Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

“It’s not that he’s handsome—no, it’s more like his quiet nature and timid disposition are written plain on his face. And he’s still young.”

“You ought to quit this already—it’s wickedness.” Otsune said while dusting powder along her neckline, “Besides, the world isn’t crawling with easy marks forever—you’ll land yourself in real trouble one day.”

“Oh hush now, Sis Otsune!”
“So come on—what happened next, Sister Oshino?” Chiyono drawled, stretching out her words like taffy.

“I just pretended to faint.”

“How did you…?”

“It was right at the gate of Denbōin Temple—Okatsu and I came up from behind them, stopped for a moment, then I staggered and leaned toward Okatsu.”

“So that makes it look like a fainting spell?”

“There’s a trick to it,” Oshino said as she folded her obi. “You relax your hips and let one knee buckle like this.”

“Like when you get up to clean yourself after going all out?”
Gerematsu, lying sprawled out, said, “Hmph—haven’t had that kind of experience in ages. I’d like to meet someone who’d make me go at it so hard I couldn’t even get up afterward.”

“Please, just be quiet already!” Chiyono twisted her body and said, “I want to hear Sister Oshino’s story—I’m dying to know! So please, stop interrupting!”

“What—you planning to listen and copy my moves or something?” Gerematsu picked at his teeth with his pinky nail. “Hmph—you’re not cut out for that. To pull off those tricks, you need Oshino’s elegance and her razor-sharp wit. You’d better stick to polishing money chests and sorting through the junk around here—”

As if proving the aptness of his nickname, Gerematsu unleashed a torrent of vulgar expressions, spewing bluntly explicit remarks without restraint.

This six-tatami room faced north, making it dimly lit and gloomy. Two old and worn chests of drawers, a warped tea cabinet, a long chest with chipped edges, a wicker trunk with peeling lacquer, and several cloth-wrapped bundles were lined up along the wall. The knotty, cracked pillars were plastered with Koryūsai’s pillar prints—all risque images, each defaced with lewd additions in black ink—while the walls, hung haphazardly with gaudy kimonos and undergarments, bore actors’ portraits, auspicious prints, and Osaka-style erotic art that had been left to tear and peel where they were pasted. On the tatami lay discarded kimonos, thin cords, tabi socks, broken shamisen strings, and crumpled paper scraps scattered about; two shamisen, stripped of their strings, stood propped in the corner alongside a lantern riddled with pinholes, all covered in dust. And so, the late-November twilight light seeping through the sooty paper of the north-facing latticed window cast a desolate, chilling hue over these objects.—Outside the lattice lay a narrow alleyway, where the clamor of footsteps treading planks over ditches and children’s voices darting about could be heard.

In Heiemonchō, entered through the front of Yanagibashi’s Inari shrine, seven or eight similar houses stood scattered along three alleys that connected to the main thoroughfare. They displayed signs for dance, Tokiwazu, Kiyomoto, and other training schools, each keeping about two or three young women. It was true that the woman called “master” taught them songs and dances, but this was merely a formality—no disciples came from elsewhere for training. The young women spent more time on skincare and hairstyling than on lessons; when summoned by visitors—usually dressed in amateurish fashion—they would go out and sometimes stay away for three or five days at a time.

This house displayed a Mizuki-ryū signboard and had four women and a maid named Okatsu.
Otsune, now in her undergarments facing the mirror, was likely the oldest, followed by Gerematsu, Oshino, and Chiyono in that order—though only Oshino stood out in both elegance and appearance.

“Then I told him, ‘There’s a teahouse I frequent in Higashi-Nakamachi—would you be so kind as to escort me there?’”

“So he was a samurai then?”

“And not just any samurai—a high-ranking lord.”
Oshino undid her sash while remaining seated. “His clothes were crisp, his swords finely crafted, and his inrō gold lacquer—and at Ume no I, Osan happened to be there. When I signaled with my eyes, she caught on right away.”

“You can tell just by looking—when Sister Oshino dresses up, she looks like the daughter of a prominent merchant house from any angle!”

“It’s no use even if you praise me.”

“This mirror is hopeless.”
Otsune blew on the mirror and wiped it with the hand towel draped over her shoulder. “It needs repolishing—it won’t show a thing otherwise. Is that old man not coming today?”

“How many times have you met that person up to today?”

“Five times as of today.”

“Then he’s ours now, right?”

“Don’t talk like you know everything. Pass me that over there.”
Oshino removed her underrobe and pointed at the plum-striped lined kimono hanging on the wall. “Brr, it’s freezing! This brazier—is there any fire in it at all? You could at least add more charcoal.”

“What a shame—even if you pile up measured powdered charcoal like a mountain, it won’t get warm.”
Gerematsu said this with a yawn: “Another night of ‘tea-pulling,’ huh? What a drag.”

“You’ll get caught before long.”
“You’ll definitely get caught soon, so you should quit while you can, Oshino.”

“Don’t worry—unlike you, Sis, I’m heartless.”
Oshino said while standing and putting on her kimono, “Sis, you’re too soft-hearted—that’s why you end up falling for some mediocre man all on your own, and then you go and have a kid with him when you should’ve quit while you could. Now you’re happily slaving away to raise the brat, but don’t expect me to follow in your footsteps.”
“If anything, I could say *you’re* the one who needs to get a grip, Sis.”

Otsune looked at Oshino with a sidelong glance. Seemingly irritated by the mention of her child, she continued applying her makeup without a word.

Oshino was twenty-one.
The age of twenty-one seemed to brim through both her body and emotions.
Her complexion was fair with fine texture; her entire skin bore a luster like glossed silk.
Her flesh appeared translucent when viewed obliquely.
Her face had puffy cheeks and a wide space between eyebrows and eyes that gave her the expression of a startled girl when she lowered her gaze.
Her voice held cloying sweetness with childish tones—even the harsh, blunt words she exchanged with peers somehow stretched out smoothly, devoid of venom.

“Oh! Okatsu’s back.”

Chiyono said.
She took an empty box containing powdered charcoal and carried it over to the brazier. Using fire tongs to scrape the charcoal from the box's corner, she turned around and said—At that moment, Okatsu slid open the shoji and entered.
She had a thin build just under five feet tall, with dark skin and reddish hair.
Yet her tightly drawn lips and cleverly animated eyes harmonized perfectly with the attire and hairstyle of a merchant-house maid.

“I’m back—” said Okatsu as she placed the small bundle she had been carrying and came to sit before Oshino.

“Today went well, Sis. He returned straight home today without stopping anywhere.”

“So, how did it go?”

“Everything was true,” said Okatsu.
“A splendid, large mansion just before Kanda Myojin Shrine.”

“Did you verify it properly?”

“I managed to ask the gatekeeper properly. At Lord Koide Matazaemon’s mansion, the one who just entered was his son, Lord Orinosuke—that’s what the elderly gatekeeper told me.”

As if hearing something entirely expected, Oshino nodded and took out her coin purse, wrapped a sum in paper, and handed it to Okatsu.

“Thank you. Please have some sweet bean soup or something.”

“I can’t accept this—not every time I do my job.”

When Okatsu said this, the sound of the lattice door opening was heard, and a woman’s gravelly voice rang out.

“Excuse me—is Sister Oshino here?”

“Oh! It’s Auntie Nikake.”
Oshino said to Okatsu while smoothing the fastened obi.

“Okatsu-chan, I’m sorry, but I don’t have small change right now. Please give that to Auntie for me.”

II

Itami Shume gazed at the pond with a gloomy face.
Koide Orinosuke spoke earnestly.
He seemed to be struggling to properly convey his thoughts through words and expressions, but the more he tried, the more faltering his speech became—which only served to deepen Itami Shume’s suspicions.

The afternoon sky, heavy with impending snow, cast its reflection over Shinobazu Pond that lay cold and still, its surface holding a rust-like gleam.
On the water's surface, clusters of withered lotuses, reeds, and cattails lay broken or fallen, forming shadowy thickets where a flock of ducks clamored incessantly beneath their cover.
The teahouses lining the pond's edge stood quiet, seemingly devoid of patrons, while across the water, the samurai residences and dense groves of Hongōdai appeared to hold their breath in weary silence.

“You probably think this is a common story—though I don’t know how to put it.”
Orinosuke stammered and stroked his forehead with the back of his hand. “The moment I first saw her—before we’d even exchanged a word—the instant our eyes met—I thought, ‘Ah—this is undoubtedly the one.’ As if we’d finally reunited after decades apart—the person I was fated to meet at last. That’s the closest I can describe it.”

“Even if you’d been separated for decades?”

“The girl said the same thing—it was during our second meeting—that she was glad she hadn’t married until now, that there had been many proposals, but she always felt there was someone else meant for her and couldn’t bring herself to accept any of them. Then when she saw you, immediately—” Orinosuke lowered his eyes and whispered, “she said this and wept for a long time.”

Shume looked at Orinosuke.

"The girl's family are merchants, they say."

"They say it's Minosho in Kodenmacho—one of the leading cotton goods wholesalers. When the daughter stood up a bit, a maid named Okatsu said that."

"Of course you didn't verify it properly, did you?"

"That shop? Why?" Orinosuke looked at his friend's face. "Ah—you still don't believe me, Itami."

"Koide is too pure-hearted—he's never had much in the way of friends, doesn't drink, and probably never fooled around with women. At the academy, he's a model student but hates martial arts—he knows nothing of the world."

“What does that have to do with this?”

“Listen,” said Shume. “Meeting someone on the road and instantly recognizing them as the partner you’d entrust your life to—sure, that’s not *impossible*. Reality’s full of coincidences even historical romances couldn’t dream up. But believing it wholesale like you do, Koide—that’s just reckless.”

“Then what exactly should I be cautious of?” Orinosuke said. “Are you saying I’ll be kidnapped for ransom?”

“Nah—that’s not the only risk. Plenty more tricks where that came from.”

Footsteps sounded from behind.
From the teahouse, an old woman approached behind the two men talking on the bench by the pond, carrying a kettle.

“Allow me to serve you some hot water.”

The old woman, having said this, poured hot water into the teapot on the bench, cleared away the empty kuzumochi plate there, and returned.

“Speaking of money—”
Shume reached into his pocket as if suddenly remembering. “This is embarrassingly paltry, but let it make up for things. Frankly, asking me for money’s absurd to begin with.”

“I’m sorry—”
Orinosuke blushed, accepting the paper bundle handed to him and bowing his head. “After all, in all five meetings, the girl has paid for the teahouse—so no matter what, today I can’t let her pay again. And yet… I have no one else to turn to.”

“The Koide house is a 5,000-koku great family, isn’t it? Your father’s a financial genius with his coffers stuffed with koban—yet here his only son’s borrowing pocket money from the likes of me. How absurd.”

“I’m sorry—I’ll definitely repay this.”

“Drop it—it’s trivial.”
Shume poured tea from the earthen teapot into two teacups. “So—what’s your endgame here? Planning to make her your bride or something?”

“I haven’t thought that far yet—but I believe it will come to that eventually.”

“Anyway, get a grip—they say fireflies’ and snakes’ eyes shine the same way.” Shume said while sipping his tea, “If she’s truly the daughter of a prominent merchant house with a substantial dowry, your father would gladly consent. Either way, you’d better verify that shop soon.”

“Thank you. I’ll do that soon.”

Orinosuke also picked up the teacup.

When Orinosuke parted with Shume and began walking, a dark, gloomy hue settled over his face.
Both were twenty-five years old, but since Shume looked older, when they were together, Orinosuke appeared two or three years younger; yet once alone, that youthfulness vanished abruptly, leaving him with a pitifully wilted expression.
In his gaze—more timid than gentle—his vividly defined eyebrows, and his small, thick lips, there lingered a blend of a well-bred young master’s air and a timorous cowardice.

Father-sir is a financier, after all.

Shume’s words pierced Orinosuke’s ear like a rusty nail.

The money chest groaned with koban.

Shume had not been speaking idly.

The Koide household indeed had money—his father, Matazaemon, was an obsessive miser who had secretly engaged in moneylending.
Initially, he merely accommodated requests from fellow hatamoto, but receiving gratuities seemed to become a habit, and before long he began lending at high interest.—His father’s stinginess appeared innate—from long ago he kept tight control over the purse strings, not even allowing his mother discretion over trivial daily expenses.
Mother was given waste paper cut into two-inch squares on which she would write necessary items and their prices before taking them to Father to receive money.
Then Father would meticulously scrutinize each voucher while pulling a sour face as he slowly produced his purse from his robe.
The purse was made of deer leather—indentō-gawa—measuring about one shaku and five sun in length, thoroughly worn and aged from use.
It always contained coins doled out in small amounts and was folded four times widthwise; when he took it out from his robe and held its opening with one hand, the folded part would flap down at length.
Then, while inserting one hand into the purse—without immediately taking out any coins—he would complain for a while.

—Another pair of geta? Didn’t I just buy some recently? Are those already unwearable?

The kitchen expenses had been cut to the bone—fixed regardless of price fluctuations and remaining unchanged for ten years as if frozen in time—and he would frequently inspect the garbage bins.
He checked whether vegetable scraps were being wastefully discarded.
Fish rarely graced the dining table—so infrequently one could count the occasions yearly—and even then he had usually caught them himself.
Fishing stood as his sole pastime—though not the extravagant sort. His rod cost next to nothing; he dug his own bait; he never hired boats but merely angled along shorelines.
He would not eat his catch immediately—grilling them plain and drying them for storage—and when eating them would never discard heads or bones.
Heads and bones were burned again—ground into powder for broth or simply poured over rice.
Moreover, what most starkly revealed Father’s nature was his soy sauce usage.
He never used soy sauce straight—instead mixing equal parts water and strong salt broth to dilute it by half.
Thus simmered dishes always turned out watery yet salt-bitter.

Simmering dishes until they turn black with soy sauce is something only packhorse drivers or laborers would do.

The father would always say this, call the twice-diluted soy sauce “light soy sauce,” and insist that using it for simmering was an elegant cooking method.

“That’s right—Itami was right.”
As he walked, Orinosuke shook his head. “He’s a low-ranking samurai with barely over five hundred koku—and he has a wife and children. There was no way I could borrow from him.”

But aside from Shume, there was no one he could ask for such a thing.
The allowance he received from his father was 1 ryō and 2 bu per year, and unless there was an extraordinary reason, any temporary needs were absolutely not approved.
Even if he had managed to devise a plausible excuse, Matazaemon was not one to be deceived by such things.
Orinosuke, feeling a gritty pain deep in his chest, suddenly stopped and looked up at the sky.

“Ah—right,” he recalled Shume’s words again. “I hadn’t noticed that point. Indeed, then Father wouldn’t oppose it… if she were to provide a dowry.”

III

Orinosuke was utterly perplexed.

When he arrived at Umeno, it was slightly earlier than the appointed time, but Oshino had already come and was waiting.
Then, shortly after he sat down—evidently having been ordered beforehand—a tray of sake and accompanying dishes was brought before them.

This might not be enough to cover the bill.

He immediately thought that.
The money borrowed from Itami was an extremely small sum; even so, while it might have sufficed for tea and sweets as before, ordering alcohol and dishes made it seem unlikely to be enough.

“Was it wrong of me to order sake and such?”
Oshino looked into Orinosuke’s eyes. “But please forgive me—today I simply had to have you drink a little. Come now, please don’t make such a face.”

“No—it’s not that there’s anything wrong, but I’m simply not accustomed to drinking.”

“But today, you must have some.”
Oshino swiftly took hold of the warmed sake decanter. “Now, I beg you—just for today, please indulge my selfishness.”

“Why do you speak this way? What do you mean by ‘just for today’—is there some particular reason?”

“Yes—”
Oshino nodded, then abruptly brightened her smile. “But that tale can wait until later. Come now, please take up your cup.”

Oshino poured sake for Orinosuke, then eventually took a cup for herself.

While terribly perplexed, Orinosuke continued to refill his cup as urged.
Oshino appeared more strikingly beautiful than usual.
A purple kimono scattered with chrysanthemum patterns suited her fair face perfectly, while the smooth skin at her slightly loosened collar—gently enveloping soft flesh—appeared alluringly seductive enough to make one want to cling to her.
The room was a six-tatami space facing the central courtyard, with one side connected via sliding doors to an adjacent four-and-a-half-tatami area and the other featuring a round window.
Opening the shoji facing the corridor revealed a narrow inner garden with plantings beyond the encircling veranda, and past that stood another teahouse’s wooden fence of identical construction.

“When I first came here, the sasanquas were in bloom.”
“They seemed to be at their peak then,” Oshino said, “but now they’ve completely ended.”

“Hmm, I wonder… Once every three days—today makes only six times we’ve met.”

“Even so, it’s already been sixteen days.” Oshino suddenly lowered her voice. “It’s such a strange feeling—as if we’ve known each other since before we were born, and yet… it also feels like I just met you yesterday, like I can’t even properly remember your face. I… I don’t understand myself anymore.”

“They say that when you truly come to love someone, you can’t recall their face.” Orinosuke said, “I also try to recall it in the middle of the night, but no matter what, your face just won’t come to mind.”

“Please don’t address me that way.”

“But I truly can’t recall it.”

“Please...”
Oshino pleaded, her voice trembling, “When you speak to me like that—it pains me so deeply I scarcely know how to bear it.”

“You needn’t suffer at all—won’t we be united before long?”

“No—it’s impossible. That could never happen.”

“No—we can make it work.”
Orinosuke declared earnestly, “There are countless precedents of samurai families taking brides from merchant houses. There may be some cumbersome formalities or conditions, but I’ll absolutely persuade Father.”

“Then prove it to me.”

“If proof is what I must show, then show it I shall.”

Oshino stared fixedly at Orinosuke, then abruptly stood up, came to his side, and sat down.

“May I do it like this?”
While saying this, she took the cup that Orinosuke was holding.

“Let me drink from your cup, all right?”

“It’s fine, but...are you certain? If I become too intoxicated and feel unwell like before, that would be troublesome.”

“That was a fainting spell—quite different from sake drunkenness.”

Oshino drank animatedly.
She would sometimes lean against Orinosuke to pour him a drink, and other times suddenly grasp his hand.
Then again, she would suddenly fall silent, furrow her brows, and let out sighs.
The sake and dishes were brought by a young girl of thirteen or fourteen who did not enter the room but instead slid open the shoji slightly from the corridor, pushed in what she carried, and promptly left. Each time this happened, Oshino would break away from Orinosuke or adjust her posture with nervous haste—something that had never occurred before.
Until now, she had never drawn close to his side, nor had she ever spoken in such a coquettish manner.
Though her downtown upbringing gave her an unpretentious air, her movements and speech were calm and composed with refined grace.

——There must be some reason.

While utterly perplexed, Orinosuke gradually began to think this more strongly.

“It’s gotten dark. Shall I have them bring a lamp?”

“No, not yet.”
Oshino shook her head and whined in a coquettish nasal voice, “I’m drunk—if the light comes on, I’ll be embarrassed.—Here, let me cling to you.”

“You’re acting strange today—there seems to be some reason. Why don’t you just tell me?”

“No—later.”

“Isn’t it the same thing either way?”

“Let me have that cup.”
Still clinging to Orinosuke’s hand, Oshino said, “I must get drunk—I must get even drunker—or this pain will be unbearable.”

“Then just say it already!”

“I can’t put it into words.”

Oshino’s voice sounded angry.
Orinosuke started and looked at her face.
Then Oshino took a sip from the cup and placed it on the tray.
The rough motion sent it tumbling toward the tatami mats, but Oshino stood up without a glance.

“What are you doing?”

Orinosuke said this while reaching out to support her.
Oshino shook her sleeve and, while saying she was fine, went out into the corridor.
She staggered slightly but her feet seemed steady.
Orinosuke let out a deep sigh.
Through the open shoji panels, the darkening inner garden could be seen.
He couldn’t tell which were the sasanquas—though he had some memory of seeing their flowers bloom there once—and as he gazed vacantly at that area, Orinosuke suddenly felt deeply intoxicated. After a short while, he got up to go to the washroom.
He thought Oshino might be there, but there was no sign of her around that area, and even when he returned, the room was empty.

“What’s wrong?” he muttered. “—She couldn’t have gone home, could she?”

And when he tried to sit down, a voice called out from the adjacent four-and-a-half-mat room.

“Please come over here.”

It was Oshino’s voice.

When he slid open the fusuma door, a folding screen had been arranged around, and bedding laid out in gaudy colors came into view.
The dimmed colored-silk paper lanterns tinged the bedding’s hues with an even more alluring glow.

“I had no idea.”
Orinosuke went in that direction. “So you really did start feeling unwell after all.”

Oshino was lying in the bedding.
Until Orinosuke drew near, she had remained hidden under the covers, but the moment he reached her side, she suddenly threw them off.
The figure clad only in a salmon-pink undergarment cinched with a sash—its shibori-dyed pattern—was exposed, appearing so vividly alluring it stung the eyes.

“Show me proof—”

While saying this, Oshino—still lying down—reached her hand toward Orinosuke.
The sleeve of her undergarment slipped, exposing her upper arm down to her bicep.

“But that’s... you can’t mean—”

“No no no!”
Oshino nearly screamed as she half-rose and seized Orinosuke’s hand. “You made a promise—you said you’d show me proof. Please, I’m begging you—don’t say anything more.”

Oshino pulled Orinosuke close.
With utterly unexpected force, Orinosuke began collapsing onto the bedding.
He instinctively tried to sit up, but Oshino’s arms swiftly entwined around his neck, and burning hot lips sealed his own.
The arms wrapped around his neck were powerful, and the tightly pressed hot lips held an inescapable force.

“Darling… darling,” Oshino panted between their lips, “please… please…”

Orinosuke felt the woman’s hand touch the knot of his obi. Though he meant to push it away, amidst the suffocating heat of her body and the scent of perfume, he had lost all strength to resist.

“I could die now,” Oshino said through frantic movements, “I’d have no regrets—I want to die just like this.”

Her words were slurred and indistinct, like those of someone drowning—they rang out loud enough to echo off the surrounding folding screens and were chaotic.
In a storm of sensations that threatened to make him faint, Orinosuke heard her words in fragments.

And then, eventually—Oshino began to cry softly.
Even after Orinosuke got up and finished dressing, Oshino continued to cry, her face hidden in the bedding.

“Please forgive me.”
Amidst her sobs, Oshino whispered tremulously, “I’m a terrible woman—please forgive me.”

Orinosuke sat down beside the bedding and gently stroked Oshino’s body over the covers.

“The one at fault is me,” he whispered. “Please don’t cry—I beg you—the one who should apologize… is me.”

“No, I’m a wicked woman—you know nothing of this. Now that things have come to this between us... I cannot go on living.”

“Why would you say that? We will marry—I promise you. Trust me—I’ll make it happen.”

“Forgive me.”
Oshino cried out, trembling violently beneath the bedding. “I lied—I deceived you—that’s why I can’t go on living.”

Orinosuke couldn’t comprehend it.

“Don’t speak such nonsense—you haven’t deceived me at all.”

“I’m sorry, please forgive me.”

Oshino sprang up, clung to Orinosuke’s knees, and writhed while crying violently.

“I’m not some daughter of Minosho,” Oshino gasped. “I’m no one’s daughter—a defiled, lowly, wicked woman you know nothing about.”

“Tell me clearly—what does that mean?”

“I deceived you—I’d been deceiving you from the start,” said Oshino. “There’s a vicious boss behind me. To support my sick mother and three younger siblings, I sold myself to him. He uses me to trick people this way, then storms into estates to extort money—that’s his trade.”

Koide Orinosuke stood agape.

“Fireflies’ eyes and snakes’ eyes shine the same way,” they say.
Itami’s voice—the one who had uttered those words—echoed deep within his ears.
Get a grip on yourself…….

He began to tremble.

“So,” he said trembling, “it was all a lie… everything.”

“Yes—everything except this one thing: that I love you.”

“You love me?”

“That’s why I confessed—from the very first moment I met you, I fell in love with you, so desperately it could kill me.”
Oshino clutched the man’s knees with fierce intensity. “Meeting you would bring you trouble—but I couldn’t stop myself. No matter how much I told myself I mustn’t… I just couldn’t stay away from you.”

“That part at least—it isn’t a lie?”

“Tonight—” said Oshino, “the reason I made such an embarrassing request, the reason I told you the truth—it’s all because I love you so desperately it could kill me. Please forgive me. I have no lingering regrets.”
“Forgive me—and please, forget about me after tonight.”

“So what about the boss?”

“I won’t trouble you—it’s all right, so please don’t fret.”

“If he’s that kind of man, he won’t just quietly back down—right, Oshino?”
Orinosuke shook the woman’s shoulders. “Let’s be clear—let’s muster courage to think straight. I don’t grasp these matters fully, but ultimately it’s about money? If we pay, you’d gain freedom.”

“That’s impossible—I couldn’t possibly.”

“Hear me—I love you too; I can’t live without you.”
He wrapped his arm around her shoulder.
“You claim deception, but I feel no deceit—even with schemes behind us, our feelings stay true. If you become free, wouldn’t all resolve? Come—name the sum to sever ties with him.”

Oshino shook her head while crying.
Orinosuke picked up the prostrate woman, stroked her wet cheek with his hand, and smiled as if to soothe her.

“Come on, just a word will do,” he said.

“After all, I’m the heir to 5,000 koku.”

Oshino sobbed.
Like a child hitching breaths between cries, she went limp with all strength drained away, leaning heavily against him as she faintly whispered the amount under her breath.
Orinosuke furrowed his brows as if pained by her words yet asked in a casual tone.

“So that money needs immediate payment?”

“By month’s end—but no! I can’t accept this!”
Oshino clung to him with both hands, writhing violently as she declared, “I’d sooner die than burden you this way!”

“If it’s the end of the month, there are only three days left.”

“I beg you—please don’t trouble yourself over this. If you do such a thing... I couldn’t bear to go on living.”
Oshino began crying again with a choked sob. “You’ve already been so kind to me—I have no regrets left. Please—just promise you won’t do it.”

Orinosuke held Oshino’s shoulders and vacantly stared at a single point on the dark wall.

Four

In the storage room of Father’s sitting room was a money chest. No one was permitted to touch it—each of its ten-odd drawers and sliding panels was secured with heavy locks, and Father never relinquished his grip on the key bundle. He likely kept them on his person at all times, but since I had never paid attention before, I couldn’t be certain this was truly the case. Did he take that key-laden chest to the drawing room? What about when attending the castle, or during meals?

No—it was impossible he never parted with them. There had to be times when he left them somewhere.

Orinosuke thought that.
Of course, there was no need to obsess over the keys.
If it came to that, there was also the method of prying open the money chest.
Father attended the castle once every three days, so he should have ample time to act then.

In any case, I can’t stay at home.

He steeled himself for that.
The money to be handed over to Oshino’s boss was one hundred and fifty ryo.
I couldn’t take out that much money without Father noticing.
He intended to take out as much as possible, set Oshino free, and elope somewhere with her.

I’m already twenty-five—wherever we go, the two of us should be able to manage a life.

November 30th was Father’s day to attend the castle.

He had been watching for opportunities before then, but as if timed perfectly, Father had taken ill with a cold and remained bedridden.
On the night he parted from Oshino and returned home, Father uncharacteristically drank medicinal tea and retired early—only to stay abed the following day too.
Since Father customarily slept in the sitting room’s storage chamber, there was nothing to be done while he lay there.
Orinosuke panicked; once he even resolved to plead directly with Father.
But imagining Father pulling out that stamped-leather wallet from his breast pocket—flapping it open with theatrical slowness, dangling it like bait while wearing that pinched expression—just this mental image alone made him recoil from the notion.

The 30th was the day of the promise with Oshino.

Surely he wouldn’t cancel attending the castle over something like a cold. He had thought so, but Matazaemon summoned the house steward early in the morning and ordered him to submit a notice of illness. Upon hearing that, Orinosuke thought it was hopeless.

But I must get the money—that money, no matter what it takes.

In the afternoon, he went out.

“Where are you going?” his mother asked worriedly. “Father is ill, and with the weather looking like this—if it’s not urgent, please stay home.”

“Calling a mere cold an illness is so exaggerated.”

“You say that, but his high fever hasn’t subsided at all, and he’s been complaining of chest pain since this morning—it might not be an ordinary cold.”

Orinosuke paid it no mind.
Claiming he had a promise with Itami, he left home without taking the rain gear he had been warned to bring.

Since yesterday, the skies had been cloudy, but today ashen-gray clouds completely blanketed the sky, threatening to pour down at any moment.
There was no wind, but the temperature had dropped severely, and patches of morning snow remained unmelted by the roadside.
As though pursued, he hurriedly made his way to Hirokoji and abruptly stopped there.

“Foolish—” he clicked his tongue and muttered, “What would going to Itami accomplish?”

Unconsciously, he was walking toward Itami Shume’s residence.
He frowned and shook his head.
Then, this time with an indecisive gait, he began to walk.

—Koide is too pure.
Once again, Shume’s words came back to him.
—They have all sorts of tricks up their sleeves.

Orinosuke bit his lip.

"Itami will say 'I told you so'—no, not just Itami. Anyone hearing the story would undoubtedly say the same," he muttered under his breath. Those who don't understand Oshino's feelings could never comprehend it... If she truly intended to deceive me, Oshino wouldn't have spoken like that or entrusted herself to me so completely. The pitiable one is Oshino—she said she had no regrets left, but if she revealed everything, she must have believed we could no longer meet... She likely resolved to die. Judging by her tone, she had surely decided to die... How pitiful... How pitiful... Oshino.

He was walking toward Asakusa.
Through three days of unrelenting tension, his complexion had turned sallow and his cheeks sunken.
His sleepless nights had left eyes puffy and bloodshot, lips pallid and cracked.—Just shy of Teramachi, Orinosuke halted again.—To his immediate right stood a tavern, its air thick with the mouthwatering scent of charring fish.
A sudden pang of hunger gripped him, mingled with an urge for drink.

"I still have what I borrowed from Itami."

Three days prior, Oshino had paid the tea house bill.
When settling the payment, she saw that what he carried was insufficient.
Thus he still retained what he had borrowed from Itami.

――Here, there shouldn’t be any shortage.

Of course, it was his first time entering such an establishment. He felt somewhat hesitant but resolutely passed through the noren.

There seemed to be about three customers, but Koide Orinosuke drank three bottles of sake with grilled fish as a side, avoiding looking at anyone’s face.
He tasted nothing, nor did he feel drunk, but toward the end of the third bottle, an unexpected stroke of inspiration occurred to him.

“That’s it!”
He muttered involuntarily to himself, “That’s the way—the clerk Sahei knows my face too. If this works out…”

He drank down the third bottle in gulps and paid the bill.
To his surprise, it was shockingly cheap.
Suddenly lighthearted, he left the shop and hailed a passing palanquin that happened by.

He had the palanquin stop before Kii-no-Kuniya’s shopfront in Kuramae Katamachi.
Kii-no-Kuniya was a rice broker who had handled the Koide family’s financial affairs for over ten years.
Needless to say, rice brokers were merchants who bought and sold stipends on behalf of hatamoto and gokenin—direct retainers of the shogunate—and lent money against those stipends as needed.—Given his father’s disposition, he would never borrow from such brokers—which meant their credit should have been ironclad.

―As long as I'm not suspected, it'll be fine.

Orinosuke entered the shop with this belief.

The Koide family’s affairs were managed by clerk Sahei, whom Orinosuke also knew well by face.
He happened to be in the shop and promptly rose to greet him courteously, but upon hearing the request, he made a puzzled expression.

“The truth is, my father has been bedridden since the day before yesterday,” Orinosuke said as calmly as possible, “so I’ve come as his proxy due to an urgent matter.”

“That is most concerning. Is your father’s condition quite severe?”

“No—it seems he’s aggravated a cold. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.”
Sweat broke out on his back, and his legs began to tremble.
“—This may be sudden and inconvenient, but it’s an extremely urgent matter. Moreover, I believe the house has no outstanding debts.”

“There’s no need for you to mention that—I will gladly arrange it.”

Orinosuke flushed crimson, feeling the blood rush to his head.
He nearly cried out involuntarily, but Sahei continued.

“I will prepare and accompany you immediately, so please wait just a moment.”

“No—” Orinosuke hastily raised his hand, “I’ll take the money myself, so there’s no need for you to come along. That’s why I came as his proxy.”

“No, that simply won’t do,” Sahei replied with practiced courtesy. “Having neglected my duties for so long, I must pay my respects given his lordship’s illness. This won’t take but a moment—please wait.”

“But these funds aren’t for household use,” Orinosuke pressed, sweat beading beneath his collar. “They’re meant for delivery to one of Father’s associates in Honjo—an urgent matter requiring immediate attention.”

Sahei bared yellowed teeth in a mirthless smile. “Ah, but on this particular point—with all due respect—we both know Lord Koide’s exacting standards regarding financial affairs. There remains no alternative but personal delivery.” He gestured toward the street where palanquin bearers waited. “The delay will be negligible, I assure you.”

With this, Sahei went toward the counter.

——It’s no use.
Orinosuke tried to swallow his saliva, but a hard lump was lodged in his throat, making it impossible to get down.

“Well, then—” he stammered.
“I’ll go on ahead a little.”

He left the shop.
A voice called out from behind; he quickened his pace, then broke into a run.

“—How shameful. What a clumsy fool.”

He muttered while running.
Due to intense humiliation and anger toward himself, his entire body burned as if on fire, and cold sweat streamed down.
As he ran as far as Komagata, the immovability of his failure gradually became clear.
Sahei would take the money home, and if father heard of this—
――He could almost see his father’s face.

“It’s over. I can’t go home.”

Orinosuke came to a halt.
In the dusk-lit streets where lanterns were beginning to glow, he stood wheezing for breath, his face twisted into a crumpled grimace.

"That's right. It's over."
His bloodless lips spasmed. "Sahei will go home and tell them everything—I can't return now...and Oshino waits at Umeno."

He was overcome by despair so intense it made him dizzy, panting and groaning as he walked toward Higashi Nakamachi where the teahouse stood.

Five

The eighth hour of evening.

Snow was falling.

Orinosuke was inside a reed-screen hut.
The location marked the southeastern edge of Nihon Embankment, with Sanya-bori Canal’s boat landing behind it—below the earthen levee.
These structures likely functioned as daytime teahouses; five identical reed-screen huts stood aligned with their backs to the canal, all now shuttered after business hours, their screens bound tightly with ropes from above, each devoid of occupants.
The hut where Orinosuke had taken refuge sat at the foot of the path ascending from the landing below, its surrounding reed screens lacking those constricting ropes.
Since the screen’s edge at the entrance had peeled back, he slipped inside through the gap and meticulously sealed it shut behind him.

The embankment lay on the road to Shin-Yoshiwara, so despite the falling snow, drunken men in groups and palanquins hurried along with boisterous shouts passed quite frequently in front of the hut.
Each time, Orinosuke would rise from the veranda bench, hold his breath, and listen intently to their voices.
At times, he would grip the hilt of his sword with his left hand and try to push open the reed screen to go out, but as if his limbs had lost all freedom of movement, he would stand frozen, trembling violently, and return once more to the veranda bench.

"It's all the same, you undisciplined wretch," he muttered in the darkness. "What are you trembling for? What's there to dread? —Hah, but no—even charging blindly would be futile without confirming they carry sufficient valuables. —This is the final gamble, the lone test of fate. Steady yourself—time remains abundant still."

He closed his eyes and crossed his arms.

Orinosuke stopped by Umeno and requested that a message be relayed to Oshino.
After that, he wandered aimlessly around Senso-ji Temple and drank sake at a place called Yamano Yado.
He sent a message to Oshino: “Tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.”
He asked her to come tomorrow morning instead, as he would be late that night.
——Oshino had apparently already arrived and was waiting inside; claiming urgency, she rushed out immediately after leaving a message. At that moment, a light rain began to fall, and when he stepped out of Yamano Yado’s izakaya, it had turned into dry, powdery snow.

“Ah—” He shook his head. “Did Oshino believe that message? She must have… but if she didn’t, how heartbroken and desperate she must be.”

At the base of the embankment came signs of a boat docking, and someone was climbing up this way while speaking in a loud, tense voice.
Orinosuke turned pale instantly, stood up, and strained to listen.

“—A sobering draught beyond reach, with an arm for a pillow—”

A pleasantly hoarse voice could be heard singing.

“—Your hair and my hair”

“Entwined in bonds that cannot be undone—ah!”

“When you go to meet your lover, wear tabi…”

The ones who came up were a trio of companions.
When one finished singing, the other two noisily frolicked their way past the hut toward the pleasure quarters.

“It’s no use,” he muttered, trembling, “—he doesn’t seem to have it after all. A client who spends on such pleasures should feel different somehow. I don’t know how exactly, but somewhere… there must be something different about him. Now calm down…”

He tried to return to the veranda bench.
At that moment, voices from the boat landing below could be heard again.

“Huh? This 200 ryo—is that all of it?” a hoarse, deep voice said. “You’re handing over the entire sum like this?”
Orinosuke gulped down his saliva.

“That’s right. Hand over the entire sum.”

“But Boss, that’s not what we agreed on!”

“Come to think of it,”
an unhurried, insinuating voice said, “if you’re carrying money, the mark will inevitably catch on. Money—when someone unaccustomed to holding it gets their hands on some, it shows plain as day. That’d spoil the whole game. Unless we’re truly penniless down to the last coin, there’s no stage for me to make my entrance. Isn’t that right, Taira Takayoshi?”

“That may be true, but you’re being too mean about it, Boss.”

The two came up toward the embankment.
One was a client; his companion was likely a jester-like attendant. The client wore a raincoat over his portly frame and carried a paper umbrella with a black-and-white ring pattern.
Because the surroundings had already turned white, their approaching figures could be seen quite clearly.

“What’s so cruel about me?”

“If I get locked in the storage room and send word to you, Boss—if you’d just come then it’d be fine—but maybe we could give that bastard a bit more grief, eh? But since you’re the type who’d go through with anything, Boss—if you went and claimed you don’t know me or some nonsense…”

“Idiot.”
The customer laughed. “Tonight’s trick’s meant to shock those Kogoushi folks.”
“What’s the point of hassling trash like you? Just give it here and follow the steps properly.”

“It’s all right, Boss—please don’t do anything violent.”

The two passed by the front of the hut and came to a stop after walking about five meters.

Two hundred ryo... It’s in that hand.

Orinosuke flung aside the reed screen and stepped outside.
He looked around but saw no one else; perhaps they were obscured by the thickly falling powdery snow.
He approached the two.
The man who appeared to be a taikomochi held a lantern in one hand; the customer, a fiftyish man, was tucking the item he had just received into his breast pocket when he suddenly looked up and saw Orinosuke.

Orinosuke drew his sword.
The blade glinted sharply in the lantern light—and in that instant, he realized he hadn’t worn a mask.

His face would be recognized.

He struck the lantern with his sword.

When they saw the glint of the drawn blade, the two men let out strange cries. As the lantern was struck, the taikomochi yelped and flung it away before leaping sideways to dash down the embankment.

"Don't move," Orinosuke thrust his sword at the customer's chest. "If you move, I'll cut you down."

"Please wait—I have the money."

The man trembled as he reached into his breast pocket.
Orinosuke kept his blade leveled while thrusting his free hand forward forcefully.

“Hand over the money. Hurry up.”

“I’ll hand it over.”
The man stammered frantically, “I’ll hand over all the money, so please don’t do anything violent.”

“Hurry up and hand it over. Make a sound and I’ll cut you down.”

The sword he was thrusting felt terribly heavy in his hand.
Falling snow settled on his eyelashes and melted, threatening to trickle into his eyes.
The man was likely flustered from fear, for he seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time retrieving the money pouch from his breast pocket.

“Hurry up! Quickly!”

Orinosuke waved his hand and urged him on.
The package he received was astonishingly heavy, and he nearly dropped it from his hands.

It’s done—200 ryo.

The moment he thought this, Orinosuke’s entire body began trembling, his kneecaps shaking violently.
As he started backing away while keeping his sword thrust forward, the man lunged at him ferociously.
He was utterly unprepared.
Having never imagined such retaliation, he took the full impact of the body slam, had his legs swept out from under him, and collapsed flat on his back.
The man too seemed enraged—they fell tangled together—but upon seeing the sword slip from Orinosuke’s grasp, he snatched it up, leapt to his feet, gripped it like a bludgeon with both hands, and began hacking wildly at Orinosuke.

“Someone come!” the man shouted. “Help me! It’s a street slasher! Someone come!”

While shouting this, he slashed relentlessly at Orinosuke’s shoulders and neck—as if wielding a club—putting all his strength into each strike.

Orinosuke sprang up and tried to flee.
At his left neck came a sharp slick sound, and he felt something like lukewarm broth gush forth.

“Don’t scream,” Orinosuke waved his hand (now empty of the money pouch), then barked again.
“Don’t scream. I won’t harm you. Make a noise and I’ll cut you down. Stay put.”

The man panted like a beast and retreated backward, still gripping the sword.

Orinosuke started running.

――Run away. Hurry.

Snow flew into his mouth.
After running five or six meters, his vision suddenly blurred, and overcome by nausea, he collapsed sideways.
Since it was the edge of the embankment, when he fell, he slid down the slope and tumbled to the bottom.

Run away.
He tried to get up immediately. Hurry―or I'll be caught.

But his body wouldn’t obey.
When he tried to force himself up, he slid helplessly and nearly tumbled into the moat.
He groped the ground with his left hand and grasped the roots of withered grass.
The blood spurting from the side of his neck rapidly stained the snow a murky black.

“I did it, Oshino,” he muttered. “Two hundred ryo… Look, it’s right here.”

He shook the grass roots he was grasping.

“Wait for me—I’ll come right away. It’s alright now. With this… everything will be fine.”

The top of the embankment lay hushed.
And before long, from the direction of the mountain inn, the lively calls of an approaching palanquin drew near.

“That’s why I told you—the world isn’t just full of easy marks.”
Otsune said while threading her needle, “You’re elegant and sharp-witted, and probably think yourself quite the expert—but it’s precisely your sort who gets tripped up most easily.”

“But I never imagined this outcome.”
Oshino tapped her pipe against the brazier’s edge. “You’ve never met him, so you wouldn’t know—he was every inch the sheltered young master, with such a gentle air about him.”

“Doesn’t that apply to you too?”

“He was so innocent he’d get timidly nervous—stiff and trembling when we lay together, as if he knew nothing at all.”

Oshino packed her pipe, rolled the charcoal in the brazier, and lit it.
The room remained as cluttered as ever, but aside from the two of them, there was no one else inside. Beyond the bright paper screens of the window, the sound of melting snow dripped.

“So how much did you lose in the end?”

“One ryō and one bu, and a bit more, perhaps.”
Oshino scratched behind her ear with her pinky finger. “Looking back now, I might have been too greedy. Maybe I should’ve asked for thirty or fifty ryō… Or perhaps opened with an even larger demand.”

“Who can say?”

“I underestimated him—that was my mistake. There wasn’t a single suspicious bone in his body.”
Oshino wrinkled the bridge of her nose self-mockingly.
“What’s this? Sewing for that child again?”

“Because they said there’s no wadding.”

“You don’t need to go checking on every little thing like that—the stipend’s been properly allocated. You’re just too kindhearted.”

“Well, I wonder.”
Otsune diligently moved her needle. “Even the formidable Oshino has an unexpectedly kind side.”

“Oh, stop it—I get it already!”
Oshino tapped her pipe impatiently. “It’s barely one ryō and two bu—I’ll recover it soon enough. Besides… it wasn’t a total loss.”

“Trying to save face?”

“To be honest,” Oshino said with a knowing smile, “for someone who looked so innocent, he had his merits.”

“At least—”

Just as Otsune was about to say that, the lattice door slid open, and a woman’s hoarse voice called out.

“Excuse me—is Sister Oshino here?”

“Ah, she’s here.”
Oshino set down her pipe and stood up. “What’s taken will be taken properly. Once it comes to this, even daily installments aren’t easy for them.”

And she went out to the next room.