Pathway to Japanese Literature

One

Matsubayashi Hanya was commonly known as Sama no Suke.
According to the Tenpō edition of the *Būdōryū Sōroku* (Annals of the Būdō School’s Founders),

“He was from Hitachi Kashima.
From the age of fourteen, he took a liking to swordsmanship, and as he grew older, his practice became increasingly refined, allowing him to master its subtleties.
He served Ina Hanjūrō Tadaharu in Bushū Akayama and established the Ganryū school.
Later, he served Date Shōshō Tadamune, took the tonsure, and adopted the name Hanya.”
While it remains unrecorded under whom he studied, the refinement of his swordsmanship was said to border on the miraculous—his bodily movements possessed a divine swiftness. During his exhibition match before Shogun Iemitsu on the 25th day of the third month of Keian 4, when facing Abe Dōsei Nyūdō, chroniclers note that each leap caused the hem of his garment to sweep against the eaves’ overhang; it is from such feats that his sobriquet “Hanya” appears to derive.

When Date Tadamune sought to recruit Hanya, he offered 300 koku through Ina Hanjūrō;

“If it’s a thousand koku, I would be honored to serve.”

he said.
Though it was still the Kan’ei era, merely being a military tactician and requesting a new stipend of a thousand koku was quite remarkable.
However, Tadamune,

“Very well. I cannot grant it immediately, but in due time, I shall bestow upon you a thousand koku.”

Tadamune accepted.
That Hanya was no ordinary swordsman is evident from this single incident alone.

Hanya was also strangely popular among women.
Among his disciples were many women from samurai families, and he received a kind of worship resembling religious faith from women of both merchant and farming households.
This held true both during his time in Bushū and after relocating to Sendai; it is said that women were perpetually present around him—in the best sense of the phrase.

One year, Matsubayashi Hanya employed a maidservant to attend to his personal affairs.
By contemporary custom, this constituted a concubine arrangement; yet he had not taken her on due to any attraction to her beauty or charm. Rather, her family had fallen into desperate poverty, so he provided three years’ wages upfront to rescue them from their plight.

The woman’s name was Machi.
Fair-skinned and slender, with features surpassing ordinary beauty, her movements were nevertheless too brisk, and her brow bore a stubborn air of refusal. From the very night she arrived, she began tending to Hanya’s needs—yet she spoke sparingly, her expression cool and unapproachable.

About twenty days after her arrival, one evening, after sending off four or five female guests who had been there since midday, when Hanya entered the living room, he found Machi sitting dejectedly by the window, wiping away tears.

“—What’s wrong, Machi?”

Since it was rare for her to cry, Hanya asked with a faint smile.

“Are you missing home?”

“No…”

Machi shook her head in her usual cool manner.

“Then what’s the matter? If you’re feeling unwell, you should say so without hesitation.”

“There’s no such reason.”

“Well, you’re a strange one.”

Machi was tormented by feelings she herself couldn’t comprehend. As she listened to Hanya chatting cheerfully with the women in the guest room, she suddenly felt inexplicably sad, and tears began streaming down her face in a way that felt almost absurd.

What was it that made her so unbearably sad?

Since this was her first time experiencing such a thing herself, Machi carefully considered the nature of that sadness.
Then she realized that she found Matsubayashi Hanya utterly detestable.

The very reason she had become a concubine was because a man named Hanya existed—it was Hanya who had ruthlessly trampled the maiden’s dream of living the proper path of womanhood as the wife of an exemplary husband, a dream she had once cherished with longing.
That was what she thought.
However, there was some doubt about this—for since Machi had come to this house, Hanya had never once taken her into his bedroom.
In neither his demeanor nor his words had he ever shown even a hint of lewdness—yet this did not mean he found her displeasing—rather, he constantly cared for her with a soft, warm affection.

But what use is this indecisive affection? I’m already a base concubine—as if my whole life had been ruined. If only my very body could…

Machi wept as she agonized over such violent thoughts.

“Look this way—”

Eventually, Matsubayashi Hanya said.

“There’s no need to ask anew—you want to return home, don’t you? What say you?”

“————”

“You find being by Hanya’s side unpleasant, don’t you?”

Machi did not answer.

II

“I am not a Hanya so oblivious as to not understand such things. I know well what you grieve over, what you resent—Machi, you must hate Hanya for making you a concubine.”

“…………”

Machi started and held her breath.

“Yes, it may be natural for you to hate me.”
“But―no.”

Hanya started to say something but stopped, then abruptly changed his words and said.

“Then let’s strike a bargain here. You’re always by my side—no matter what carelessness I show, you should notice it. Understand? Aim for that carelessness and try to surprise me. If you manage to make Hanya gasp in astonishment, I’ll double your three years’ wages and grant you immediate leave. What do you say?”

“Is that… truly the case?”

“I don’t speak such things in jest. If you wish, you may start aiming for it even now.”

Machi nodded resolutely.

Fortunately, her body still remained pure.
If she could secure her freedom now, she might return to a life filled with hope.
Let's try it—even if he's as strong as a demon god, Hanya is still human. He can't stay vigilant at all times.

—Surely, surely.

Machi firmly resolved.

Hanya entered his bedroom every night at ten o’clock without fail.
The bedroom was situated at the edge facing the inner courtyard, and since Machi lived in the next room over, Hanya’s snoring came through as clear as day.
That night she went to bed without doing anything, but from the following evening onward, Machi kept constant watch on his bedroom without leaving.
However, it wasn’t as easy as she’d imagined.
After listening intently to the sound of snoring, stealthily approaching with muffled footsteps and bated breath, the moment she tried to quietly place her hand on the sliding door, the snoring abruptly ceased.

Ah, he noticed.

Thinking this, when she withdrew her hand from the sliding door, the snoring would immediately resume.
After a little while had passed,

It should be safe now.

When she reached out her hand, the snoring stopped abruptly—with perfect accuracy, as if he were watching.

This went on night after night.
Because she hardly slept each night, after four or five days Machi became utterly exhausted.
How could he detect her approach when she made not a single sound? Perhaps Hanya wasn’t sleeping at all? She had even entertained such suspicions—but come dawn, seeing him rise before four o’clock and energetically train throughout the day, she detected not the slightest sign of it.

It was the evening of the seventh day.
As she watered plants in the inner courtyard, Yamane Michio—a young disciple—approached and inquired with feigned concern:
“Lady Machi, your complexion has been poor of late. Is some worry troubling you?”

“If there is anything this humble one can do to assist you, I shall do so without fail. Should you have any troubles weighing on your heart, would you not confide them in me?”

“Yes, well—”

Machi glanced briefly at Michio—she had known since first coming to this household that he had always cast longing glances her way. And so, almost as if drawn in despite herself,

“Well, actually…”

she resolutely began to speak of her pact with Hanya.

“So you see, if I can startle Master, I’ll be granted leave while still keeping my body pure.”

“I see.”

“So for over seven days now, I’ve been trying every night to approach the bedroom, but no matter what I do, I can’t get in… Now I’m completely discouraged…”

“Lady Machi!”

Michio lowered his voice,

“This is far beyond what you can handle alone. Allow this humble one to assist you. In truth, we disciples have been told something similar by Master. Let us join forces and target Master’s carelessness together.”
“Things one cannot do alone, two people can accomplish—it stands to reason.”

“If you would do that for me…”

“However—if you were to take leave from Master, you would of course return home, I suppose.”

“Yes.”

“I know saying this might make me seem like a rude oaf, but—”

Michio said awkwardly.

“Have you already—back home—someone you’re promised to?”

“Oh, such a thing—absolutely not…”

“Really? Ah, then hooray for that!”

“Why would you say such a thing—?”

“I won’t say anything more for now. When Master grants you leave in due time, I—this humble one—will have a request to make of you once more. Please do keep that in mind.”

Yamane Michio said with a look of happiness and stared intently into Machi’s eyes.

Three

From that point on, those targeting Hanya became two.
However, before they could seize a good opportunity, the season quietly turned to summer.

One day, after being summoned to the castle, Hanya returned home thoroughly drunk after nightfall.
He had never been one to dislike drink, but this was the first time he had gotten so thoroughly drunk—no sooner had he stepped into the entranceway than he collapsed right onto the threshold of the cedar door.

“Master, this is the entranceway. Please come inside.”

When the disciple Tachibana Tetsujirō said this,

“Ah, I’m dreadfully drunk. In this state, I can’t sleep at all. Let’s go see the fireflies at Someyachō Embankment. You—go call everyone.”

“Who all should I call?”

“Kurihara, Namekawa, Doi Kinpachi—and Watanabe’s Gantarō too. Call them all.”

They were all Hanya’s beloved disciples.

Tachibana Tetsujirō, having entrusted Hanya to Yamane Michio—who happened to be present—immediately set out to summon the group. As for Hanya, he had already fallen fast asleep, emitting thunderous snores.

“Master, you’ll catch cold, Master.”

He shook him two or three times, but there was no sign of movement—Michio quietly stood up and made his way to Machi’s sitting room.

“Lady Machi, please come quickly!”

“What is it?”

“It’s the perfect chance to startle Master. Hurry!”

Machi immediately stood up.

When they came to the entranceway and looked in, Hanya remained deeply asleep—lying on his side with his left arm as a pillow, right hand still gripping his longsword, emitting an awfully loud snore as he slumbered.

“Look—his head is right on the cedar door’s threshold.—We’ll close this door.”

Michio whispered.

“I’ll close this side, so you close that side. Time it together—put all your strength into it.”
“—Yes.”
“I’ll give the signal.”

The two split to left and right.—Hanya slept without his breathing faltering; Machi, suppressing the trembling in her chest, gripped the cedar door with both hands.
Michio continued listening to the breathing for a while longer but, upon deeming the moment right, gave the signal—the two cedar doors surged toward Hanya’s head from both sides with ferocious speed.

Crash!!

The crash resounded.

“Got him!”

But when they looked, contrary to expectations, the cedar doors that should have closed completely were left ajar by about a foot and two or three inches, and Hanya himself was smiling calmly.

"Oh, this…"

When Machi inadvertently let out a cry,
“Ahahaha, what a failure.”
With that, Hanya sat up. When they looked, an iron fan had been placed in the threshold groove.

“No good, no good! Trying to startle Hanya with something like this is utterly useless. At this rate, granting your freedom will take ages yet—hahahaha!”

“...”

“Well then—bring some water first! And since four or five people will be arriving shortly, Machi should come along with us all to see the fireflies too.”

“Yes.”

Machi stood up with a peculiar sense of relief. Of course, her own failure was frustrating, but when one confirmed the fact that something unshakable remained immovable—a profound relief that anyone would feel—she felt that emotion keenly and vividly.

Before long, once everyone had assembled, Hanya took Machi with him and set out.
The Someyachō Embankment in Sendai was a firefly-viewing spot renowned even in neighboring regions, where during the season crowds of spectators would gather from near and far.—That night too, the embankment teemed with people; if one wasn’t careful, they’d risk getting separated from the group in the crush.

When they reached the embankment, Yamane Michio—

“Lady Machi, a moment.”

With that, he led Machi aside.

“Master might notice.”

“In this crowd, how could he possibly notice? There’s something I wish to discuss.”

With those words, Michio forcibly led Machi toward the darkness.—Having moved a short distance from the crowd, they found a dense thicket of dark shrubs. Michio stepped into its shadow and turned back to face Machi.

"What is this talk about?"

"You may be startled by my sudden proposal, but please calm yourself and listen, Lady Machi—the truth is, would you not consider leaving this place with me?"

“What?”
“What are you saying?”

“I must confess—I have long held feelings for you.
“From the day you came to Master’s side—”

Michio’s demeanor was pitifully earnest; without sparing a moment to consider how the woman might feel, he continued speaking.

IV

“When I heard of the promise between you and the Master, I cannot convey how overjoyed I was—from that moment onward, not for an instant did I forget, and I have watched for the Master’s carelessness.”
“But it’s futile—the Master has not the slightest opening, awake or asleep. Even just now… I truly believed this time would succeed, yet we failed again. With our strength alone, we could never compel the Master to yield.”
“Yet even so—if we persist idly like this, remember the Master too is human. I cannot swear no harm will come to you.”
“When I dwell on this, I cannot bear it—I cannot endure it! Lady Machi—flee with me! Yamane Michio is a samurai; wherever we go, I vow you’ll lack nothing. I shall honor you as my lawful wife!”

“Please stop this! I beg you to stop!”

A refusal seethed within Machi.
She felt neither affection nor aversion toward Yamane; rather, until then, she had even considered that if it meant escaping the lowly station of a concubine—and if Yamane’s pure love were genuine—she might have accepted his proposal.
But when she saw him—a man declaring he could never rival Hanya, even whimpering for her to flee with him—she was struck by a disgust and contempt she had never felt, not even toward Hanya.

“I fully understand the details of your proposal, but I must decline.”

“You refuse?”
“Why… why would you?”

“I have already received three years’ worth of my stipend and sent it to my family.”
“Until I fulfill the promise with Master, no matter what may happen, I cannot leave his side.”
“Moreover, even if the matter of the stipend were not an issue—once I have made this promise, I could never do something as cowardly as breaking it and fleeing.”

“Th-that’s… that’s just an excuse! While you’re saying such things, if something were to happen to your pure body—”

“There’s nothing to be done—I came here resolved to this from the very start. To flee while keeping the wages I’ve received and breaking the very promise I strove to fulfill—to commit such a shameless act—I would rather endure being called a concubine.”

Michio’s face turned as white as paper—and then, trembling violently, he shouted.
“Ah—you’re in love with Master, aren’t you?”
“—What are you talking about?”
“You’re in love with him—in love with Master! Master is adored by women—and you too, while claiming disgust with your mouth, in your heart—”

“Be quiet!”

“No—I won’t be silent! You’re even in love with Master—ha ha ha ha! Yamane Michio was a fool—a buffoon’s puppet! But—I won’t stay quiet like this! Even if it’s Master—even if it’s anyone—I won’t let them lay a finger on you! Just watch what happens!”

“Be quiet, or else—”

When Machi shouted sharply, a group of drunken samurai approached,

“Well, well, how suspicious!”

“Chasing fireflies to hide in the dark—you’re plotting something clever! Show your face—who’s this fortunate one?”

Historically, Satsuma and Sendai were known for their rowdy temperaments; the drunken men swiftly surrounded the pair, but Yamane Michio had already sneaked away.

“Hahahaha! Looked like a young servant from the household, but he vanished like an otter!”

“Never mind the man—more importantly, don’t let your sworn enemy escape! Whoa—this is something! Has a firefly spirit taken form? A beauty glowing like moonlight!”

“Come now—let this one have a look too!”

“Enough! Don’t shove so recklessly!”

While exhaling alcohol-tinged breath, they noisily pressed closer.
Machi could neither flee nor escape, and as she panicked over what might happen—

“Well now, you all seem to be in such high spirits.”

A figure called out while drawing near; when she looked, it was Matsubayashi Hanya.

“Well, isn’t that Machi over there?”

When she was told this, Machi slipped through the men as if delivered.—The drunken men too knew Hanya’s face.

“Well, if it isn’t Master Matsubayashi…”

“Out firefly-viewing together, are we? Must apologize for spoiling your diversion—this here’s my ward Machi. Got separated from the sightseers while I was searching—thanks to your lot’s help found her neat as you please. Most deeply obliged.”

“N-no, that is to say—it was nothing of consequence.”

“Hahahaha! Do be sure to take ample caution against firefly spirits and such!”

Laughing, Hanya urged Machi onward and departed.

Without even needing to compare Michio—who had fled abandoning a defenseless woman—with Hanya—who had not permitted those drunkards so much as a grumble—Machi’s heart was drawn toward Hanya by an uncanny force, pulled taut as if by sorcery.

“Calling you my ward… Do you suppose I’ll be scolded?”

After walking some distance, Hanya spoke.

“Well, forgive me—had I not called you my ward, there’s no telling what sort of fuss those drunken men might have made. It may have been an inadequate explanation, but do let it pass.”

Five

“That… if anything—”

“Enough—no need for anger. My drunkenness has cleared regardless. Shall we talk here while watching the fireflies?”

“—Yes.”

Hanya promptly sat at the embankment’s edge.

“Over forty days have passed since your arrival. We’ve yet to speak properly—isn’t it time you began opening up?”

“How might I best comply?”

“That’s such a you response.”
“As I once promised, I remain prepared to grant your freedom whenever you startle me into admitting defeat—I’ve no intention of breaking that pledge. But if…”

“No!”

Machi suddenly interrupted Hanya’s words.

“No—please do not say anything more—and allow me to keep the promise—please…”

“I see.”

Hanya nodded quietly,

“In that case, it seems—”

It was the very moment he was about to speak—Watanabe Kantarō (whom Hanya called Gantarō), a disciple who had stealthily approached from behind at some point, timed his breath and suddenly shoved Hanya’s back.

“Ah! What—?!”

At the very moment Machi raised a cry of surprise and a sharp kiai erupted from Hanya’s mouth—and just as he seemed about to plunge into the water—Hanya stood upon the opposite embankment like a phantom materialized from air,

“No good, no good—that won’t do, Gantarō.”

he was laughing.

The act of leaning in and engrossing himself in conversation had been pure deception; this surprise attack had targeted that precise instant when both body and spirit were riddled with openings—how had he countered that razor-edged assault? How had he vaulted across a river spanning over two ken from that compromised posture? It was a swift maneuver as inscrutable as a magic trick.

What a magnificent display!

While involuntarily marveling, Machi felt that familiar, unyielding resolve surge up even more powerfully within her—

But I’ll do it—I’ll definitely, definitely make him say he admits defeat!

She repeatedly vowed to herself.

It was the following day. When Matsubayashi Hanya had finished the morning training session and entered a rest period, he summoned Watanabe Kantarō and—
“Did you return safely last night?”

he asked.

“Ah… I am utterly without excuse.”

“There’s no need to apologize for the failed attempt now—I’m asking whether you returned safely after that.”

“N-no, it’s nothing, I—”

“That’s a lie—you’re a liar, Gantarō.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You must have lost something.”

Kantarō was startled—last night, after parting ways with Hanya on his way home, he had noticed his waist felt strangely light and realized the longsword had vanished; though the scabbard remained, its contents were gone.
Startled, he retraced his steps to search the original spot but could not find it no matter what; however, as a samurai, he could not admit to having dropped his longsword, so he had kept silent.

“How about that, Gantarō!”

“Uh… well… actually, I lost a minor item.”

“When you say ‘minor item,’ do you mean a purse?”

“No—something a bit larger.”

“Something larger than a purse but still small... Aha, then a medicine case?”
“If that’s not it, then did you drop your hakama?”

“No—uh—something long, I suppose.”

“Saying ‘seems like’ is absurd—if it’s a long object, you must call it a long object.”
“Don’t give me vague nonsense like ‘seems like’—what color is this long thing?”

“It’s, uh… somewhat shiny.”

Gantarō was drenched in sweat; Hanya, unable to suppress a chuckle, took out the unsheathed sword that was beside him.

“Stubborn fool—this long, shiny thing must be what you’re talking about.”

“Ah! How did you get this?!”

“Don’t panic now of all times—I took it when you shoved my back.”

“I yield!”

He had carried over his concession from the previous night.—Just as Hanya, laughing, was about to rise, a young samurai hurriedly arrived,

“An urgent messenger from the castle has arrived.”

announced.
An urgent messenger from the castle—this was unprecedented.

Immediately changing his attire and proceeding to the guest room, he found it was Date Mondon, the inspector and his longtime close acquaintance.

“I apologize for disturbing your practice—”

“There’s no need for such consideration—I understand this concerns an urgent messenger, but what service do you require?”

“The fact is, we most earnestly wish to request your direct involvement—”

Date Mondon leaned forward.

Six

To summarize Mondon’s account—

There was a master swordsman named Sugawara Budayū, a samurai of the Nambu domain.
This man had deceived the daughter of a Nambu family senior retainer into eloping, and with someone in Sendai acting as an accomplice, he was now discovered hiding at an inn in Kokubunchō by pursuers.
However, Budayū—though of lowly status—was exceptionally skilled; since the pursuers alone could not apprehend him, they submitted a letter from the Nambu family and requested certain accommodations.

“The lord heard this and deigned to command that Hanya capture him and then hand him over—what say you?”

“Understood—I shall apprehend him.”

Matsubayashi Hanya immediately agreed.

“Your prompt consent is most appreciated. If there are any instructions, I shall make arrangements immediately.”

“There’s no particular need for that.”
“Ah—Your Honor has an expert in arrest techniques among your subordinates, does he not?”

“Suzuki Den’emon, that one.”

“I would like you to have that man dispatched; I will set out after nightfall.”

“Understood. Then I leave the matter in your hands—”

With that, Mondon left to return.

Matsubayashi Hanya continued his training until evening as if nothing had happened, maintaining his usual routine.—When Suzuki Den’emon, an expert in arrest techniques dispatched by the inspector, arrived, he concluded his practice and prepared to change attire.
However, there was no sign of Machi.

“Where is Machi?”

When he inquired—one of his inner disciples—

“I believe she was in the inner courtyard earlier with Mr. Yamane.”

“Yamane?”
“……Go and check.”

Having said this, he entered the bath; by the time he had washed and exited, the inner disciple returned,

“I don’t see them anywhere.”

“Is Yamane missing too?”

“Yes…”

Hanya’s brow clouded slightly, but without saying a word, he ordered the meal to be prepared and ate lightly. Then, retrieving a fist-sized lump of lead from the storage room, he wrapped it in cloth and fastened only his medium-sized sword at his waist.

“I’ve kept you waiting—let us proceed.”

Urging Den’emon onward, he left the dojo.

The inn in question was a two-story structure at Kokubunchō’s edge, its eaves bearing a hanging lantern marked “Musashiya”—a rather undistinguished establishment. Hanya strode briskly inside and—

“A Nambu samurai accompanied by a woman should be lodging here. Inform them I require an audience.”

he said.

The inn staff looked doubtful,

"Hmm, a samurai from Nambu—"

“Are there any other samurai guests?”

“No, there is only one group of samurai guests, indeed accompanied by a lady—I believe they are from the Dewa domain.”

“That must be the one. Good—tell him this: ‘We have come under orders from Nambu Domain to arrest you. The inn is surrounded by Date clan forces. We are coming up now—surrender quietly.’ Understood?”

“Y-yes, sir!”

The innkeeper turned pale and dashed off.
Den’emon wore a look of utter bewilderment,

“With all due respect, it seems to me that barging in unannounced would be less prone to mishap…”

“Depending on the situation, that might be the case.”

Hanya smiled and,

“However, even if you take someone by surprise, a prepared opponent won’t panic—in fact, you risk giving them the desperate courage of one cornered. If we inform them beforehand, they’ll first brace themselves thinking ‘the moment has come,’ but then resolve to at least try cutting their way through to escape. This is the void in the mind—to create that void in advance, we… Ah, it seems the innkeeper has returned.”

“Um, uh—the samurai has drawn his sword!”

As the innkeeper came running back shouting, Hanya pushed him aside and turned to Den’emon.

“I would ask you to wait at the foot of the stairs.”

Having said that, he took the lead lump wrapped in cloth in his right hand and climbed the stairs with heavy, thudding footsteps.

At the top of the stairs to the second floor, Sugawara Budayū himself was waiting.
Though the stairway landing was dark, the sound of approaching footsteps and the figure ascending were unmistakable—assuming an iaido stance, he timed his breath—the instant!

“Budayū, official orders!”

As Hanya shouted, Budayū’s sword came slashing down like a flash of light toward his head—a sensation as if it had split his skull (this was Hanya throwing the lead lump). It is said that the sensation truly resembles cutting into bone. Budayū thought exactly the same.)

—He struck.

In the instant he thought—
Hanya leapt up like a raptor, exploited the opening to close into Budayū’s guard in an instant, and seized his sword arm—

“Hah!”
With a shout,
Budayū’s body flipped into a somersault and tumbled down the stairs with a thunderous *thud-thud-thud-thud*.

“Lord Den’emon—your turn.”

Hanya barked downward.

“Understood!”

The instant Den’emon shouted back—a rustle of movement from the side and, distantly—

“Look out—!”

A woman’s scream pierced the air simultaneously.

Seven

Hanya reflexively stepped aside—the instant he did so, a sword came slashing in. When his strike was dodged, [the attacker] slammed [the blade] into the stairway handrail with a clang—and there stood none other than Yamane Michio.

“Well, you—isn’t this Yamane?”

Hanya, startled, jumped back,

“Damn!”

Michio drew his sword and, his face twisted like a madman’s, charged forward in a frenzied assault.

“You fool! What grudge makes you strike at Hanya? Wait! Will you not wait, Yamane!”

“Aaargh, damn!”

“You! I’ll cut you down!”

Fury coursed through Hanya’s body; Yamane Michio, having seemingly lost all sense of reason, came slashing at him with beast-like ferocity.
The instant!
Hanya’s body sank,

“Hah!”

No sooner had that ferocious battle cry echoed off the walls than the longsword flew from Yamane Michio’s grasp, his body spinning like a top as it tumbled down to the lower floor with a thunderous crash.

“You fool!”

Hanya wiped the short sword in his right hand and muttered irritably—when someone came rushing down the hallway as if tumbling,

“Master!”

There was someone—looking up, he saw a woman bound from behind, her gag removed and hair disheveled—it was none other than Machi.

“Oh—you! What brings you here?”

“Ah, I was about to be taken to another province for Yamane’s sake.”
“I see.”

Hanya swiftly untied the woman’s bonds—
“I heard there was someone in Sendai aiding Budayū—so it was that Yamane bastard after all. Though even so—trying to cut me down? What a contemptible wretch.”
“You’re not hurt anywhere?”

“Yes.
“While I was in the courtyard, I suddenly had a gag forced on me and was helplessly carried here, but fortunately sustained no injuries.
“When I heard we were to leave for Edo tonight together with that Sugawara man… I was utterly terrified of what might become of me.”

“Glad we arrived in time.—Since avoiding witnesses would be prudent, you should slip out through the back and return home first. I’ll follow shortly.”

“Then—I’ll take my leave…”

Machi immediately left toward the back staircase.

Sugawara Budayū had been bound by Den’emon’s hand, and the girl he had kidnapped was also safe in the room.
Yamane Michio alone had perished, his neck slashed open until only a thread of skin remained.

After handing the two men over to the Nambu domain’s agents and disposing of Yamane’s corpse, Hanya returned home around past nine o’clock.—At the entrance, Machi waited with a worried expression.

“Welcome back, Master.”

“Hmm—could you prepare a foot bath?”

“Yes.”

Hanya sat down on the entrance platform and waited.
Machi promptly brought over the foot basin.

“Allow me to wash them.”

“Mm—”

She nodded and tried to lower his feet into the basin, but Hanya suddenly pulled them back and laughed.

“You planned this, Machi—but it won’t work. You think to make Hanya cry out ‘Ah!’ with this scalding water? It won’t go so smoothly.”

“Oh—”

Machi glared softly but resentfully.

“I was certain tonight would finally work...”
“You’re getting better at scheming, but there’s still a ways to go before you make me say ‘I surrender’.”
“Well then—go on and pour.”

“I simply cannot compete…”

Machi immediately turned back, picked up a hand bucket, and filled the foot basin.
Hanya plunged his feet in with a splash—or rather, in truth, it was likely just the tips of his toes that entered.
At that very moment,

“Ah!!”

With a shout, he convulsively pulled back both legs.
“Y-You did it, Machi!”
“――――”
“I yield—I yield utterly!”

Under pretense of filling it with cold liquid—she had instead poured additional scalding liquid into what was already seething.

—It was that precise moment when his brimming vigilance slackened—a vulnerability she exploited without missing by even a fraction.
—Hanya sighed,

“The path of military strategy has no equal in its profundity—even Hanya, who believed he had grasped some measure of it through years of training, finds himself so effortlessly bested when targeted by a mere woman like you. It seems I am still but a novice—Machi, this is Hanya’s defeat indeed. As promised, I shall release you from your service.”

He said this, but Machi remained kneeling there, covering her face with her sleeve.
—Now she truly understood her own feelings.

“What’s wrong?”
“What’s this—are you crying? Is going home truly such a joyous occasion?”

“No—no—that’s not it.”

“N-no—that’s not it,” Machi choked out through sobs.

“Master, I beg of you—please let me remain by your side as I always have.”

“What—what are you saying?”

“Please let me stay by your side… I can no longer bear to leave you—even as a concubine, I wouldn’t mind—please, please let me remain—”

It was a cry of truth—she now realized—that what she had thought was hatred for Hanya back then had in fact been the first sprout of jealousy born in a maiden’s heart. And now, at the very brink of her release, it had finally revealed its true form. Machi had come to love Hanya without even realizing it.

“Machi…”

Hanya instinctively reached out to the woman’s shoulder.
The bodies of the two, touching for the first time, pulsed with hot blood invisible to the eye.
A firefly drifted on the night breeze, grazing the eaves before darting away.