to heed Mitsumasa’s words and apologize, his deeply ingrained arrogance had warped so completely that he failed to recognize this necessity—instead departing the castle with a sullen demeanor. Though Mitsumasa had rebuked him harshly, he believed that having articulated his reasoning so thoroughly, once tempers cooled, understanding would follow; he was certain an apology would soon be forthcoming.

Eight

Then, the following day, when there was some commotion outside the castle and someone was sent to investigate—

"There has been a fire at a samurai residence," it was reported.
Mid-May—by the new calendar, it would be June.
Though accidental fires know no season, this was an unusual occurrence.
Moreover, since it was a samurai residence, Mitsumasa immediately went up to the castle keep to see for himself.

To the north of the castle, near what appeared to be the edge of Nibancho district, black smoke rose into the air. Fortunately, it was a windless day—the smoke ascended straight upward—but soon flickering flames began licking at the rooftops.

“Has there still been no word from the town magistrate?”
“Yes!”
One of the attendants ran downstairs.
Then, almost at the same moment, Aoji Sannojō came up.
It appeared he had rushed here with considerable haste—sweat had soaked through to the outer layer of his garments.
“I beg to report.”

“Ah, Sannojō. You have permission—approach.”
“By your leave!”
He smoothly moved forward on his knees, but—

“A fire has broken out in Nibancho district of the castle town.”
“I see it now. Whose residence is this?”
“Before I report that，I humbly request that the room be cleared.”
He found it peculiar that he would request dismissing attendants when reporting a fire.
However，he immediately dismissed his attendants and，

“Speak. What is the matter?”
“With all due respect, the fire originated at Takigawa Kōnoshin’s residence.”
“What? Kōnoshin’s house?”
“It was truly a matter of chance, but when I happened to pass by his residence’s gate, the back entrance was shut, and before it had gathered a great crowd.”
“Upon approaching… I discovered such a thing pasted perfectly to the front gate.”
As he said this, Sannojō took a single folded paper from his breast pocket, shook it out, and quietly slid closer to present it.

“What is this?”
When Mitsumasa received it and read,

Last Testament

You cannot steer a horse with paperwork.
Though I have heard our domain’s Lord Ikeda is an undisputed wise ruler, lacking the discernment to recognize true samurai, I find it dishonorable to serve him.
Therefore, I shall present my resignation as an offering to Your Lordship.
Let not Your Lordship misjudge the world’s censure.

Takigawa Kōnoshin Hei Tomomasa

It conveyed his intent to dismiss his lord from his own initiative, and as a postscript stated that since he would withdraw by traveling up the San'yōdō road, should a pursuit party be dispatched, he would confront them—he would neither flee nor hide.

“With all due respect,”
unable to wait for Mitsumasa to finish reading, he said: “I most humbly beseech you to appoint this Sannojō to lead the pursuit of Kōnoshin.”
“Proceed.”
“I have one further request.”
“What is it?”
“I entreat you to assign Kasuya, Tominaga, Miyata, and Sakurai—the four named—as official examiners to accompany me.”
“Granted. Take them with you.” “Your mercy honors me.”
Sannojō looked up at his lord’s face, a faint smile at his lips. “By your leave,” he said, then withdrew with fluid grace.

Mitsumasa was genuinely angry.
Even after reprimanding him yesterday, he had believed that someday he would realize his own wrongdoing and come to apologize.
Far from apologizing, he had written and left behind insolent and disrespectful words, set fire to his house, and departed.
Mitsumasa was genuinely angry for the first time in his life.
The very fact that he had fully acknowledged him made the hatred all the more intense—so much so that he wanted to tear him into eight pieces if he could.

“If it’s Sannojō, there will be no mistake.”
Mitsumasa muttered this, but suddenly recalled the duel between the two from some time ago.
Cut down a single arrow? Or shoot true?

In the firearm range duel, Sannojō had lost.
Perhaps Sannojō might face him today with a single arrow as well.
When he realized this, the four individuals he had selected as examiners were all those who had witnessed the duel at the firearm range.
That’s right—Sannojō must have been intending to redo that duel from before.
In that case, it was dangerous.
Kōnoshin’s swordsmanship was peerless—he could not let this go unchecked!

Mitsumasa descended from the castle keep and, without a word, had a horse led to him and leapt onto it.
The attendants, startled, scrambled to chase after him, but—

“No escort!”
With that single shout, he immediately galloped toward the castle town.
Even having been told “No escort,” they could not simply comply; Yata Hachirōzaemon, the chief attendant, and two pages pursued on horseback.

Mitsumasa, having exited to the outer grounds of the main gate, turned to Yata Hachirōzaemon who had caught up,

“Take me to the Aoji residence.”
“Understood! By your leave.”
Yata Hachirōzaemon immediately took the lead and guided them to Sannojō’s residence—not far away, located at Kyōbashi-no-Tsujisagari.
After entrusting his horse to Yata Hachirōzaemon at the gate with a brusque “Do not enter!” he strode alone to the entrance.

“Sannojō! Sannojō!”
Mitsumasa’s booming voice reverberated through the innermost chambers. Then Sanzaemon came rushing out.
“Ah! This—”
Recognizing Mitsumasa and utterly astonished, Sanzaemon leapt down from the ceremonial platform and prostrated himself.
Mitsumasa pressed urgently,

“Has Sannojō returned?”
“Yes—he has just returned.”
“Has he departed?” “With bow in hand and mounted.”
“A single arrow, then.”
“As Your Lordship commands.” “Unacceptable.”
He immediately moved to turn back.

Sanzaemon,

“Your Lordship, where are you going?”
“Sannojō cannot be left unattended—that is why I ordered him to lead the pursuit of Kōnoshin.”
“I carelessly permitted it, but he intends to reclaim his previous defeat.”
“Though Kōnoshin’s character may be immature, his swordsmanship is sharp—if he faces him with but a single arrow, Sannojō will be in peril.”
“In that case, Sanzaemon shall pursue him. Your Lordship must not go.”
As he tried to stand, a voice said from beside the entrance, “With all due respect.”
Startled by the voice coming from an unexpected direction, Mitsumasa turned around to see a young girl prostrating herself on the ground at the edge of the brushwood door partitioning the garden… When Sanzaemon looked, it was his daughter Natsu,

“Insolent wretch! You there—withdraw!”
“Wait, Sanzaemon. Who is this?”
“I—I am your daughter.”
Mitsumasa nodded.

“You may speak. State your business.” “With utmost respect, I beg your forgiveness for this impertinence. Though Your Lordship just now stated that Sannojō would be in peril with but a single arrow, I believe he will fulfill his duty splendidly with that very single arrow.”

“Hoh, why is that? How do you know he will strike down Kōnoshin with a single arrow?”
“Yes, during the duel at the firearms range some time past, Sannojō ought to have prevailed. That defeat was no true defeat.”
“But seven witnesses were present! Do you claim all seven erred in their judgment?”
“The honorable examiners did witness the match. There was no error in your esteemed eyes’ appraisal of the contest. Yet at that time, your attention did not alight upon the bow Sannojō wielded.”
“What of the bow he used?”
“The bow employed then was but a feeble practice weapon.”
Both Mitsumasa and Sanzaemon stared wide-eyed.
Natsu continued softly,

“On that day when I received the bow from Sannojō upon his return home, I realized for the first time what it was—but since he had ensured from the start that no one would notice, I have remained silent until today. […] This time without fail, he will strike true with a single arrow. I humbly beg Your Lordship to set your mind at ease.”

“I see. So that’s how it was.”
Mitsumasa nodded again.

“Indeed, it makes sense now—had he shot with his usual bow, he would have won.”
“I know the sharpness of his bow’s force—it would have pierced Kōnoshin’s breastplate.”
“Despite possessing that skill, he deliberately used a weak bow to avoid detection, enduring his own humiliation to resolve the matter peacefully.”
“……Sanzaemon.”
“Understood!”
“I hear you severely scolded Sannojō, but this was a blunder.”
“I most humbly beg your pardon.”
“We too blundered.”
“Sannojō is infuriating.”
In Mitsumasa’s eyes, something hot welled up.
At that time, the group of pursuers, their horses arrayed in a line, galloped eastward and successfully caught up with Kōnoshin on the ridge path beyond Zaita Village. … Aoji Sannojō, who had been driving his horse at the forefront, slowed its pace as—

“Takigawa Kōnoshin, by His Lordship’s command!” he called out loudly.
Kōnoshin was walking leisurely with a single servant in tow, but at this call turned around and raised his hat.
“Ah, you’ve come at last! I’ve been waiting,” he said, flicking up his hat as he turned to face him.
Sannojō took up his bow anew on horseback and nocked a solitary arrow.
Even before seeing this action completed, Kōnoshin sneered,

“Still unlearned, coming at me with another single arrow? That last duel was mere sport—I let you live then! But this time...” He drew himself up, hand resting on his sword hilt. “Merely cutting down your arrow won’t suffice! Ittō-ryū’s blade shall claim your head!”

“For my part,” Sannojō stated calmly, “I offer fair warning.”
“Today’s arrow differs from before—prepare yourself to receive it properly.” He then turned his head slightly. “Honorable examiners.”
“I humbly request your solemn witness to Sannojō’s single arrow.”
“Proceed.”

Kōnoshin’s large sword glinted as he drew it.
The moment was right. Sannojō rose up on his horse, pulled the bowstring taut with a sharp twist, and took aim at Kōnoshin.
It had always been Sannojō’s forte to loose his arrow the instant he drew the bowstring taut.
But today, he kept the bow fully drawn for two breaths, three breaths.

“Hah!”
With a tremendous shout, he drew the bowstring taut once more and released it in the same instant.
Whizz!
The bowstring sang.
The arrow thudded!
It cut through the wind straight toward Kōnoshin’s front.
Kōnoshin let out a loud cry, but it was already too late—the arrow that had flown forth thudded through him, from just above his heart on the left side down to the very edge of its fletching.

“Ah!” cried Kōnoshin. He staggered unsteadily backward four or five steps, but as his large sword slipped from his grasp, he collapsed forward with a thud.
The servant who had been watching turned deathly pale and fled down the road like a bouncing ball.

The four examiners, overwhelmed by the sheer magnificence and ferocity of it all, forgot even words of praise and remained motionless on their horses for some time, utterly dazed.
...When Sannojō returned to the castle to report, Mitsumasa did not mention anything about what he had heard from Natsu,
“You have performed a great service.”

he bestowed only those words.
He thought it too refined to be praised aloud.

It was from this time that Sannojō came to be called “His Lordship’s favored retainer.” Soon after, he welcomed his uncle’s daughter Natsu as his wife and passed down their house in Okayama Domain for generations.