Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

Isaka Jurōta was angry.
Still walking with smoldering resentment lodged in his chest, he failed to notice the man's figure and didn't immediately register the voice calling to him.
Only when hailed a third time did he finally become aware, halting his steps and turning around.

The man was sitting in the flat grassland right beside the road. In a narrow grassland squeezed between pine woods and bamboo thickets, the late spring sun was shining in full force. The man who appeared to be a ronin sat with the collar of his kimono spread wide open, exposing his gaunt, pale chest and stomach that looked rigid. His shaved forehead and beard had grown out wildly, and his grimy kimono and hakama were covered in patches, presenting such disheveled destitution that it almost seemed unreal. He was probably twenty-eight or nine; his face was sallow, his cheeks hollowed out, and his jaw sharp with jutting bones.

“Was it you who called me?”

“Yes,” the man nodded. “—I have a small request to make.”

Jurōta went back that way.
The man stroked his stomach—which lay exposed—with his left hand while flourishing the unsheathed short sword he held in his right.
Of course, it was clear he meant to commit seppuku, but Jurōta did not notice.
His mind still seethed with anger, leaving no room to concern himself with others’ affairs.

“What is your business?”

“Ahem,” the man brandished his short sword again, then looked at Jurōta with an ingratiating gaze. “I truly hesitate to ask, but if you have any tissue paper, might you spare me a few sheets?”

Jurōta silently took out tissue paper from his pocket.
When the man received it, he expressed his thanks while swiftly wrapping the paper around the seventy-thirty point of the unsheathed blade.
Jurōta probably thought there was no further business now and started to leave down the road as he was.
There, the man, appearing flustered, called out to stop him again from behind.

“Well… it’s truly that…”

“Is there something else you need?”

“Well, you see,” the man said, “—as you can see, I intend to commit seppuku.”

“Is that so?” Jurōta said.

“That’s right,” the man said. “—Well, you see, I’m deeply apologetic to ask, but…”

“Are you asking me to serve as your second?”

“Yes, that is to say—”
The man nodded. “—If I may ask, I’d like to request you act as my second.”

“Very well.”

Jurōta returned.
The man looked at Jurōta.
Jurōta took his sword along with its scabbard, removed the cord, and slung it over his shoulder using a cloth sling.
Then he quietly drew the sword, placed the scabbard on the grass, and assumed a stance.
The man was clearly flustered, his face on the verge of tears.

“Do you really intend to act as my second?”

“Really?” Jurōta asked. “You were the one who asked me to.”

“I did ask, it’s true,” the man said, “—but even so, for you to just… go along with it so readily—well, I can’t help but find that a bit questionable on my end.”

“What’s this ‘how’ supposed to mean?”

“W-well, you see,” the man stammered, “—it’s just that I find it somewhat… heartless.”

“Oh, is that so?”
Jurōta nodded. “Then I’ll take my leave. I’m on an urgent journey and truly can’t spare the time for this.”

Then he wiped the sword, picked up the scabbard and sheathed it, removed the tasuki sling, and attached it to the cord.
The man watched this uneasily as he asked with even greater unease.

“So you’re going to leave, then?”

Jurōta silently sheathed the sword at his waist.

“You’re abandoning me here?” the man said. “Leaving me here as I prepare for seppuku, without even inquiring why?”

“Then what precisely would you have me do?”

Jurōta was starting to get irritated.
At this point, the man seemed to have mustered his courage; with a resolute expression, he spoke.

“I ask this trusting in your character—I’m starving to death. Could you spare me a little from what you’re carrying?”

“Money, you say?”

Jurōta looked at the man with eyes of someone just waking from sleep. "So you're trying to commit seppuku for that reason?"

"To put it plainly, yes."

“That’s quite something.”
Jurōta gazed at the man’s figure, his expression still unconvinced, but he reached into his pocket to search for his purse. “I don’t have much myself—since I’ve got to get back to Edo and all—but…”

There was no purse in his pocket.
He tilted his head while searching both sleeves, said “Wait a moment,” untied the travel bag he was carrying and examined it, found a small purse, and tilted his head again.
When he shook the purse, from inside came one small silver coin and some mon coins.
He suspiciously furrowed his brows and muttered, “Hmm,” “When I paid at that inn this morning—”
While muttering this, he glared fixedly somewhere with upturned eyes.

“Has something happened to you?”

“Wait a moment,” Jurōta said, retracing his memory. “—Let me think this through.”

Jurōta thought carefully.
And then he remembered—he had left the purse at his uncle’s house; he hadn’t brought it with him from the start.

“Damn it—what a fool I’ve been.”

“Did you figure it out?”

“I have to go back.”
Jurōta said while looking at the coins in his palm, “Going back is damn irritating, but with this I can’t make it to Edo. With this I can’t even manage a three-day journey.”
“It’s good you remembered now,” the man said encouragingly. “It would’ve been troublesome if you’d gone farther. Where is your residence?”

Jurōta stated the name of the castle town.

“Ah, in that case, you’d only need to backtrack ten *ri* and a bit,” the man said. “If you stay overnight in Aikawa, you could return by tomorrow morning. Truly, the world is full of things you’d never guess might turn out fortunate. Why don’t I come along with you?”

“You’re coming with me?”

“We’re already in this together,” said the man, adjusting his collar and sheathing his short sword. “Having met through such a strange twist of fate, I’m not heartless enough to stand by silently while you’re in such a predicament. You’ll understand soon enough. But anyway—” He rose to his feet. “Let’s eat something at that tea shop over there. They say all plans start with a full stomach.”
The man was now in high spirits.

Two

The man did not lie.
The man said, "I am not a heartless person," and soon proved that this was indeed true.

The two filled their stomachs at the tea shop, backtracked to the Hiiragiya inn in Aikawa (where Jurōta had stayed the previous night), and removed their straw sandals.
The two exchanged their full names and drank sake after bathing.
The man’s name was Sugata Hira.
Jurōta asked twice to confirm, muttered “Sugata Hira no” under his breath, and then remarked, “Even your given name sounds like a surname.”

Sugata Hira was a ronin from Hokuetsu, three years older than Jurōta and twenty-nine years old.

Sugata Hira was a good listener and belonged to that type of person said to be skilled at keeping gatherings lively.
Jurōta, concerned about the bill, had initially kept track of the number of drinks, but as the conversation progressed—given its nature—his mood grew exhilarated, and he began drinking heartily on his own.

“I understand—yes, I truly do grasp it.”
Sugata Hira nodded solemnly. “And yet Mr. Rikuda does nothing—remaining aloof, letting them have their way.”

“No, you wouldn’t understand.”
Jurōta shook his head. “Fundamentally, I have no interest in politics or such things. After all, politics and vice are inseparable—there’s no example of them not being so. But even so, the state of affairs back home is dreadful—utter chaos.”

“I do understand—I’ve traveled through your domain myself,” said Sugata Hira. “A land where peasants and townsfolk are driven to such desperation is rare indeed. That’s what they call oppressive taxation, isn’t it? Everywhere I went, the air seemed thick with resentment.”

“The worst part is their ignoring those voices. Even within the household, criticism has arisen—many among the younger ones are driven to genuine despair. Yet they utterly disregard such outcries, calmly warping governance for their own selfish ends.”

“Even so, Mr. Rikuda doesn’t try to do anything as Castle Deputy Elder, does he?”

“Daily peace reigns over all matters—that’s all he says,” Jurōta twisted his lips. “Their depravity—you already know it, your comrades know it, anyone with a conscience knows it. It can’t stay hidden anymore. The abscess is already festering; soon it’ll burst on its own. That’s all Uncle ever says—‘The world isn’t all clear skies,’ ‘Five winds and ten rains are signs of peace,’ ‘Don’t get worked up; stay calm like me.’”

“I can understand that too, but I also understand your anger.”

“We can’t keep spouting ‘Daily Peace’—everything has its limits.”
Jurōta’s eyes blazed. “If they’re so shamelessly depraved, if their vice knows no bounds, then there’s only one way to suppress it. That’s what I resolved. Nine others backed my resolve—each taking their assigned roles—and we meant to see it through.”

“So it was exposed beforehand, then?”

“No—not them, but Uncle caught on. Though he probably doesn’t know the full details—just suspected we were plotting something suspicious—and that’s why he suddenly ordered me back to Edo, I think.”
Jurōta made a face twisted with anger and scorn, then said in a dismissive tone, “If that’s how you’re going to be—fine. I have no intention of becoming Chidori’s husband anyway. I’ll go back to Edo and spill everything—of course, I’ll lodge a direct appeal to the lord. And I’ll make sure *they* realize there’s still such a thing as justice in this world.”

Sugata Hira nodded thoughtfully.

When he entered the bath, Sugata Hira (borrowing Jurōta’s razor) shaved his forelock and beard, so now his face looked clean and refreshed.
He had already drunk a considerable amount of sake and should have been quite intoxicated, yet his face showed no redness; rather, it seemed to grow calm and sharp with clarity.
He plucked his nose hair while lost in thought, as if carefully weighing Jurōta’s words.
With the tips of his right thumb and forefinger, he skillfully plucked a nose hair, tugged it sharply, and pulled it out—but the moment it came free, he let out a loud sneeze.

“My apologies,” Sugata Hira said. “—This is a habit of mine when thinking. Terribly rude.” He continued while gazing at the plucked nose hair, “This may be a groundless fear of mine—no, I suppose it almost certainly is groundless—but if that’s the case, then I must say I have reservations about you returning to Edo as planned.”

“What do you mean by ‘how’?”

“Well, how to put it—” Sugata Hira stammered. “—If things stand as you say, wouldn’t Mr. Rikuda find himself cornered? Were you to return to Edo and directly petition the lord—even should that succeed—Mr. Rikuda’s accountability as Castle Deputy Elder would inevitably come under scrutiny. More pressingly, I fear those villains might conspire to shift blame onto Mr. Rikuda before any of that transpires… Of course, this may well be groundless apprehension on my part, but men of their stripe are precisely the sort to hatch such schemes.”

“Then what are you saying I should do?”

“Must I be the one to say it?”

Sugata Hira looked at Jurōta’s face.
At the same time, Sugata Hira was thinking.

I'll seize this opportunity.

He was at an impasse.
This wretched wandering had become unbearable—to think he'd sunk so low as feigning seppuku just to scrounge coins for a single meal.
This was his chance: take this (seemingly simple) man back to the castle town, stir up enough commotion to let him earn some credit, and secure an official position for himself in the process.
Even if formal appointment proved impossible, they'd likely offer substantial rewards—he absolutely wouldn't let slip this lifeline—he resolved.

“In other words,” Jurōta said, “—are you telling me to carry out the plan?”

“Though my help may be modest, I’ll lend my support.”

Jurōta groaned.
He groaned, gulped down his sake cup, and thought that might be the case.

"I'll consider it," Jurōta said. "—Now that you mention it, Uncle's position *is* precarious. He goes on about 'Daily Peace,' oblivious to the ground crumbling beneath him. And... when I think about it, Chidori's situation is pitiable too."

"As you mentioned earlier—what kind of person is this Chidori?"

“She’s my uncle’s only daughter,” Jurōta said. “—I was supposed to become the adopted son-in-law and was summoned here three years ago.”

“The Castle Deputy Elder’s adopted son-in-law.”

“I said something trivial,” Jurōta shook his head. “—Shall we call it a night?”

Three

When they lay their pillows side by side to sleep, Sugata Hira fell unconscious almost immediately.
Having eaten his fill and drunk to satiety before slipping into warm bedding, it was only natural.
He lay down and at once began snoring in deep slumber.
Jurōta remained awake for some time.
He couldn't resolve himself to act as Sugata proposed; it felt like a fire that had once roared had been abruptly doused, leaving embers too feeble to catch flame again.

“That Kurotō Gendayū,” he muttered, “Nakajima Yagorō and Maebayashi Hisanoshin—villains.”

He tried to recall the appearances of those villains.
Kurotō Gendayū was a fifty-two-year-old Second Senior Councilor, Nakajima Yagorō a forty-five-year-old Chief Retainer in Charge of the Castle’s Affairs, and Maebayashi Hisanoshin a fifty-year-old Domain Affairs Officer.
These were the central figures poisoning the domain’s governance, with Kurotō and Nakajima in particular being its ringleaders.
Of course Jurōta knew them—their faces rose vividly before his eyes—but at the same time came the image of his uncle who spoke of “Daily Peace” with such ease, and thoughts of how he himself had been driven out to Edo lingered in his mind, leaving him utterly unable to muster any fighting spirit.

“Anyway, I’ll handle it once I’m back,” Jurōta muttered. “—If I don’t want to, I can just grab the paper case and return to Edo. I’ll make up my mind after seeing how things are there.”

Sugata Hira slept soundly, seemingly in good spirits.

Around ten o'clock the following day, the two men left the inn heading toward the castle town.
Since Jurōta had been exiled to Edo as well and couldn’t enter the town until nightfall—the distance from Ai River Inn to the castle town being less than five ri—there had been no reason to leave the inn early.
They managed to pay the bill they were worried about, but only a little remained afterward.
So they had rice balls made for them, and upon leaving the inn, they immediately turned onto a back road.
They avoided the main road, for it would be ill-advised to encounter any household members.
They crossed hills and passed through fields, eating rice balls at a spring in the mountain shade along the way as they made their way to Ishibachi Mountain, but there was still time to spare.
Though called a mountain, it stood merely 150 feet high at the castle’s northeastern flank, the castle town spread plainly within view.
There, the two waited for sunset, then descended to the town around eight o'clock in the evening.

When they entered from Ishibachi Mountain’s direction, they came to the rear of the samurai residences.
The Rikuda residence was located at a place called Tōgatsuji along Ōtesuji Street, its layout forming an expansive compound measuring approximately thirty ken by forty ken.
The main gate faced north.
To the west was the horse entry gate.
It had plastered walls on three sides, with only the section along the southern moat becoming a black-painted fence.
Inside the fence was a deep cedar grove, and that cedar grove occupied half of the estate grounds.
Even from outside the plastered wall, the treetops of those cedars stood tall, their dark forms piercing through the night sky.
Jurōta walked to the edge of the plastered wall adjoining the moat and peered toward the fence from there.
The moat, its banks lined with stones and about two ken wide, had a fairly abundant flow of water rushing noisily.
The night was windless and warm, and the rushing sound of water quietly echoed through the cedar grove.

“We’ll enter here,” Jurōta said, pointing to a section of the fence. “You should come in too—if someone passes by and sees you, it’ll be troublesome.”

Sugata Hira nodded.

One of the fence posts was movable.
Probably purge faction members had secretly come and gone through here—imagining this, Sugata Hira mimicked Jurōta’s method and slipped inside the fence.

“Please wait here. I’ll go check the situation for now.”

Jurōta whispered this and departed along the trampled path through the cedar grove.
Sugata Hira waited.
The surroundings were pitch dark, and the damp air hung heavy with the scent of cedar.

"I won't let it slip."
Sugata Hira muttered under his breath. *I won't let it slip—this vine will never slip from my grasp. I'll incite that man and make this work. Since he's the Castle Deputy Elder's son-in-law, that's the main path. Yeah, they won't see through this so easily.*

More than a quarter-hour had passed—just as he was beginning to wonder what had happened—when Jurōta returned.
It was too dark to see clearly, but from his ragged breathing and restless movements, Sugata Hira could tell he was terribly agitated.

“Your prediction came true,” Jurōta said. “—Please come over here. There’s something I want your counsel on.”

Sugata Hira silently followed Jurōta.
While silently following along, he smirked inwardly and muttered, *Got them.*

“Your worries weren’t groundless,” Jurōta said as they walked. “—The villains struck back suddenly last night—they stormed this mansion and took Uncle somewhere.”

“The Castle Deputy Elder himself?”

“They’ve seized control here now—Aunt and Chidori are locked in a room under their faction’s watch.”

“That likely stems,” Sugata Hira said, “from misinterpreting your return from Edo—they probably thought you went to expose their crimes to higher authorities.”

“This way. Please keep quiet.”

To the left after exiting the cedar grove stood a large building.
Beyond it appeared to be a stable, where sounds of horses snorting and hooves scraping the ground could be heard.
Jurōta brought Sugata Hira into the large building on this side.
That was the horse fodder shed.
When they entered and closed the sliding door, the sweet-sour smell of dry hay nearly choked them.

“Koiso,” Jurōta whispered. “—Where are you?”

There was no reply, but from behind a mountain of dried hay, a girl emerged (hiding a lantern with her sleeve). She appeared to be around eighteen years old, with a petite build and delicate facial features that gave her a distinctly clever look. Jurōta introduced her to Sugata Hira as “Koiso, Chidori’s maidservant.”

Koiso repeated her account before the two men.

“A chief inspector named Kikui Rokurōbei led them, and about thirty people came,” Koiso said. “—Last night around this time, the master was in a meeting with Lord Shōno Chikara.”

The raiders who stormed in divided into three groups: Kikui and ten others surrounded Rikuda Seibē and his guest Shōno Chikara; one group confined the retainers to the longhouse; and another took charge of securing the mansion grounds. Kikui and his men searched the master’s parlor, seized numerous documents, then placed Seibē—along with the guest—into the palanquin they had prepared and took them away. Rikuda’s wife was a gentle and timid woman, but even she grew angry and demanded an explanation. However, Kikui Rokurōbei did not engage with her.

“I know nothing—I merely heard there were facts of corruption involving the honorable Castle Deputy Elder which had been exposed and that extraordinary measures were being taken to prevent the obliteration of evidence,” he said.

Having said this, they confined the woman and Chidori to their respective rooms—placing one watcher each—and issued strict orders prohibiting all servants from leaving their quarters before departing.
It was said there were now two guards at the main gate and five within the mansion grounds.

“It was good you came back,” Sugata Hira said with a sigh. “Because I stopped you and realized you’d forgotten your wallet, we managed to make it in time for this… this life-or-death situation. Truly, one never knows what might turn out fortunate in this world.”

四

It must have been past midnight. As they ate the rice balls Koiso had brought and drank tea, the two were devising countermeasures.
The situation required immediate action—before Kurotō’s faction could finalize their scheme, the course of events had to be reversed.
Jurōta panicked, but Sugata Hira remained calm.

They kidnapped Rikuda Seibē and confiscated documents from his residence.
"What was the purpose of this?" Sugata Hira wondered.
Kikui Nanigashi had reportedly leaked that "the facts of corruption had been exposed."
They probably intended to pin their own misdeeds on Lord Rikuda, the Castle Deputy Elder—there were several methods one could imagine for doing so.
"The 'emergency measure to prevent evidence obliteration' was in fact a scheme to shift the crimes onto the Castle Deputy Elder; in the worst case, they might employ a method of coercing a written confession before shortening his life—under the guise of making him commit seppuku."
Right—since they’d resorted to such drastic measures, he had to anticipate that much, Sugata Hira thought.
Dead men tell no tales—if Seibē was coerced into writing a confession, they wouldn’t let him live.
No—they might have implemented those "emergency measures" with that very intention from the start.

That was right—there was no doubt about it.

Nodding inwardly, Sugata Hira plucked a nose hair. With his right thumb and index finger, he skillfully grasped the hair, timed his breath with a sharp tug to pull it out, then let out a loud sneeze.

“My apologies,” Sugata Hira said. “—Now then, might you tell me about this plan Mr. Isaka had to purge corrupt elements and the number of sworn allies involved?”

Jurōta opened the travel bag, found a sealed letter, and extracted a rolled document from within.

“Please look at this. Then I’ll explain.”

Sugata Hira received it and opened it.
The following was written therein.

Raiding Unit Command

Isaka Jurōta

Terada Bunji (Mounted Retainer, 70 koku)

Yasukawa Einosuke (Foot Soldier Inspector, 50 koku or more)

Kawahara Gennai (Foot Soldier Inspector, 35 koku)

Castle Garrison Command

Mamijima Nakuta (Commander of the Arquebus Unit, 70 koku)

Sekiguchi Heijirō (Turret Guard, 5 koku or more)

Yata Masatarō (Foot Soldier Unit Captain, 60 koku)

Mikata Kido

Terada Otosaburō (Bunji’s younger brother)

Hirose Hanroku (Arquebus Unit Captain, 5 koku or more)

Shimaguchi Zonpei (Foot Soldier Captain, 55 koku or more)

This joint signature bore blood seals and contained a manifesto outlining the intent to purge corrupt officials.

“The Raiding Unit will cut down the corrupt elements assigned to each group,” Jurōta explained. “—The Mikata Kido group will secure the three entry points to the castle town, while the Castle Garrison Command will fortify the Ōte, Nishi, and Karamete gates. Under this arrangement, each unit was planned to gather thirty to fifty subordinates.”

“I see,” Sugata Hira said.
“—This is quite thorough indeed, yes.”

And he began thinking intently once more.

Would Lord Rikuda write a confession? Sugata Hira thought. Given that he was such a carefree man with his "Daily Peace" motto, he might underestimate the situation and write one. But he probably wouldn’t do so immediately—even someone that nonchalant would hold out for two or three days. Since he wasn’t a child, he should be able to imagine what would happen if he wrote it. This was all assuming they would coerce a confession, Sugata Hira continued to ponder.

“From among these signatories,” Sugata Hira said after a while. “Please select five of the most skilled and reliable individuals.”

“When it comes to skilled fighters, first there’s the three Raiding Unit commanders—Terada, Yasukawa, Kawahara—then Sekiguchi Heijirō and Terada Bunji’s younger brother Otosaburō, perhaps?”

“Do you think they realize those men are your co-conspirators—allies who schemed alongside you?”

“There’s absolutely no way they could know that—the only one who caught wind of the plan was my uncle.”

“I see,” Sugata Hira said.
“Well then, shall we have those five summoned here before dawn?”
“Five people here?”

Sugata Hira nodded and said, “This is a crisis of survival.”

Jurōta immediately resolved himself. Though dangerous, the situation was urgent—if this was necessary, then it had to be done. Thinking this, he prepared his gear. Sugata Hira reiterated the need for caution before requesting a writing set and stationery paper. Jurōta retrieved these items from his travel bag and handed them over, then pulled on a black hood that hid his face and departed.

“Well, now my position is settled,” muttered Sugata Hira, who had stayed behind. “I must get serious. I mustn’t fancy myself a hero or some exceptional figure. I was just a starving ronin—wasn’t I? A man who even resorted to faking seppuku just to get a meal’s worth of coin. Neither a hero nor a great man—do you understand?”
Then he stroked his pointed chin with one hand. *Now I’ve taken the position of strategist. That much is certain. What remains is how much wisdom this dim-witted head can produce—and in such a short time… That’s the issue—the only issue. Let me think this through.*

He peered into the lantern.
The candles (replaced before the late-night meal) were still sufficient.
He neatly adjusted the bundle of dried grass, pulled a brush from his writing set, and spread out the stationery paper there.
Then, at that moment, the sliding door suddenly opened, and bright lantern light streamed in.

“Who’s there?”

Having said this, a samurai entered holding up a lantern.
He was likely one of Kurotō’s lookouts—one of the five who had been reported inside the mansion.
Sugata Hira feigned surprise and quickly knocked over his own lantern to extinguish it.

“Y-yes, I am,” he stammered. “—I-I am a s-stablehand’s helper, sir.”

“What are you doing at this hour?”

“Y-yes, w-well, right now, the horse fodder…”

“What? Speak clearly!” The samurai stepped closer. “What are you doing with the horse fodder now? You’re a suspicious one.”

Sugata Hira stood up nervously; the samurai shouted, “Come here!”; Sugata Hira grew even more apologetic, hunched over, and went toward him.
The samurai raised the lantern to examine his face—at that moment, Sugata Hira’s right hand shot out and struck the samurai’s nasal bridge between the eyes with a sharp crack.
The samurai staggered backward and let the lantern fly from his hand.
Sugata Hira lunged, struck the nasal bridge again, tripped him with a leg sweep to pin him down, and grabbed his collar to strangle him.
It appeared quite deft, though Sugata Hira wasn’t particularly strong—he had simply taken the man by surprise with skillful timing.
When he subdued his opponent, Sugata Hira was drenched in cold clammy sweat across his entire body.

Five

Approximately two hours later—the sound of human footsteps could be heard outside the fodder shed.
When Sugata Hira peered through the gap in the sliding door, a dark human figure keeping watch in this direction was visible in the shadows.
It seemed to be Isaka Jurōta.
Sugata Hira quietly opened the sliding door and called out.

“Oh, you’re safe?” Jurōta approached. “—It was pitch dark inside, so I thought something had happened.”

“There was [an incident], but how about your end?”

“Everyone’s here.”

Jurōta turned around and waved his hand.
Then, together with the five young samurai who had emerged from the darkness, they swiftly entered the shed and closed the sliding door.

“Please take out the tinder pouch,” Sugata Hira said. “—I had to put out the lantern earlier because of a little incident. Ah, be careful—there’s a person lying there.”

One of the five took out a tinder pouch.

While recounting the events, Sugata Hira lit the lantern and used it to illuminate a corner.
Bound behind their backs and gagged with muzzles, two samurai lay sprawled out.
Their hands were bound with cords from their own swords, and their mouths were stuffed with dried grass.
Both had already regained their breath, their eyes wide with terror as they looked up at the group.

“Two of them?” Jurōta said.

“They were separate cases,” Sugata Hira replied. “The first one is the skinny fellow over there. The second arrived about half a period later—likely came searching when the first didn’t return from patrol.”

“Then another might come.”

“That’s precisely what I’m hoping for,” said Sugata Hira. “With two assigned to Lady Rikuda and her daughter, two here already subdued, there should still be one more inside the mansion besides those watching the gate. If that last one comes searching for us, it’ll save considerable effort.”

“Do you plan to subdue them all?”

“That is our first move. But perhaps you could introduce me to your companions first?”

Jurōta introduced him to the five men.

Terada Bunji and (his younger brother) Otsusaburō closely resembled each other.
Otsusaburō was taller and more robustly built than his elder brother, but sullen facial expressions and stiffly formal manner of speech were exactly alike.
Kawahara Gennai was a slightly plump, small-statured young man whose eyes and mouth bore a good-natured smile—a smile that seemed rather to reveal a short-tempered and quick-to-act disposition.
Yasukawa Einosuke was dark-skinned with large eyes and had a coarse bristly beard growing from around his mouth down to his jaw and both cheeks.
He meticulously applied his razor every morning, but by dusk it was said to have already grown back such that when meeting people at night he reportedly had to shave again in the evening.
Sekiguchi Heijirō was a young man with a round plump face and kind endearing eyes who still retained a childlike quality.

“What if we just kill these guys?”

As if unable to wait for the introductions to finish, Kawahara Gennai—still smiling—said while pointing at the two prisoners.

“No—wait!” Sugata Hira shook his head. “Those two have committed no crime, and they don’t even understand what they’re doing. More importantly—not just them—we must avoid bloodshed as much as possible in this affair.”

“Are we only killing the three ringleaders?”

“No—those three as well,” Sugata Hira said to Jurōta. “If we kill people without legal judgment, even if we’re in the right, we won’t escape censure. Some would have to act as responsible parties—”

“That’s something we're prepared for.”
Terada Bunji interrupted and said．
“We've been prepared to sacrifice our lives from the start．”

“But there’s no need for us to die unnecessarily.”

“That’s exactly the problem!” said Kawahara Gennai. “It’s because we hesitate like this that the enemy outmaneuvered us! They flout laws and commit atrocities without remorse! They ignore condemnation from our own domain and pleas from the people! We’re forced to use force because there’s no other path—so let’s do what needs to be done decisively!”

“But there’s no need to die pointlessly.”

As he uttered these words, Sugata Hira was thinking.

This had to be suppressed.

If we caused bloodshed here, we'd undoubtedly be held accountable afterward.
If things went badly, we might even have to commit seppuku.
Then I wouldn't know what would become of my own goals.
My original hope of securing a position in this domain—which I'd thought was already certain—would be jeopardized.
Right here, I had to find a way to curb this group's recklessness.
Thinking this, he said:

"The reason it's unnecessary is that they've already fastened nooses around their own necks."
"We need only take hold of the rope ends."

“Please be more specific.”

“They have abducted Lord Rikuda,” Sugata Hira said, “—likely intending to shift the blame onto him. As I believe Mr. Isaka has informed you all, the villains plan to misuse the documents they seized and coerce Lord Rikuda into writing a false confession. Thus, if we reclaim Lord Rikuda, their crimes will be laid bare by that act alone.”

“Can we really rescue him?”

“Difficult...”

Yasukawa Einosuke rasped his coarse beard vigorously. “If only they hadn’t taken Mr. Rikuda yet... But now they hold him hostage.”

“No—hear me out properly,” Sugata Hira countered.

Sugata Hira explained his plan.

The enemy believed that Isaka Jurōta had gone to Edo.
Therefore, they would inform the enemy that Jurōta had not gone to Edo but was in the castle town gathering allies and hatching a plot to assassinate treacherous officials, and that on a certain day at a certain hour, his faction would hold a meeting at a certain location.
The enemy would surely swarm to that "designated location," and in that opening, they would retake Rikuda Seibē.
Such was the plan.

“However,” Sekiguchi Heijirō said, “if we inform them that we’re holding a secret meeting, will they actually take the bait?”

“Of course they’ll send spies,” Sugata Hira said。 “That’s why the six men here and four others—Morishima, Hatta, Hirose, and Shimaguchi—will all hide their presence。 In other words, everyone will gather here。 They’ll likely conduct surveillance to verify whether the ten reported individuals are at home。 If all of them are absent from their houses by dusk tomorrow night—” he paused deliberately before continuing—“they’ll swallow our bait whole。 Once convinced we’re assembling at that temple clearing near North Gate Hill... well gentlemen?” His voice sharpened like an unsheathed dagger。 “What better time for us to strike Kurotō’s mansion while his dogs chase shadows across town?”

Six

Isaka Jurōta was the first to nod.
He seemed to have swiftly assessed Sugata Hira’s plan, gave a firm nod, and declared, “We’ll proceed with this.”

“The situation brooks no delay, and no other suitable methods appear available—let us commit to this single course of action.”

Sugata Hira gauged the others’ reactions, but no one seemed to have any objections.
He then asked everyone to sit down, opened a document containing his written calculations, explained their upcoming actions in detail, and assigned roles.
The first task was to capture the five guards remaining on the mansion grounds and force them to disclose Rikuda Seibē’s whereabouts.
The second was to summon Mamoru Nakata, Hirose Hanroku, Hata Masutaro, Shimaguchi Zonpei, and others.
The third was to submit the secret informant letter and monitor the enemy’s movements.
In this way, the order of operations was as follows: first, all seven would immediately collaborate on the first task; next, they would divide roles to handle the second and third.

As their discussion neared its end, hurried pattering footsteps sounded outside the hut, and a woman’s voice called, “Lord Isaka!”
Sugata Hira hid the lantern, and everyone sprang to their feet.
Jurōta streaked forward like a stone flung through air, slid open the door, and peered outside.
Two women were running up close—and behind them could be seen several samurai closing in, one hoisting a lantern aloft.

Dawn seemed near, the sky blurred into a faint whiteness as if softened, and a light rain was falling.
In that dim half-light, Jurōta recognized one of the women running toward them as Koiso and the other as Chidori.

“Terada! Get over here!” he shouted.
“It’s them.”

And he dashed outside.
Because he saw the sword being drawn as he rushed out, Sugata Hira also tried to follow Terada Bunji outside and nearly collided with the two women who came running in.

“I leave these people in your care. Please don’t go outside.”

He shouted at the four remaining men and chased after Terada Bunji.

The pursuers numbered three, and by the time Sugata Hira arrived there, one had already been subdued while the other two had been immobilized before Jurōta and Bunji.

“Are you all right?”
“You won’t kill them, will you?” Sugata Hira asked while running up.

“I’m all right,” Jurōta answered.

“Don’t make a sound.” Terada Bunji pressed his sword against them and said, “Walk quietly to the horse fodder hut. Make noise, and I’ll cut you down.”

Jurōta disarmed the two men and reached for the fallen lantern. Likely concerned about alerting other guards, Sugata Hira—hoisting one unconscious man—said, “Leave that be.”

“With only two left, let’s end this swiftly.”

Jurōta nodded.
Sugata Hira pulled up the fallen man and shouldered him.
The man wasn’t particularly large-bodied, but being unconscious made him dead weight.
Bunji and Jurōta drove the two men before them as they returned to the horse fodder storage hut.
After swiftly binding all three’s limbs and forcing gags into their mouths—and learning through Koiso’s testimony that only two guards remained at the main gate—the other five conspirators immediately left the hut, leaving only Jurōta and Sugata Hira behind.

When the five had left, Jurōta took the lantern and went to Chidori’s side.
Chidori sat on a bundle of dried grass, leaning against Koiso and crying.

“Go on, tell me—why did you run away?”

Jurōta said.
Chidori looked at Jurōta while wiping away tears.
Jurōta crouched there.
Chidori began to explain the situation. She appeared more childlike than her seventeen years would suggest—tall and physically mature, yet her round face with soft features, graceful movements, and coaxing manner of speech radiated an innocence so fresh it bordered on naivety.

“What? Aunt has committed suicide—”

Jurōta shouted.
Hearing that astonished voice, Sugata Hira turned around.

“Yes—no,” Chidori said, “that was the plan. Mother was to commit suicide so the two guards would panic, and I would escape in the confusion. But because I hesitated, the guards caught me immediately.”

“What did you plan to do after escaping?”

“Koiso and I meant to follow you.”

“That’s reckless,” Jurōta said. “So Aunt didn’t commit suicide after all.”

“But I don’t know—she might have killed herself after I escaped, or she might have stopped because it failed.”

“This is no joke!” Jurōta exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “Why didn’t you say that earlier instead of crying?!”

And he dashed out of the hut.
Chidori started crying again.
Sugata Hira noticed she was barefoot with her soaked tabi socks still on and said to Koiso, “Have her remove those tabi,” then approached them and gave his name.

“Once you take off your tabi socks, dry them properly—you’ll catch cold otherwise,” Sugata Hira said. “No need to cry anymore. We’ve arranged the means to rescue your father, and soon everything will be peacefully resolved. The world truly is strange. Mr. Isaka only returned because he met me—and that meeting happened because I was starving to death. They say one must speak shameful truths to make reason prevail… Would you like to hear it?”

Chidori looked quizzically in this direction.
Tears had pooled in her eyes, but as she listened to Sugata Hira’s story, her round face with its soft features gradually relaxed—and when he reached the part where Jurōta had earnestly tried to act as his second in seppuku, an innocent smile appeared on her childlike lips.
However, before his story had ended, Jurōta returned with Rikuda’s Wife.

“Oh, Mother!”

Chidori let out a cry and reached both hands toward her mother.
The woman quietly entered, approached her daughter’s side, and sat down on a bundle of dried grass while holding her hand.

“Mother has never been in here before.”
“The dried grass smells so nice—I love this smell,” Rikuda’s Wife said while looking around the hut. “You’re not hurt, Chidori.”

“Yes, Mother.”
Chidori said while stroking her mother’s arm, “When they were about to catch me, Lord Jurōta came to my rescue.”

“I have heard.”

“And Lord Jurōta and his companions will rescue Father too, they say.”

“I just heard that too,” the woman said while surveying the hut again. “Does dried grass always smell this intensely?”

“Yes, it always smells exactly like this. I’ve visited here sometimes myself, and it’s never been different. Don’t you agree, Lord Jurōta?”

Jurōta coughed, feigned deafness, and meticulously inspected the five captives.
Rikuda’s Wife regarded her daughter with puzzled scrutiny.

“You came into a place like this?”

“Yes, Mother,” Chidori said. “—It’s dim here even during the day, and so quiet with no one coming around. When I lie down on the hay, my body feels like it’s softly sinking… floating… and wrapped in that sweet grassy scent, I grow so drowsy I could drift right off. Don’t you agree, Lord Jurōta?”

“Oh, was Mr. Jurōta with you as well?”

VII

“Yes, of course, Mother.”
Chidori nodded—(Jurōta coughed again in the distance)—and continued, “I could never come here alone! He always brings me. Once I even used Lord Jurōta’s arm as a pillow and truly fell asleep.”

“Goodness, you stayed here until someone woke you up, didn’t you?”

“No, Mother—even Chidori wouldn’t…”

Sugata Hira was perplexed.
Mother and daughter were an easygoing pair.
In this tense situation, for a daughter to calmly confess to hiding in a hay shed alone with a man was one thing—but for a mother to hear this without so much as a gasp, let alone any attempt to scold her, was another.
They were raised differently, Sugata Hira thought.
This was no time for leisure—rather, it must be what they called elegant charm.

――This is the whole family united in Daily Peace.

Sugata Hira muttered to himself.

The mother-daughter conversation was interrupted by the return of Terada and his group.

They returned through the now moderately heavy rain, successfully dragging back the two they had captured at the main gate. It seemed they had left Yasukawa Einosuke behind as a precaution, but with this, all enemy lookouts within the mansion had been apprehended. Of the seven captives, one was a servant of the Maebayashi family, while the other six were all retainers of Kurotō Gendayū. Sugata Hira spread out stationery to draft the secret informant scheme and asked, “Where should the (hypothetical) gathering place be?” It shouldn’t be too far or too close—about one *ri* from the castle town, and preferably a temple. Under these conditions, Jurōta and Terada Bunji consulted and settled on Kōmyōji Temple in Ōsato Village as the suitable location.

“If it’s Kōmyōji Temple, it’s about one *ri*,” Jurōta said. “It’s beyond Ishibachi Mountain, which we passed through yesterday.”

Sugata Hira began to write.

Jurōta went to liberate the confined retainers, and Koiso went out to notify the (similarly restricted) servants and attendants to prepare breakfast.
Terada and the other three interrogated the prisoners one by one, attempting to force them to disclose Rikuda Seibē’s whereabouts.
Yet they seemed to know nothing at all.
They maintained that having been left behind when the Castle Deputy was taken away, there was no way they could know.
The short-tempered Kawahara Gennai smirked unpleasantly and threatened, “If you lot don’t talk straight, I’ll burn you alive along with this hay shed,” but ultimately failed to extract any information.

Jurōta returned from the samurai quarters.
He was wearing a raincoat over his head.
He must have borrowed it from one of the retainers.
The rain was now falling so heavily that it clattered deafeningly against the hut’s high wooden roof—a steady downpour.
Jurōta removed the raincoat from which drops were dripping and came over. Terada Bunji informed him that Rikuda’s whereabouts remained unknown.

“Since these guys were left behind, they really didn’t seem to know.”

Jurōta was greatly disappointed.
That was the most crucial point.
Since rescuing his uncle was their primary objective, if his whereabouts remained unknown, they couldn’t act.
Jurōta stamped the ground with wet straw sandals and turned back irritably toward Sugata Hira.

“Then what will you do, Mr. Sugata?”

“Please wait a moment.”
Sugata Hira heaved a sigh.
“—Let me think it through.”

Jurōta went toward his aunt.
It seemed he had entrusted all strategies to Sugata Hira.
He went to his aunt’s side and tried to speak about Sugata Hira.
She had apparently already heard about it from her daughter. “I know,” she said with a soft laugh.
She then explained that she had spoken not of actually committing suicide, but of pretending to do so—yet when the moment came, she found herself overwhelmed by “such embarrassing, bashful feelings” that she couldn’t bring herself to carry out even the pretense. Laughing with a thoroughly flustered air, her face turned red.

At that moment, Sugata Hira sneezed.
Likely because he had been plucking his nose hairs while deep in thought, the sneeze was so thunderous that everyone turned toward him in surprise.

“I beg your pardon,” said Sugata Hira.
Then he sneezed again.
“My apologies,” he nodded to the group, then said to Jurōta, “—Let’s proceed this way, Mr. Isaka.”

Jurōta returned to his side.
The other four also gathered.
Sugata Hira said.

“Since there seems to be no other emergency measure, we should first send the secret letter and observe their movements. If they dispatch men to the secret meeting place, I believe they will also take measures to ensure Mr. Rikuda isn’t recaptured in the process.”

“That doesn’t seem entirely certain,” Jurōta faltered, “—is there no other way?”

“The problem lies in timing.”

Having said this, Sugata Hira suddenly cried out, “Ah!” He instinctively moved his finger toward his nostril but stopped short of plucking a nose hair, instead clenching that hand into a fist and striking his own forehead.

“What a fool I am,” he said. “What an utter dimwit—to lose track of myself like this!”

“Did you think of something?”

“It’s me,” said Sugata Hira. “—I myself will become the secret letter.”

Everyone made bewildered faces.

“Like this,” he continued, “As you can see, I’m in a bedraggled state—this very self will go to Kurotō’s residence and inform them. I can say I slept under a temple’s eaves because I couldn’t afford lodging. There, I overheard your secret meeting—the names I caught are such-and-such. How about it? This should be foolproof.”

Jurōta turned back to Terada.
Terada Bunji smiled uncharacteristically, and the other three nodded.

“Then let’s remake our plan accordingly.”

Sugata Hira tore up the half-written secret letter.

The new plan was as follows.
He would meet Kurotō Gendayū and inform him; since he would likely be ushered into the drawing room, by observing Gendayū and his household’s demeanor, he should be able to discern where Rikuda Seibē was being held captive.
If kept elsewhere, he would leave and inform them; but if confined within the mansion grounds, he would—brutally—set a fire.
The procedure was that once the smoke was spotted, Jurōta and the others would storm in.
Sugata Hira explained this twice, and everyone fully understood.—Twenty men would lie in wait at the fire watchtower crossroads, located midway between the three senior retainers’ mansions, ready to move swiftly in either direction depending on conditions. Lookouts would also be posted at each of the three mansions.
Finally, they agreed that during any clashes, they would avoid harming people as much as possible.
Kawahara Gennai and Terada Otosaburō seemed deeply dissatisfied with the stipulation to "avoid harming people."

“In unavoidable cases, it’s fine,” conceded Sugata Hira. “—But even then, please keep it to legs. This is for your own sakes as well.”

Koiso came to inform them that breakfast preparations were ready.
Rikuda’s Wife said she wanted to eat here; the horse fodder shed seemed to have completely won her favor.
It was decided that they would prepare rice balls and bring them here.

“I will go out without eating.”
Sugata Hira called out to stop Koiso as he said this: “—I’m quite hungry, but hunger will make me look more naturally like a vagrant. I’ll need a tattered umbrella—the kind one might discard—and cotton for arson. Old cotton will do; just soak it in lamp oil. I’ll borrow Mr. Isaka’s flint pouch.”

When Koiso left, Terada Bunji called his brother.

“You and Sekiguchi go summon Morishima and Hirose,” Bunji said. “—Tell Hachita and Shimaguchi’s four men to come here immediately. Divide the task between you two.”

Otosaburō said “Yeah” and looked at Sekiguchi.
Sekiguchi Heijirō nodded and energetically stood up.
While tightening his hakama strings, Sugata Hira thought he shouldn’t have shaved his beard at Hiiragiya in Aikawa the night before last.

Eight

About half an hour later, Sugata Hira stood at the front garden of Kurotō’s mansion.
The garden was quite spacious, with numerous trees and artfully arranged stone patterns.
There was a pond surrounded by azaleas where carp—likely in their spawning season—splashed about noisily.

He had no manners—this alone told you everything about the man.

He muttered to himself.

But that wasn’t fair—his appearance was indistinguishable from a beggar’s. A garment so faded its stripes were indistinguishable, patched and grime-stained; a torn, tattered umbrella; mud-caked feet in straw sandals with cuffs rolled up to the shins. In this state, it’s only natural they’d say, “Go around to the garden.” Even Sugata Hira acknowledged this fact—yet he still couldn’t accept it. Even if a samurai has fallen to beggary, a samurai remains a samurai. To shunt someone bearing “a matter concerning your master’s life” to the garden entrance is sheer rudeness.

“This alone proves Kurotō’s inferior character,” Sugata Hira muttered under his breath. “—Unless I handle this deftly, they might not even let me into the drawing room.”

A white-haired old man appeared in the corridor.
His back was slightly bent; his kimono was shabby and hakama wrinkled.
He was precisely the sort of man one could recognize as a steward at a glance—and indeed, that’s exactly what he was.
At this, Sugata Hira became genuinely angry.

“I said I wished to see your master,” he declared in a sharp voice. “—I’ve gone out of my way because this concerns his very life. If I can’t meet him, I’ll leave. Not that it matters to me either way.”

He tried to step out into the rain.
The steward hurriedly called out to stop him.
Unable to dismiss a matter concerning his master’s life, he said “One moment” and retreated deeper into the mansion with a bent back that seemed impatient with the delay.

Sugata Hira spat. Then he suddenly realized he was genuinely angry—it seemed he’d fallen under the illusion that he’d come here sincerely for Kurotō Gendayū’s sake. Muttering “Well…,” Sugata Hira gave a bitter smile.

A servant brought foot-washing utensils.
The steward appeared and instructed him to proceed inside. Sugata Hira washed his feet, brushed the cuffs of his hakama, removed the travel bag from his shoulder, took off his sword, and holding it in his right hand, stepped up onto the veranda.

He was led to a dim six-tatami room where perfunctory tea and refreshments were served—thin lukewarm tea and confections that resembled moldy pressed sweets. Sugata Hira took one sip of the tea and left it untouched. Resting his hands on his knees to steady his mind, he mentally charted the building’s layout from the side entrance through the garden and veranda to this room. After roughly fifteen minutes, a young samurai appeared and said, “This way.” Sugata paused briefly before setting his sword beside his travel bag and rising. He walked down the central corridor, turned left once, and was shown into an eight-tatami reception room bright with daylight. Beyond its open shoji screens lay an inner garden dotted with stone lanterns, facing three storehouses aligned across the way. As he absently watched—assuming them to be armories—a middle-aged samurai emerged from the central storehouse clutching something like a handbasket. The man set it down to heave shut the double doors behind him, then snatched up the basket again and dashed off through the rain.

As he was absentmindedly gazing at such a scene, Kurotō Gendayū appeared.
He appeared to be forty-three or four; though corpulent, his frame was taut and robust, and his features—thick eyebrows, large eyes, and tightly pursed thick lips—exuded rugged vigor.
Gendayū took out kaishi paper the moment he sat down and harshly cleared his throat before spitting.
At that moment, the sound of a clock announcing six o'clock was heard.

Gendayū believed the story.
By the change in his facial expression, it was clearly evident that he had believed the story.

“Did you say Isaka?”
Gendayū clenched his hands on his knees. “That can’t be… What was the name again?”

“It seems they didn’t mention any names—after all, I was eavesdropping from under the floorboards,” said Sugata Hira. “But I did hear one man who arrived later ask, ‘Weren’t you supposed to go to Edo?’ That one seemed to be a man called Terada.”

“Were there any other names mentioned?”

“My memory’s a bit hazy, but—yes, Hirose, Shimaguchi, and…” Sugata Hira tilted his head. “Yasuda—no, Yasukawa, was it? There seemed to be two Teradas. Then names like Sekiguchi and Hatta also came up.”
“I might be misremembering—but when I counted by the voices addressing each other, there were fifteen people.”

One of Gendayū’s knees began to move up and down.

“So,” Gendayū said, “in other words, Isaka pretended to go to Edo but stayed at Kōmyōji Temple and gathered his comrades there.”

“Do any of the names I mentioned sound familiar to you?”

“There are—not all of them, but three or four that ring a bell.”

“Then please send someone to verify their whereabouts—” Sugata Hira said. “—I heard they’ve divided their forces to assassinate you, Lord Nakajima, and Lord Maebayashi, so if those men aren’t at home now, you’ll see that it’s true.”

Gendayū inquired while ringing a bell.

“Did they mention a specific date and time?”

“Last night’s discussion indicated day after tomorrow,” came the reply, “but tonight brings word they’ll gather more hands.”

A young samurai appeared bowing in the corridor.
Gendayū demanded writing paper and inkstone. When brought, he compiled nine names—cross-checking with Sugata Hira—and thrust the list at the retainer: “Confirm their whereabouts at once.”

“This is most humiliating to admit,” Sugata Hira said, “—but as I haven’t eaten since yesterday, I hesitate to mention it—yet I would ask for the favor of breakfast.”

Gendayū looked toward him, nodded, and stood up, saying he would have preparations made now.

Nine

Before long, the young samurai returned and led him back to the original six-tatami room.
Then a meal was served to him—a murky black gruel that seemed all barley, cold miso soup with only three ragged shreds of daikon floating in it, and pickles.
Sugata Hira grew angry again.

“These’re just scraps,” he muttered. “What a damn rude, stingy household.”

But he couldn't overcome his hunger; he finished eating while seething with anger. Meanwhile, the house began to stir.
The sounds of footsteps constantly coming and going along the front corridor and voices shouting to summon people could be heard.

“They’ve already abandoned me—figures,” Sugata Hira muttered to himself. “—In that case, I’ll just have to take matters into my own hands.”

After listening intently for sounds, he stood up and stepped quietly into the middle corridor.

Whether Castle Deputy Elder Rikuda was being held here—and if so, which part of the residence it would be.

He looked left and right down the middle corridor.
There was no sign of anyone coming. He walked toward the eight-tatami room from earlier.
That way led deeper inside, where the rooms seemed to stretch on endlessly.
But when he reached a spot where the inner garden came into view, suddenly the sliding door to his right opened, and a middle-aged samurai peered out.

“Who’s there?” The samurai looked this way, then shouted in astonishment, “Who the hell are you?”

“I wished to use the restroom, but...”

“What? The restroom?”
The man lunged forward, shouting as if to grab him, “Where did you come from? What are you doing here? Hey—Watanabe! Where is Watanabe?”

At the samurai’s shouting, a young samurai came running from the other side—likely Watanabe—and explained about him.
The middle-aged samurai seemed convinced but said, “He mustn’t wander around aimlessly,” and ordered the young samurai to guide him to the restroom.

“This is awfully formal,” Sugata Hira said while stealing a glance at the young samurai’s expression. “—It’s almost as if there’s some secret in the inner quarters, isn’t there?”

“A guest has just arrived,” the young samurai answered. “—As the two esteemed senior officials seem to be having a discussion, this way please.”

The young samurai waited until Sugata Hira returned from washing his hands, then escorted him back to the original six-tatami-mat room.
The meal tray remained untouched, and there was no sign of anyone bringing tea.

There was definitely something in that inner area.

He thought this.
Of course, that might not immediately indicate Rikuda’s presence—to assume so would be jumping to conclusions—but judging from that middle-aged samurai’s astonished demeanor, it seemed reasonable to infer that something was indeed there.
The two senior official guests must be Nakajima Yagorō and Maebayashi Hisanoshin, and the fact that Gendayū had summoned them—since Terada and the nine others were absent—proved that the secret informant’s report about the gang gathering at Kōmyōji Temple in Ōsato Village had been believed.

"They’ll undoubtedly send a raiding unit."

Sugata Hira began feeling rushed. Once they dispatched forces from the raiding unit to Kōmyōji Temple, their side would have to immediately commence operations. For that, locating Lord Rikuda’s whereabouts became absolutely essential. “If only I could hear what those three senior officials are discussing,” he muttered. “Getting into their meeting might give me an opening.”

He saw no alternative. Just as he resolved to request an audience by claiming he had more information, a young samurai conveniently entered. This one appeared much younger than Watanabe—with a sullen, puffy face—and carried a large handbasket.

“Have you finished?” the young samurai said. “If it’s acceptable, I’ll clear this away.”

He had come to remove the meal tray.
When informed it was finished, he placed the handbasket there, put the dishes inside it, and carried the tray out.
Sugata Hira made no attempt to request an audience.
He half-closed his eyes, slightly parted his lips, and stared fixedly at a section of the wall.

“I am a blind man,” he muttered.
“I should’ve noticed when that middle-aged samurai came from the storehouse—shouldn’t I have? After all, I only just now realized that handbasket was meant for carrying dishes.”

Sugata Hira rubbed his hands together. The scene he had glimpsed earlier across the inner courtyard now floated vividly before his eyes. From the middle of three aligned storehouses, a middle-aged samurai emerged carrying a handbasket, closed it behind him, and departed into the rain. The handbasket appeared identical to the one he had just seen; indeed, the middle-aged samurai had taken meals into the storehouse.

“I am a blind man,” Sugata Hira muttered, then smirked. “—But a lucky blind man. You might even call me a fortunate one. Now just one thing remains… Once they know the raiding unit has been dispatched, then—”

In that room was a six-foot storage cabinet.
He quietly opened the sliding door—on the upper and lower shelves, futons were neatly stacked.
The futons were not for guests—they seemed to be reserve ones used by the house retainers.
He took out an oil-paper bundle containing oil-soaked cotton and a tinder pouch from his travel bag—hiding them beneath it for ready access—then lay down and strained his ears to catch any movement within the house.

After about half an hour, from what seemed to be the rear area came sounds—horses being led out or rather, the clamor of many people bustling about.
The horses appeared numerous, their neighing and hoofbeats scrambling chaotically.
Sugata Hira lay perfectly still.
Footsteps approached down the corridor as someone slid open this room’s door.
Still he did not move—using his travel bag as a pillow while feigning sleep.
The sliding door closed at once, footsteps retreating down the corridor’s far side.

Soon, he heard the mounted men depart.
The ponderous sound of hooves formed a unit that circled around this mansion from right to left before vanishing instantly into the far distance.—Sugata Hira sat up, opened his bundle, and took out oil-soaked cotton.
He worked cautiously—striking flint inside the cabinet, loosening the cotton fibers thoroughly before lighting both ends.
The fire resisted catching until he pressed it against oiled paper.
He placed it atop an upper-shelf futon then removed a ceiling board from the cabinet’s top compartment—angling it so flames would climb from board to roof beams.
The paper erupted in vigorous flames while smoldering cotton unfurled crimson tongues that licked outward.
Oily smoke instantly filled the cabinet but streamed upward through the opened ceiling gap.
Sugata waited for flames to claim the board and reach roof timbers.
But suddenly a door slid open with an “Ah!”
Having been checked earlier while feigning sleep—and thus feeling secure—he’d failed to notice approaching footsteps until that moment.

“What’s with that smoke?”

Sugata Hira turned around while closing the sliding door.
Inside the room, more smoke had leaked than he had anticipated.
Through the smoke, he could see the young samurai named Watanabe standing there.

“What’s this—is there a fire?”

With this shout, the young samurai tried to enter.
Sugata Hira grabbed the sword that was there, drew it, and thrust it before his opponent.

“Don’t make a sound,” he said. “—Come in here and close that door. If you cause a commotion, I’ll cut you down.”

The young samurai darted away like a bird taking flight and raced down the corridor, screaming, “Fire!”

Sugata Hira choked on the smoke as he removed the sword’s cord to fashion a tasuki sash and tightened the hakama’s crotch gusset.
Inside the storage cabinet came the crackling snap of ceiling boards burning and popping, while thick smoke billowed out through the gaps in the sliding doors.
He exited into the corridor carrying the tinder pouch and travel bag while coughing repeatedly.

From the left side of the corridor came running about three wild-eyed samurai.
Sugata Hira ran to the right—toward the inner rooms—and leapt out into the courtyard.
The three did not pursue; shouts of "Fire!" and "Water, water!" could be heard.
Of course putting out the fire would be more important—Sugata Hira turned around at the stone lantern and saw gray smoke billowing out from between the roof and eaves, drifting into the rain.

“This should do it,” he muttered while watching the smoke. “—The rain’s a nuisance, but with this much smoke rising, they’re bound to see it from outside.”

The corridor was in chaos with the sound of running footsteps and shouting voices.
Sugata Hira turned back toward the storehouse.
Then he saw a middle-aged samurai standing before the aforementioned central storehouse, attempting to open its double doors.

Sugata Hira let out an "Ah!" and broke into a run.

There was no room for doubt.
They must have deemed this a major incident and would either move the person inside elsewhere or dispose of him on the spot.

Sugata Hira threw down his travel bag and tinder pouch as he ran,

“Wait—don’t lay a hand on that storehouse!”

he shouted.
The opponent turned toward him.
And then, he swiftly jumped back and drew his sword.

Sugata Hira lunged.
He raised the sword he had kept drawn overhead and, with the momentum of his charge, slashed straight down.
The opponent dodged widely to the side.
Sugata Hira had no intention of killing his opponent—he just needed to guard the storehouse until Isaka Jurōta and his men stormed in. Having been evaded, he dashed past for about three ken, then turned around while sweeping his sword sideways to prepare for a follow-up strike.
However, the moment he turned around, his foot slipped, and he fell headlong violently.
As he tried to spring up and raised his eyes, he saw his opponent charging toward him—unexpectedly close.

The opponent seemed to let out a battle cry—though no sound reached his ears—as he charged forward with mouth and eyes stretched wide, teeth bared on a blood-flushed face, sword swinging downward.
His entire form appeared nearly ten times larger to his eyes; instinctively shutting them, he rolled across the ground like a ball in a frenzy.

At that moment, Terada Otozaburō came running up.
Terada, along with two others—young samurai of the foot soldier unit—charged forth like slung stones, shouting as they surrounded their opponent.

“Don’t kill him!”

Sugata Hira shouted as he stood up, “—Don’t kill him! Mr. Rikuda is inside that storehouse—he belongs to us now!”

He was covered in mud, and with dirt having gotten into his mouth, he spat it out as he looked ahead.
The shoji inside the house were violently thrown open, and Isaka Jurōta along with three others, holding drawn swords, were seen coming out into the corridor.

―A complete success.

Sugata Hira muttered inwardly.

"My strategy was perfect."

Ten

Indeed, Sugata Hira’s strategy had succeeded.

With forces having been dispatched to Kōmyōji Temple, Kurotō’s mansion was left severely understaffed—and those remaining were so consumed with fighting the fire that they failed to notice Isaka and his men’s intrusion. Thus, the battle’s outcome was decided almost instantaneously.

The fire was extinguished after burning only two rooms and part of the roof.
The Three Elders were confined to a single room, and Rikuda Seibē was rescued from inside the storehouse.
For the forces that had gone to Kōmyōji Temple, under the pretense of a military maneuver (drill), they promptly dispatched members of the arquebus unit, spear unit, and foot soldier unit, and captured over thirty horsemen as they attempted to return at the Ishihachi Mountain pass.
For this command, the four men—the Terada brothers, Shimaguchi Sonpei, and Morishima Chūta—took charge.

The arrangements for this “Military Maneuver Deception” had also been Sugata Hira’s strategy, and one could say his role was now complete.
When Jurōta introduced him to Elder Rikuda, he displayed a humble and dignified demeanor.

“It was not through my power alone,” said Sugata Hira, “but through the united strength of Mr. Isaka and all present here, combined with fortune’s favor. My stratagems are scarcely worth considering.”

Then he returned the mud-stained tinder pouch to Jurōta.
Jurōta suspiciously pinched it between his fingers and took it.

“This is the tinder pouch I borrowed,” said Sugata Hira. “I apologize for returning it in this state—please forgive me.”

They closed Kurotō’s mansion and ordered its retainers and servants to remain confined.
They made arrangements at Nakajima and Maebayashi’s residences as well and escorted the Three Elders to the castle.

Thus, when Rikuda Seibē and his group were about to return to the mansion, everyone noticed that Sugata Hira was gone.
They split up and searched the mansion grounds, but he was nowhere to be found.

“What’s going on?”
Jurōta said in stunned disbelief, “—What on earth is happening here?”

Jurōta blankly gazed toward the rainy sky.

Sugata Hira had deserted.

He was walking dejectedly in the rain.
Heading in the direction opposite to Edo—holding that tattered umbrella he had once discarded in Kurotō’s mansion garden.
In one hand dangled a mud-caked, empty travel bag; on his feet were the same worn-down old geta he had hastily slipped on at Kurotō’s mansion.

He was exhausted, terribly hungry, and to make matters worse, drowsy.

“This might be vanity.”
As he walked, he muttered, “—Is this truly vanity? Or hypocrisy? I don’t think that’s it. I don’t want to think of it that way. When I picked up that tinder pouch—that mud-caked tinder pouch—and returned it, this feeling arose. When I gave it back to Isaka, when he pinched it between two fingers with that suspicious look on his face, something happened inside me. Something… I can’t quite put into words. But regardless—now is the time to flee. Right this moment, I must escape from here.”

A strange sound rumbled in his belly—those who knew would know what it meant. He pulled a pitiful face and gulped down a mouthful of fresh saliva.

"No—this isn’t vanity," Sugata Hira continued, "nor hypocrisy. It might be a matter of conscience. I felt ashamed—embarrassed, even—and that’s what’s strange about it. No, it’s not strange to me at all. That the strategy I wrung from this dim-witted head succeeded so splendidly is shameful itself. While devising plans and taking action, everything was fine—my mind and body were tensed with exhilaration. But when the strategy achieved complete success without a single discrepancy... Yes, I grew desolate with shame until I couldn’t bear it... Why remain there? With everything accomplished, wasn’t I just superfluous? Afterward—yes, let me say it plainly—afterward came the reckoning of my merits. Hadn’t I desired that? From the very beginning I’d wanted it—vowed not to let go of this vine, intended to clutch it tight for reinstatement. When all was done, that truth rose clearly before me... And so my conscience couldn’t permit staying—this is a matter of samurai conscience."

Despite being utterly exhausted, starving, and so sleepy he could die, Sugata Hira was enveloped in lofty emotions.
The spirit felt refreshingly clear; his mind remained invigorating.
Of course, matters of the stomach stood apart.
Within that stomach—and indeed for quite some time—a wholly separate voice had been berating him.

"Ugh ugh ugh, you vainglorious hypocrite," the voice jeered.
"You even mimicked seppuku out of starvation—what samurai conscience? You've served your purpose well enough, and a post was right before your eyes! Ugh, ugh! Now go back—return to Jurōta this instant! If taking the position embarrasses you, at least claim the promised money! That man's purse holds the gold pledged to you! Go back now!"

“Please come back—I’m begging you,” the voice from his stomach persisted, “what are you going to do starving like this with nothing? You don’t want this! What’s so lofty about being this famished? You don’t want it, don’t want it don’t want it don’t want it—hey, you!… Give me something to eat! Hey, give me something to eat!”

Sugata Hira twisted his lips and stopped in his tracks.
When he rubbed his itchy cheek with his hand, dried mud pattered down.
He surveyed his mud-caked body, looked at his old, tattered kimono and hakama still half-dried and caked in mud, then at the worn-out geta on his bare feet, equally coated in dirt.

His stomach growled again.
It sounded like the clatter of horse hooves.
Sugata Hira startled—he could hear a voice calling his name, for the growl in his stomach had separated from the sound of horse hooves, and the voice calling his name had become clear.

He turned around, startled.

Isaka Jurōta came galloping on horseback.
Without wearing a hat or raincoat, he raised his whip and drove the horse with desperate urgency.
To Sugata Hira, the spray of rainwater kicked up by the hooves had never looked so refreshing nor felt so reassuring as it did at that moment.

“Please come back, Mr. Sugata.”

Dismounting from the horse he had ridden up on, Isaka Jurōta pleaded imploringly.

“No—I understand,” said Jurōta breathlessly. “I fully grasp why you left. But that won’t do. Your resolve is commendable, but it would leave us in a bind.”

“—You would face hardship.”

“My uncle scolded me,” said Jurōta. “Because of this incident, you’ve come to know of the clan’s internal strife—and now that you know of it, we cannot simply send you away, Mr. Sugata. You must return to take an official post or remain with us as a guest. He ordered us to divide our efforts and pursue you immediately.”

Sugata Hira involuntarily cried out in his heart.

Thank goodness—now I can return with dignity.

But he nodded with as stern an expression as he could muster.

“That might indeed be as you say.”

“Will you come back?”

“It cannot be helped,” Sugata Hira said. “—For the sake of your domain’s peace, I shall return.”

And then, bowing unconsciously, he looked at Jurōta and said with an irrepressible laugh:

“Thank you.”