Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Clatter!

“Oh, I did it again.”

The maid O-Matsu resentfully pulled out a chipped-rim bowl from the wash bucket.

“Why do I have such bad luck? Every dish or bowl I touch ends up chipped.”
“I’ve already broken five since this morning.”
“I can’t keep going on like this.”

As she was sighing,

“O-Matsu, you’ve done it again, haven’t you?”

a figure peered out from the water inlet.

He was servant Matabei—a fair-skinned man with thick brows and a well-defined mouth, his dignified bearing undercut by an air of foolishness and that ever-present silly grin—the one they called “Half-Baked” Matabei.
It was a nickname meaning he’d only half-succeeded in transforming into a human—a botched shapeshifter.

“Oh, you startled me!”

O-Matsu glared,

“You’re creepy, Mr. Matahei—whenever I chip a bowl, you come sniffing around without fail.”
“You’ve got such a weird nose!”

“Not the nose—the ears, heh heh heh.”

Matabei laughed in a careless voice.

“A samurai wakes to the clink of bridle bits, and Matabei comes running at the sound of breaking bowls—there’s a proverb like that, you know.”

“I’ve never heard such a thing before.”

“So what’ve you got this time?”

“This bowl.”

“Heh heh heh, thanks! I’ll take this.”

Matabei graciously accepted the chipped bowl.

“You’re strange, really strange, Mr. Matahei. What on earth do you do with all those chipped plates and bowls you keep taking?”

“This here’s my hobby. Collecting nicely chipped plates and bowls and staring at ’em like this—there’s an indescribable flavor to the feeling, I tell ya. Please do keep diligently chipping them from now on.”

“Don’t act like such a pushy fool!”

O-Matsu was fuming with anger.
Matabei left with an ingratiating smile—this entire scene had been watched from earlier by Sugie, the daughter of the household who had passed by the kitchen.
And when the sound of Matabei’s footsteps faded into the distance, she slipped inside,

“O-Matsu—”

she called out.

“Oh my—Young Mistress!”

“There’s no need to be so startled. You were talking with Matabei about the chipped bowls just now—what was that all about?”

“Yes, Young Mistress. That Matabei is quite a peculiar man—he’s been collecting the plates and bowls I’ve chipped through my carelessness.”

“What does he do with them, you say…?”

“He says it’s his hobby. He says lining up nicely chipped plates and bowls and staring at them makes him happy—truly, Half-Baked says things befitting Half-Baked.”

“Be silent.”

Sugie said in a sharp tone,
“Matabei may be a servant, but he is still a man. You, as a woman, must not speak such ill words.”

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

“And you must not chatter about this matter to anyone.”

Having scolded her like that, Sugie departed.

This was Banshu Himeji’s castle town—the dojo of Yaegashi Mondo.
Mondo had been hailed as a contemporary master through his Kochujo-ryu swordsmanship—though not an official retainer, he received an annual stipend of five hundred koku from Lord Ikeda and instructed the domain’s samurai.
Yet this arrangement carried one condition.
This was what they called the “O-tome tradition”—an ironclad prohibition against teaching Kochujo-ryu to any beyond Himeji Domain’s borders.

Sugie was Yaegashi Mondo’s only daughter, just nineteen years of age—not only excelling in intellect but possessing a beauty celebrated throughout the castle town’s gossamer streets. Yet she supported her aged father diligently, managing both seven live-in disciples and a household of servants through her own hands alone as a young woman.

“A hobby… Could it truly be just a hobby?”

Sugie had come to the veranda while trying to return to her room but suddenly tilted her head slightly and muttered.

“Collecting chipped bowls and plates and gazing at them as a pastime—I’ve never heard of such a thing.
“Everyone calls him Half-Baked, but that Matabei is no mere servant…”

As she muttered this, a raucous burst of laughter erupted from the garden.

II

In the side garden, Matabei was caught by four or five live-in disciples.
Having just finished their practice, they were teasing him half in amusement.

“Hey Matabei! Do you know how many beautiful girls there are in this castle town?”

“Heh heh heh, I know at least one.”

“Who is she? Where’s this girl from?”

“Well, it’s the Young Mistress here, you see.”

The disciples burst out laughing.

“Even a fool can recognize Young Mistress Sugie’s beauty—how about it, Matabei? You got any intention of becoming the Young Mistress’s husband?”

“But… our statuses are different—”

“Ha ha ha ha!”

Once again, everyone doubled over with laughter.

“This fool’s actually serious about the status difference! What would you do if your status weren’t different?”

“If it weren’t different… well, I guess I’d stop.”

“Why would you stop?”

“Because if I say why, you’ll all laugh at me again.”

Seeing him blush crimson while speaking, the disciples—this time completely unable to restrain themselves—clutched their bellies and wheezed with laughter. Sugie, who had been watching this scene from the veranda, stepped down into the garden and quietly approached—

“What are you doing, gentlemen?”

she addressed them.
The group froze in surprise,

“Wh-Why, Young Mistress!”

“For all of you to make a servant your plaything—isn’t that unbecoming? If you do not temper your jests, I shall inform Father.”

“Th-that’s unthinkable! It was mere diversion—we’d never treat him as a toy. We beg your mercy!”

The disciples hunched their heads and fled.
Sugie watched them depart with a wry smile but—

“Matabei—”

turned around and,

“You must not involve yourself with the disciples’ foolish jokes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Those people are teasing you.
No matter what they say, pretend not to notice.
Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you very much.”

Matabei bowed politely, but—

“But Young Mistress, to tell the truth—I was actually the one doing the teasing.”
“Eh-heh-heh-heh-heh!”

“What did you say――?”

However, Matabei promptly left.
Sugie stared dumbfounded, watching his retreating figure for some time—despite having been made such a plaything of, to claim “I was the one doing the teasing”... Was he truly a complete fool? Or perhaps...

“Or perhaps… is there some particular reason?”

Sugie muttered softly.

Matabei had come into service at this house about a year prior. He had been placed through the employment agency Shimadaya Sōbee as the third son of a local farmer, but while his character was not base and he worked as hard as three men combined, his words and deeds were so extraordinary that the disciples always found him an excellent source of amusement. Sugie, who shielded him both openly and in secret, could not shake the sense that something about Matabei’s behavior defied understanding—might there be some particular reason he deliberately played the fool?……

But if that were the case, why would there be a need for him to pretend to be a fool?

In the end, Sugie couldn’t figure it out.

Then about ten days later came a certain night.
Mid-autumn’s peak had arrived, with the seventeenth-night moon shining crystalline clear; Sugie stepped down from the veranda to quietly view the moon alone, walking into pine woods at the garden’s edge while listening to insects’ chorus.
The bluish-white mist—drunk on moonlight—seeped its chilled caress against her skin; dew-drenched undergrowth dampening bare feet whispered autumnal restlessness until at last the impressionable maiden’s heart dissolved into bittersweet melancholy.

“How quiet…”

When she murmured this sigh of relief, Sugie heard—a sharp voice nearby issuing a subdued kiai.
Father had already retired to bed, and the disciples should have all gone out for moon-viewing—wondering who it could be, once again,

"—Hei…!"

—a kiai that seemed to pierce through bone.

"This isn’t the disciples’ kiai."

Being the daughter of Yaegashi Mondo after all—though she herself did not practice—she could discern the difference in technique imbued within a kiai. Growing suspicious, she crept toward the source of the voice on stealthy steps.
She circled around the garden mound and entered the side garden.
To the left was a bamboo thicket; turning right led to a storage shed... Behind it, the light of a paper candle flickered faintly, illuminating a man who had just raised a wooden sword high above his head in preparation to strike.

III

“Ah, Matabei!”
Sugie involuntarily muttered under her breath.
Indeed, the one brandishing the wooden sword was the servant Matabei.
At her feet was a chopping block, upon which lay a single chipped dish—in the instant she focused her gaze, watching intently to see what he would do.

“—Hei…!”

Cutting through the light of the paper candle, the wooden sword flashed.
Sugie gasped and watched—and without so much as a clang, the chipped dish on the platform was cleanly split in two.

“My... how splendid!”

At the exclamation of praise she had involuntarily let out,

“W-who’s there?”

As Matabei turned around and spotted Sugie there, he appeared utterly astonished.
He hastily hid the wooden sword while bowing politely.

“That was splendid.”

Sugie approached and said.

"That secret technique of splitting a large dish with one wooden sword strike—as if it were tofu—must be none other than Kochujo-ryu's 'Stealth Sword.'"

"Wh-what...?"

"Though you wear a servant's guise, I perceive you are truly someone distinguished. Should there be circumstances requiring discretion, I shall keep silent. Pray honor me with the truth."

"Heh heh... Oh now... Heh heh heh heh."

Matabei laughed carelessly while scratching his head,

“I’m truly ashamed to have you speak of me in such terms. To a person of renown or anyone else—this servant Matabei is just Matabei the servant, heh-heh-heh… please understand.”

“No, attempting to conceal it is futile. Among over a hundred disciples, not a single one has yet been taught the secret technique of ‘Stealth Sword.’ It is not something that could be so easily mastered.”

“Well now, I’m astonished—truly astonished—so what could you mean by this? Are you suggesting that my dish-breaking just now resembles one of Kochujo-ryu’s vital techniques? Huh… This is quite the catch.”

Matabei suddenly arched his chest and,

“Then I suppose I’ve already reached the same level of skill as the Grand Master.”
“Oh dear, this is a problem.”
“Then I can’t go on being a mere servant like this!”

“—Matabei.”

“No—that was just a joke, but the truth is this, Young Mistress: As a servant of Yaegashi Dojo, I thought it would be shameful not to even know how to hold a wooden sword. So every day, I’ve been watching everyone’s practice through the back window of the dojo’s gathering hall.”
“Before I knew it—as they say, ‘monkey see, monkey do’—I found myself wanting to try holding a wooden sword too, and began sneaking off to play around with it on my own.”
“But just swinging a wooden sword around wasn’t interesting.”
“So I brought out the chipped plates and bowls I’d collected from O-Matsu and started mimicking the Master’s forms by copying what I saw—practicing strikes on stationary targets. That’s all there was to it—I must assure you, there’s no deeper scheme or anything of the sort.”
“On the contrary—if everyone were to find out about this, I’ll be bullied again—so please keep this matter private.”

“In that case, are you absolutely determined not to disclose the truth?”

“If we speak of revelations, what I’ve just told you settles the matter completely. Even were you to shake me upside down and wring me out, nothing more would come forth.”
“I beg you to keep this private.”
“Truly, I’d be in dire straits otherwise... heh heh heh heh.”

The absurdity of his abrupt laughter burst forth.

Sugie stared fixedly at his face but eventually turned on her heel and wordlessly departed toward the main house.

“Young Mistress, if—Young Mistress!”

Matabei called out in surprise, but
“—Heh.”

He hunched his shoulders and muttered, “What could have displeased her? Did I say something improper?”

Looking troubled, he watched Sugie’s retreating figure until she disappeared, then extinguished the paper candle and withdrew to his hut.

Sugie said, "Though he has disguised himself as a servant, he is truly a samurai of renown." However, Matabei's demeanor remained thoroughly "Half-Baked," with many aspects that seemed nothing more than a servant's apish imitation, just as he himself had claimed—was this man truly a servant? Or could he be a samurai of renown in disguise? The time when this mystery would soon be unraveled had arrived.

Four or five days passed—then one day, at Yaegashi Dojo, there gathered the most skilled disciples: the trio called the Three Crows—Numata Gunjuurou, Kuroita Gonroku, and Ishiyama Danbee—along with the two senior instructors known as Dragon-Tiger: Okabe Godayu and Itami Hyoueimon.

Yaegashi Mondo, seated formally in the upper position,

“All are assembled.”

He surveyed the gathering and, while quietly stroking his white beard, began to address them.

“Today, I have something to discuss anew with all of you.”
“To come straight to the point, I have reached old age, and for the past year or two, my physical condition has been far from satisfactory.”
“At this rate, it stands to reason that my guidance to the household will become neglected, so I am considering retiring soon—and regarding that, the matter of my succession must be addressed.”

Four

The five senior disciples involuntarily leaned forward.

“As you know, I have only one daughter.”
“Therefore, after having the five of you who have gathered here compete in a knockout tournament, I intend to bestow upon the final victor the secret techniques of Kochujo-ryu—Stealth Sword, Floating Sword, Lightning Strike, Small Wave, and Fire Dragon—along with their paired forms and essence, and furthermore, to wed them to my daughter Sugie and have them inherit the Yaegashi family name.”
“What say you—does anyone here object to this?”

“Hah hah!”

The five prostrated themselves,

“How could there possibly be any objection?
“We gratefully receive Your Excellency’s gracious decree.”

“All are in agreement, then.”

“Hah hah!”

Mondo smiled and nodded,

“Well then, we shall commence the knockout tournament without delay.”
“The match pairings are set here—all of you, prepare yourselves.”

“Understood.”

By winning, one would be granted Kochujo-ryu’s essence and secret techniques, take as wife the beautiful Sugie—renowned even in Himeji Castle town—and inherit succession of Yaegashi Dojo; thus, the five men’s joy and fighting spirit blazed up.
They made diligent preparations and lined up to the left and right in the order of pairings approved by Mondo.

“Before the matches commence, I have a word to impart.”

Mondo straightened his posture and declared, “In this tournament, whether you win or lose, you must ensure no grudges remain.
“Though you were peers until now, I have strictly commanded that from this day forth, you shall serve whoever emerges victorious as your master—let us now inspect the matches.”

The assembly parted to either side, and the first pair—Senior Instructor Okabe Godayu and Kuroita Gonroku—stepped forward.

The matches unfolded with sparks of fierce fighting spirit flying.
On every face lay the resolve to win—they fought desperately, exercising caution yet striving to emerge victorious and inherit the honorable Yaegashi family succession.
The first and second matches proceeded, and about an hour later, two remained victorious: Numata Gunjuurou, one of the Three Crows, and Itami Hyoueimon.

Now, at last, it was the final match.

After resting for about a quarter-hour and catching their breath, just as they were about to face off—suddenly, Sugie, the daughter,
“Wait—please wait a moment.”

She stepped forward before her father.

"What is this, Sugie? This is no place for women and children. Withdraw at once."

"Though I bow to your wisdom, Father, I must humbly beg—knowing full well it may incur your wrath—that this contest be treated as a matter of lifelong consequence to me as well."

"Ah, 'tis only natural you cannot idly overlook a trial that would name your husband from among the victors."
"And what manner of entreaty is this?"

“With all due respect, I humbly request that you add the servant Matabei to this tournament.”

At this unexpected remark, the assembled disciples and even Mondo himself were taken aback.

“What? Add *the servant*?”

“I shall explain the particulars later.”
“This concerns Sugie’s lifelong decision in choosing a husband—I implore you to honor this entreaty.”

Seeing his daughter’s determined eyes—eyes that seemed braced for rejection should he refuse—Mondo thought, *There must be deeper meaning here*, and so—

“It shall be as you say.”

He turned back toward the disciples.
"I intend to act according to my daughter’s wishes, but what say you all?"

“Hah! As you see fit, Master.”

Though they thought this situation was growing peculiar, their opponent was after all a mere servant—Matabei, that fool they themselves had dubbed “Half-Baked”—and they reckoned even a single strike to his cheek would send him reeling in defeat. Thus did they readily consent.

“I am deeply honored.”
“Then I shall go summon Matabei at once—pray wait but a moment...”

Sugie hurried off—but almost before anyone could register her absence, she returned dragging Matabei in tow.
When they hauled Matabei to the dojo's center, his entire body shook like autumn leaves in a storm.

"Wh-what's th-this about? If I've done wrong, mercy! Spare me this once, I beg you!"

“No need to apologize.”

Itami Hyoueimon said with a sneer.

“By the Young Mistress’s wish, we shall have a match with you. Now stand!”

“Th-that’s absurd! I couldn’t possibly—”

“What a nuisance. Someone get him into his gear!”

At Hyoueimon’s words, two disciples stood up and forcibly fitted him with the armor.

“Please help me! I—I can’t do this!”

As he let out a scream, Hyoueimon positioned his bamboo sword and roared,

“Here I come! Hyaaah!”

Strike!
Hyoueimon lunged forward.
In an instant!

“Help meee!”

With a scream, Matabei leaped to the right; Hyoueimon seized the opening and, aiming to finish him in one strike, fiercely targeted his torso and swung down.

Five

A sharp side torso strike—danger!
In the blink of an eye, Matabei’s body spun like a top and twisted left.
Hyoueimon, overcommitting his force, stumbled forward—and precisely because he had underestimated his opponent, his fury erupted—

“Hyah!!”

Stepping in again and again, he pressed the attack with relentless strikes.

“No good! Have mercy! Help! Aaaah!”

Matabei ran around sobbing but finally had his bamboo sword knocked down,

“I yield! I yield!”

[He] retreated while flailing both hands—no, it was such a struggle; this absurd match defied all reason. Hyoueimon was drenched in sweat. And then—at that moment—Mondo, who had been staring intently at the upper level,

“Gunjuurou, you face him.”

he said.

“Huh? Am I to face Mr. Itami?”

“A match with Matabei. Hurry.”

Gunjuurou found it strange—he couldn’t fathom why he had to face someone who’d already lost—and felt a flicker of resentment. But then he steeled himself: Fine. If that’s how it would be, he’d just break one of the man’s legs.

“By the Master’s command—Matabei, come here!”

“Th-th-that’s absurd! I-I’ve already lost—if I keep going, I’ll be killed!”
“I beg you!”

“By the Master’s will—take up your bamboo sword!”

Bellowed at [by him], Matabei instinctively grabbed the bamboo sword; trembling violently while frantically raising his guard—and in that instant—Gunjuurou’s body leaped into motion.

“Hyaah!”

Thwack!
He delivered a fierce strike to the face.

“Ah!!”

Matabei ducked his head and evaded.
With a clatter—the bamboo sword rang out—and in that instant—Gunjuurou sidestepped and lunged forward with a ferocious body slam.

“Help...”

Because Matabei cried out and dodged, Gunjuurou—stomping forward with all his momentum—crashed thunderously into the dojo’s wooden wall panel.
No—or rather, beyond mere anger—Gunjuurou rose up like a crimson ogre,

“You! I won’t spare you now!”

No sooner had he growled than he charged forward with terrifying force, aiming a strike so fierce it seemed to spark flames straight at his opponent’s head—

“Haa!”

In the instant he struck.

“Hyahh! Help me!”

Dodging to the right, Matabei scurried around like a mouse evading the second and third fierce attacks—but eventually threw down his bamboo sword and clasped his hands together,

“I yield! I yield! Spare my life, I beg you! I’m at your mercy!”

He fled the dojo while crying out in a tearful voice.

“Y-You fool!”

Gunjuurou, evidently enraged, wiped away his streaming sweat while spewing spittle and hurled a rebuke at Matabei from behind—when Mondo, who had been watching the entire time, quietly raised a hand to stop him,

“Today’s matches end here.”

he said.
Gunjuurou and Hyoueimon were surprised,

“But the final match still remains.”
“The one of us two who have emerged victorious—once you determine the succession, Master…”

“You fools fail to comprehend.”

Mondo frowned and said,

“Do both of you truly believe yourselves victorious in matches against that servant Matabei?”

“W-well, that is… precisely our…”

“No good. With that level of skill, I can’t possibly consider transmitting Kochujo-ryu’s essence yet.—Look closely: though you two who claimed victory are drenched in sweat, Matabei hasn’t even altered his breathing, let alone broken a sweat.”

“H-however, that is… that…”

“Disgraceful. Do not speak.”
"I had intended to retire, but given this state of affairs, it seems quite unreliable."
“The succession shall be postponed.”
“Each of you would do well to study another two or three years! Enough!”

With evident displeasure in his dismissive remark, Mondo accompanied Sugie and briskly retreated into the inner quarters.

At the very brink of achieving their grand ambition, matters took an unexpected turn.
It was like being thrown at the ring’s edge—both Hyoueimon and Gunjuurou found their plans thoroughly foiled, while the other three looked on in shock.
No... rather than shock, they had begun to feel resentment.

“Perhaps the Master’s advanced age has made him somewhat senile.”

After a moment, Kuroita Gonroku said, “Just having that idiot servant dragged out to face us is bitter enough, but then this talk of whether he sweated or not—what nonsense! If we’re not careful, mark my words—that lowly servant might steal the Yaegashi succession from us!”

“Surely it wouldn’t come to that...”

When Hyoueimon said this, Gunjuurou suddenly lowered his voice,

“No, we can’t dismiss Gonroku’s words as mere jest—for the Young Mistress shows blatant favoritism toward that servant.”
“Four or five nights past, I saw them secretly conversing—and particularly… No—regarding this matter, I have fresh counsel to share with you all.”
“After evening meal, assemble at the large riding ground.”

What dark schemes brewed within him—an eerie killing intent flooded across Gunjuurou’s features.

“Understood—we’ll be there without fail.”

Hyoueimon and everyone firmly nodded in agreement.

Six

That night—or rather, already nearing dawn—it was around the eighth hour (3:00 a.m.).

Matabei, who had been sleeping in his hut, jolted upright as a sharp killing intent pierced through to his core.

"Hmm..."

In the darkness, he strained his ears—from the direction of the main house came disorderly footsteps and ferocious battle cries.

Something's wrong.

As he muttered this, he grabbed the wooden sword by his pillow and rushed out simultaneously.
Dashing across the garden faintly lit by the crescent moon, he arrived before the wide veranda—the rain shutters opened from within—and Sugie,

“Young Mistress!”

As soon as she saw Matabei call out,

“Ah, Matabei! Hurry! Father is—”

“Please step back.”

Matabei pushed past Sugie and leapt inside. When he rushed into the living room, five samurai stood revealed in the dim lamplight—all with drawn swords encircling their master.

“Ruffians!”
Matabei shouted as he charged forward,

“Wh—?”

When he turned to look, to his surprise, they were Itami Hyoueimon and five other senior disciples.
“Wh-what is this?”
To the astonished Matabei, Mondo said while remaining cautiously on guard.

“Matabei.”
“These scoundrels... ambushed me under cover of darkness to steal both our school’s secret techniques and my daughter Sugie.”

“Strange—”

Matabei darted to Mondo’s side.
The moment Kuroita Gonroku—
“Now, everyone—finish them!”
“Understood!”
In unison, they struck all at once.
Matabei parried Gonroku’s blade and leaped to the right, then pushed Mondo aside.
“Master, I’ll handle these men. Please protect the Young Mistress.”

He shouted.
Turning back, he roared, “You lot! For homegrown disciples to act with such cruel inhumanity—I won’t let a single one of you live! Come at me!!”

“Wretched servant! Don’t you forget those words!”

Hyoueimon swiftly slashed.

“Over here! Take this!”

Matabei leaped like a darting swallow.
Thud thud thud!
Footsteps clattered chaotically—then crash!
Crack! The blade and wooden sword clashed—in an instant, Gonroku was struck head-on.

“Aah!”

Staggering forward, Gonroku crashed down along with the sliding door. Simultaneously, Okabe Godayu was struck to the right and Ishiyama Danbee sent sprawling backward—each felled by a fatal blow.

Only two remained: Gunjuurou and Hyoueimon.

“Hey, Itami! Numata! I let you win with flattery earlier, but this time there’ll be no compliments.”
“This is how you use Kochujo-ryu! Watch and learn—hyaah!”

With a shout, Matabei lowered his stance and aimed a strike at Gunjuurou’s flank—but in the instant it seemed to land, the wooden sword flipped like a flash of light, trailing a luminous arc up to his face.

“Gah!”

A blindingly fast strike impossible to evade or block—Gunjuurou was cleaved straight down the middle as if struck by a legendary blade, sent flying backward.
At the same time, Hyoueimon—

“You wretch!”

With that shout, he charged in—but

“Understood!”

Matabei drew back his right leg and twisted his torso.
"Hah!"
With that shout—as the wooden sword flashed—Hyoueimon took an iron-splitting strike to the flank and collapsed sideways without a sound, hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

“Splendid! Magnificent, magnificent!”

Mondo involuntarily raised his hand in praise.
Matabei grinned broadly, set down his wooden sword, and prostrated himself before Mondo as the master approached.

“Master, I am overjoyed that you remain unharmed."
"I shall promptly report these circumstances."

“Hold, wait—”

Mondo calmly interjected, “Your intentional defeat in the dojo this afternoon, and now those sword strokes—particularly how you finished Numata and Itami—I recognize them as Kochujo-ryu’s true secret techniques: the Fire Dragon, Small Wave, and Lightning Strike combination strikes.”
“Though your appearance remains that of a servant, you are no ordinary man.”
“Would you be so kind as to explain the circumstances?”

“You honor me.”

Matabei snapped upright into a formal seated posture,

“What need is there to conceal anything now? I am Umemoto Matajirou, an inexperienced retainer of the Maeda clan in Kaga Domain. By Lord Maeda’s command, I came here to master the secret techniques of Kochujo-ryu."

“However, as this is a forbidden style of Himeji Domain—prohibited from being taught to outsiders—I had no choice but to disguise my status and live here as a servant. For this past year, through secretly observing your forms and rigorous practice, I believe I have grasped some measure of skill... though in truth, this amounts to having stolen your school’s teachings.”

“For the crimes of deceiving you, Master, and stealing the forbidden techniques—now that all is revealed, I shall accept your judgment without reservation.”

“Now… do with me as you will.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Matahei—no, Umemoto Matajirou—thrust his neck forward.
Mondo had been silently listening to the entire account, but—
“Ahhh... splendid!” he groaned.
“Lord Maeda has been blessed with a worthy retainer.
First raise your hand—it’s unreasonable to confine martial arts to a single domain. When techniques are this exceptional, spreading them far and wide to make the style flourish is the true way of swordsmanship.
Though it may displease the domain lord, there is absolutely no reason to condemn you.
Now raise your hand.”

“Well then, does that mean… you will grant me forgiveness?”

“For Kochujo-ryu to be transmitted to one such as yourself would fulfill its true purpose."
“Pray come to the dojo.”
“In place of a souvenir, I shall impart to you all the secret techniques of our school. Come!”

As Mondo stood to prepare, Matajirou watched his retreating figure with eyes moist with gratitude and joy—from behind, Sugie quietly drew near as if to accompany him,

“Now, please come to the dojo.”

Sugie said.

Matajirou stood up straight,

"Young Mistress, behold the splendid figure of servant Matahei—who exists only for this night—receiving the transmission of secret techniques. Pray watch as well. Now—"

He turned around as if to say—
The face of Matabei—once mocked as "Half-Baked"—now shone as if reborn—this was Umemoto Matajirou in truth.
With her cheeks flushed, Sugie quietly stepped forward to guide him toward the dojo.

Three days later.

With Matajirou—who had achieved his life’s ambition and departed for Kaga Province—there was one beautiful companion.
Needless to say, that was Sugie.