She is too young, but her face
Reminds one of a beautiful flower
Her hairs are disheveled by wind, she
had been sleepless for days thinking of her father

—Inoue Tetsujirō (1855 - 1944)
from White Aster: a Japanese Epic
tr. by Arthur Lloyd

Hasegawa Kōichi, a single father, age thirty-eight, stood by the saucepan of broth on the stove, inhaling the scent of savory kelp stock, mirin, and soy sauce that wafted through the narrow kitchen.

"It smells delicious, Olga," said Kōichi to the blonde girl working beside him.

"Of course it does," she replied, "because I'm the one who made it~"

Adding buckwheat noodles to a pot of boiling water, Olga flashed a playful smile, gray eyes aglow with excitement. "But it was a joint effort, after all. Please drain the noodles after this, okay?"

The pair waited eagerly, almost shoulder-to-shoulder: the bespectacled man with black hair, a mustache and goatee, and his dainty thirteen-year-old daughter who barely resembled him. Outside of the window, opaque with frost, positioned over the sink, a thin layer of snow blanketed the streets of Hakodate, Japan, and on the wall hung a calendar marking the date: December 31, 2004, Heisei year 16. With the soba noodles drained, rinsed, and split among two bowls, the daughter ladled in generous helpings of clear brown broth and topped them with slices of fishcake, green onion, wakame seaweed, hard-boiled eggs, spinach and shiitake mushrooms.

"And it's done," announced Olga, presenting their meal on a serving tray. "Toshikoshi soba~"

"I see you've mastered the art of soup noodles!" Her father followed her eagerly to the next room, where she placed the tray on a wooden dining table. "It feels like only yesterday that you were barely as tall as my knee, and now you're cooking for the two of us. I'm so proud of you, Olga."

Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, he pulled his daughter in for a hug, nuzzling against her cheek with a finely manicured mustache and beard.

"Haha, stop, stop!" she squealed, squirming and laughing. "That tickles!"

The father and daughter sat down for their New Year's Eve feast, complete with side dishes prepared in advance: sweetened black beans, mashed, golden sweet potato with chestnuts, simmered shrimp and braised shredded carrots and burdock root. After giving thanks for the meal, Kōichi first picked out the mushrooms in his soup moved them with his chopsticks to Olga's bowl, knowing how much she loved them. From there, they ate and talked at length about mundane affairs, happenings at work, the latest drama at Ritsuminato Junior High School, and eventually settled on plans for the immediate future.

"Papa," said Olga, "can we go see the cherry blossoms at Goryōkaku Park this year?"

"I'd love to," her father replied, "but I'll have to see what my schedule's like."

Olga smiled weakly at his noncommittal answer, but knowing the importance of his work at the Public Service Intelligence Agency, she didn't fault him for that. It was fine, she thought, so long as they spent time together like this.

Once finished, Kōichi cleared and washed the dishes, and Olga, tired from cooking nonstop, went in early for bed, bid goodnight to her father, and closed the door to her bedroom. Finding himself alone at the dinner table, Kōichi opened a can of Sapporo Classic beer, in spite of an infamously poor tolerance for alcohol and general dislike of the taste, and downed all 350 milliliters at record speed. The many problems at the PSIA's Hokkaido Bureau had finally broken him down, and Kōichi slumped back in his chair, removing the circular glasses from his face, which had turned a mild shade of red.

"Fina," he murmured, as he pictured his deceased wife, "our daughter's growing up so quickly; she resembles you more and more with every passing day. I can tell that she's lonely, though, and I'm afraid that I've failed her by not being there when she needs me. I wanted to do well, work hard, give her the best possible future, but I wonder sometimes if I chose correctly. They're only young once, and I'm running out of time…"

With one final utterance, barely intelligible, Kōichi slipped off into a beer-induced slumber, and only when he started snoring did Olga poke her head into the dining room, having listened to his one-sided confession. In the past, he only talked about her mother if Olga asked him questions, or wanted to see the pictures he had taken in his youth, when he and Fina were living in Russia. Aside from those lightly faded images of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman, Olga had no recollection of her mother's face or what she was like, knowing only secondhand that she was killed—with an infant Olga in her arms, no less—by a stray bullet from a sudden gunfight in the street.

It must have been difficult, she thought, raising a child on his own. As a single father with a demanding job, she didn't blame him for his frequent absence, but there were times when she found herself wanting more: that he would stop working when he returned home, and eat dinner with her more often, and take better care of himself, and not answer calls on the weekends. At the start of the school year, when her father had traveled for business in Tokyo, it was Gramps—his oldest friend—who accompanied her on the first day. Thought she was lucky to have anyone at all, she still felt disappointed that it wasn't him, but didn't voice her complaints. Well aware of her father's unconditional love and support, she never once complained or resented her father, knowing he was doing his best.

Approaching her unconscious father, Olga took hold of his arms, pulled him forward and shifted him on to her back, dragging him down the hallway and into his bedroom, where she flipped him on to the mattress, pleased with her own strength. Settling his head on a pillow, she covered him in blankets and smoothed some wayward locks of hair from his brow. While fast asleep, he looked uncharacteristically meek, losing the vigor of his waking life and the overwhelming presence he was known for.

"You've never failed me, Papa," she whispered, "not even once. Sure, I wish you'd come back for dinner, and stop working when you get home, and not take calls on the weekends… but you're the best father I could possibly ask for. I'll remind you every day if I have to."

Over the next three months, and Olga made sure to encourage her father at every possible opportunity, even when it came out of nowhere: during meals, or as he left for work in the morning, driving in the car together, doing shopping or whenever he seemed to be troubled. "You're doing well!" "My Papa's the best!" "Don't be so hard on yourself!" She spouted out the most positive thoughts she could muster, the things she wanted him to hear, and it always put a smile on her father's face.

The last time she saw him laugh and smile would be on February 20, 2005, on a bright Sunday morning at breakfast. There was no indication of what was to come, and when Kōichi was called into work on short notice, Olga expected him to come back eventually, masking any disappointment with an upbeat demeanor.

"I'm going now," he called from the door, wearing a white collared shirt and slacks, with a tie around his neck.

Olga came speeding around the corner, tackle-hugged her father, and told him, "Come back soon!"

That final smile, bent lips under a black handlebar mustache, the light in her father's dark eyes behind his glasses—she wanted to remember it all, to etch every last detail into stone. It was fleeting and ephemeral, like cherry blossoms in the wind.

Arriving at the branch office, Kōichi parked his car in the lot outside and entered through the glass-paned front doors. He had been greeting a colleague near the lobby elevator when a truck barreled into the front of the building, drove inside and promptly exploded, injuring thirteen people and claiming the life of one: Olga's father, Hasegawa Kōichi. He was pronounced dead on the scene, struck in the forehead by shrapnel and killed on impact. No other experience in Olga's thirteen years of life compared to what it felt like receiving that phone call from the police, the ensuing revelation, the harrowing truth, that he wasn't coming home, not now and not later—not ever.

In almost no time at all, the reports began showing up on television, and later in the newspaper, where her father was reduced to a single lurid headline: "PSIA Agent Killed in Hakodate Bombing." As for Olga, the next of kin, everything after that felt like a blur, going through motions mechanically, following advice from the adults, working with authorities, and handling the niceties foisted upon the living.

Despite the overwhelming media coverage, she had no interest in the perpetrator or his motives, until his mother, a single parent, issued a heartfelt public apology and later wrote to Olga in private, blaming herself for not raising her son adequately. He had been a troubled youth, consumed by rage and paranoia, and wanted to be famous in the fastest and worst way possible. According to his manifesto, the reason he chose a Sunday, which Olga heard in passing on the radio, was for some bizarre religious statement mixed with conspiracy theories about the government. After careful consideration, Olga responded to the mother with a letter stating, "We both lost someone we love, and I'm sorry it had to be this way."

The next time she saw her father was in a mortuary at the funeral home, swaddled in white sheets on a cold metal table, his face concealed by a square of featureless white linen. Despite the mortician's explanation and warnings about cosmetic damage—his brain had been essentially blown wide open—she took a corner of the fabric between her thumb and forefinger, determined to see as much of him as possible, because after this, he was gone for good.

There was the pointed beard on his chin, and above that his mouth, the lips stark and cold, unsmiling, then the handlebar mustache, his sunken cheekbones and waxy complexion. Pausing at the bridge of his nose, she debated whether to continue or to leave the rest to imagination. Though anxious and unsure, she uncovered the beginnings of charred skin, the pair of eyes burned shut, and that was when she stopped, dropping the cloth back down, afraid of ruining the image of him in her mind.

Why did he die, she wondered, wrapping her arms around herself as she leaned over his body—out of all people, why him?

"Papa," she sobbed and pleaded, "please wake up. Let's go home together. I want to go home with you…"

The man she thought invincible, a one-of-a-kind, irreplaceable person, was gone, and Olga learned that life was a fragile thing, by no means guaranteed.

Most of the guests at her father's funeral were staff from the Agency, who mourned the loss of a highly respected team leader. Carrying sticks of incense, they bowed to the daughter dressed in black, and to her father's portrait, with dates of his birth and death inscribed on a plaque below: December 25, 1966 - February 20, 2005. Many attendees marveled at Olga's golden hair, with some wondering about her mother's nationality, or if that were its natural color, or whether she was adopted. Considering the occasion, however, no one dared ask, and spoke only of the matter at hand.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, Hasegawa-san," said the director. "Your father Kōichi was a good man. He told us you were his pride and joy."

There were many faces in the crowd which Olga didn't recognize, her father's old friends, former coworkers, teachers and classmates from his college days, and even casual acquaintances. Although she and her father had no immediate family, people from Kōichi's birthplace, Niigata Prefecture, made the trip from the mainland up to Hokkaido in order to pay their respects to hometown hero.

After a private cremation ceremony, her father's remains were interred at the family grave, next to his beloved wife, who had wished while alive to be buried alongside him. Though she passed before him, Kōichi's name had also been engraved on the monument, painted red to show he was living. He would say it cost less to engrave two names at the same time, but in some ways, it also signified that he was waiting to follow his wife into the grave.

On that day, the red ink on her father's name, which showed he was still alive, was washed from the gravestone, dissolving into a bloody dye, melting away until the water ran clear:

長谷川 幸一

長谷川 フィーナ

Hasegawa Kōichi

Hasegawa Fina

Coming home to an empty house never felt so miserable. Carrying her father's broken glasses—the last of his personal effects—Olga sank down on the powder blue living room sofa and stared at a framed photo on the end table beside her, the one she and her father had taken on his last birthday.

"On December twenty-fifth, I always buy two presents for myself," he used to say. "One for my birthday and one for Christmas!"

She ran her thumb over the picture of his smiling face, trying to commit every detail to memory.

"Forever's a long time, you know, to never see you again," she whispered, even if no one heard.

At thirteen years old, near the end of first grade in junior high school, Olga was now an orphan, and her father's best friend assumed the role of her legal guardian, in accordance with Kōichi's will. The retired founder of a prominent information technology corporation, Akasaki Norio—"Gramps" as Olga called him— always gave the the impression of a zany old man, with a wide mustache and gray hair that stood up on end, looking somewhat like a Japanese Albert Einstein. With both time and money to spare, he helped manage Kōichi's remaining legal affairs and allowed Olga to continue living in the home she knew, often visiting and joining her for dinner, albeit with Olga as the primary chef.

From Olga's standpoint, there was nothing more comforting than coming home to find Gramps doing chores around the house, making a sandwich for himself, drinking coffee or watching TV on the couch.

"Sometimes I can't believe he's really gone," said Olga one day, as she and Mr. Akasaki walked together at a local park. "Just when I think I've accepted it, the reality comes crashing down around me, and I can't make it stop…"

"I've heard about the stages of grief," Mr. Akasaki replied, "but let me tell you, it's more like an ever-shifting kaleidoscope. You'll be fine one minute, almost forgetting what happened, and then something reminds you again: an object, a sight, some association… But it gets easier eventually, as unbelievable as it seems. Take it from an old-timer like me. You never stop missing that person, but you learn withstand it, to live life without them. The pain you feel ebbs away, blunted by time, and one day, you'll be able to look back fondly on those memories of him."

It was one of these rare occasions when Olga saw Gramps quiet down for once and talk about something serious, rather philosphically, but rambling at times like her father when he was drunk. He and her father had a lot in common, she thought: outstandingly vibrant, full of energy and bright ideas. It reminded Olga of how close they were, and how much this affected Gramps too. The two men had been avid military buffs and bonded strongly over an interest in weapons and historical conflicts, not due to the violence or bloodshed, but because of what it said about human nature.

To better understand the past and present, Olga spent hours reading books recommended by Gramps, and invited him to watch documentaries whenever he stopped by for dinner. It was the firsthand accounts of war, the memoirs and footage of actual battles, interviews with aging veterans and posthumously released poetry that made the events described in text seem real. Lives were ended prematurely, young men died for their country, and civilians were often caught in the crossfire, families torn apart. Olga found solidarity in their struggles, and though she felt that her pain couldn't possibly compare to what they endured, the grief over loss felt the same.

Months after her father's passing, on a quiet weekend alone, Olga sat curled on the couch, watching recordings of her favorite TV series, Shinsengumi!, which recounted a special police force that protected the Tokugawa Shogunate during the turbulent Edo Period in the 1800s. It started off with the Shinsengumi's most famous members training in a countryside dojo: the future commander Kondō Isami, an honorable man, recently married; Hijikata Toshizō, the loyal best friend and second-in-command, seen hankering after pretty girls; and Okita Sōji, the upbeat child prodigy, who wondered when he would be treated like an adult.

Having watched all forty-nine episodes in the past, she still felt a deep attachment to these characters, but also knew they were doomed to meet the same end as their historical counterparts. In the end, Kondō Isami, accused of a crime he didn't commit, was beheaded by the new Meiji government; First Unit Captain Okita Sōji, only in his twenties, would succumb to tuberculosis; and Hijikata, faithful to Kondō, the Shinsengumi and the Tokugawa until the end, later died at the Battle of Goryōkaku, the very city where Olga lived.

Kneeling on the platform Kondō bends his head forward, and the executioner raises his blade. The smile on the commander's face is one of peaceful resignation. He pictures the crimson flag of the Shinsengumi, emblazoned with gold characters, and thinks about his best friend, Hijikata, one last time.

"Toshi…"

The sword comes down, and the screen fades to black.

The end.

"Oh… that's it, huh?" Olga muttered. "They don't cover the end of the Boshin War, or what happens to Hijikata at the Battle of Goryōkaku… Ah, right, the rest of it's in the sequel. I'm pretty sure I have it on DVD, now where did I put it…?"

After looking in the media console under the TV, rifling through CDs and tape recordings, Olga recalled that her father might have stored it in his bedroom, alongside his other favorite movies and war documentaries—he swore that he had been a soldier in his previous life. She walked down the hallway and stood before the closed door of his room, which she hadn't opened since he passed away. Now she thought, was as good a time as ever, and turned the doorknob to enter.

All of his earthly possessions remained exactly as he left them. His clothing still hung in the closet, pressed and steamed and waiting to be worn, and on top of the dresser against the wall—along with the neatly folded pair of his broken glasses—sat formerly treasured possessions, like watches, wallets, a gold fountain pen, and the misshapen clay figure given to him one year on Father's Day, sculpted in his likeness. Next to the full-length mirror in the corner, he had taped up the hand-drawn card she made for him on his birthday, complete with cutesy doodles of him and her together, and a colorful greeting of "Happy Birthday Papa!"

The gift she bought for him that year was still displayed on his desk: a miniature scale model of Grumman F4F-4 Wildcat fighter aircraft, which her father had praised for its durability.

"While not as fast and nimble as other certain planes out there, it sure was hard to knock this one from the air!"

Gripped by nostalgia, Olga went through a desk drawer filled with DVD cases, flipping them over, checking their covers, until she found the one she wanted: "Shinsengumi! Hijikata Toshizō Saigo no Ichinichi"—"The Last Day"—with actor Yamamoto Kōji portraying the titular role. As she pulled it from the compartment, she noticed something shiny at the bottom, and pulling it out discovered a three-tiered memento box, inlaid with mother-of-pearl that glowed with all seven colors of the rainbow. What appeared to be the edge of a sheet of paper poked out from under the lid, and out of curiosity she decided to open it, which released the sweet, subtle smell of chrysanthemum tea.

Inside, on the first tray, she found a folded letter, penned in her father's writing; beneath it, his wedding band and her mother's diamond ring strung on a golden chain, each engraved with their names in Cyrillic: "Коити и Фина." Sitting in the final layer of the box was an ornate golden hand-held mirror, perhaps her mother's, that she had never seen before.

Setting the box aside, she stared at the elegant script of a birthday message, belonging, unmistakably, to Hasegawa Kōichi.

Olga, today is your fourteenth birthday, and now that you've spent a year as a teenager, I wanted to give this to you: a reminder that your parents love you more than anything else in this world. No matter how old you are, or where you may be, you'll always be my little girl, and your mother would've been so proud of you. The name she gave you, 'Olga', means 'holy' and 'blessed.' And that's what you are to me: a blessing. I swore to cherish you forever and always, and that promise will never change.

Love, your Papa.

Clutching the letter with trembling hands, Olga fell to her knees and wept on the impossible wish that her father would give her this gift in August, like it was supposed to be.

"I know he's not here anymore," she told herself, "but I have to be strong. Even after losing his best friend, Hijikata becomes the new leader of the Shinsengumi, and keeps on fighting for their cause, no matter how hard it gets… and that's what I have to do as well."

This was to be her battlefield, a standoff between her and the void space that her father left behind. She kept the jewelry box on a nightstand in her bedroom, where she could look at its color and contents whenever she felt lonely. An entire year passed by without Hasegawa Kōichi in it, and then another after that, during which Olga devoted her time to creative pursuits, hanging out with Gramps and other friends, practicing martial arts, and trying to understand the world around her a little more every day.

On February 20, 2007—the second anniversary of her father's passing—Olga faced off against a friend in a kendo match at their martial arts school, the tips of their shinai touching, each dressed in full uniform, with a kimono-like top and long divided pants, wearing a set of armor, or bogu—a helmet with metal face protection, a pair of hand guards, a body protector and a waist guard. Some of the students' parents stood watching on the sidelines, as they waited to pick up their kids and go home.

They were down to the final point, best of three, tied at two wins each. Focus, Olga reminded herself, stay in the moment and forget about everything else. But her eyes wandered to the audience, a sea of loving family members, and Olga couldn't help but wish her father was among them. Today, again, she had woken up and realized he wasn't here anymoer.

The next thing she knew, she was being smacked on the top of her helmet, the menbuton, by her friend, Hanako, who seemed equally surprised at her victory.

After declaring Hanako the winner, their teacher praised them for their efforts, and offered some words of advice: "It's natural to be distracted by thoughts, feelings, and things around you—but during combat, there's no room for any mistakes. If the opposition sees you distracted, you've already lost the battle. Conversely, your attention must be whole and unbroken, and if it isn't, do your best not to show it. You can't win against an opponent with no openings—you either wait for a lapse in concentration, or try to make one yourself."

Later, in the changing room, Hanako asked as she combed out of her long, black hair, "Hey, Olga, is everything alright? You seemed distracted during practice, but I think I know the reason why…"

"Yep, today's the day," said Olga, picking up her gear bag, clad once more in her navy blue school uniform, comprised of a sailor-style blouse and pleated skirt. "I plan to go pay my respects later on."

"Alright. Be sure to dress warmly, and don't forget to eat dinner! Of course, you can always drop by my house if you're hungry. Mom's always asking how you're doing, and she'd be glad to make more of those sesame powder-covered rice cakes you like."

"Mmmm, injeolmi! How can I say no to that?" exclaimed Olga, brightening at the prospect of traditional Korean snacks. Owing to their mixed ancestries, the two girls gravitated toward each other at school and remained close friends ever since. "Please tell your parents I said hi, and I'll talk to you soon, Hanako-chan~"

Upon returning home, Olga instinctively called out for Gramps, who had been stopping by lately for dinner, but then she remembered that he caught a cold the day before, and couldn't visit the cemetery with her this year. When they talked on the phone in the morning, she told him not to worry, and that she'd be fine on her own, and promised to bring him some food later on.

As she considered what to make for Gramps—maybe some rice porridge or chicken noodle soup—she dropped her school bag and kendo gear on the couch, went to her bedroom and changed into new clothing: a black winter kimono under a gray duffel coat, with brown lace-up boots, a white scarf, and a pair of gloves in her jacket's pockets. After packing a tote bag with necessities and offerings for later, Olga paused over the opalescent memento box on her nightstand, which seemed to shimmer and oscillate in the overhead light. She opened the lid, inhaling the delicate chrysanthemum scent, and took out the chain with her parents' wedding rings, looping it around her neck.

"I'm going now!" she called while leaving the house, but received no answer except for silence.

Under the gray clouds of late February, Olga rode a bus to a stop near Higashiyama Cemetery and walked the rest of the way, crossing an icy street where she almost fell a couple times, before she arrived at her her parents' final resting place. She brushed away the snow collected on the headstone, cleaned its surface, pulled up weeds, and set down a bouquet of flowers, bending to caress the carved strokes of her father's name, and then her mother's.

"Hello, Mama, hello, Papa. If you can hear me, I hope you're doing well. The school year's almost over, and I'm looking forward to spring vacation. Gramps and I are going to see the cherry blossoms at Goryōkaku Park, and I'd like to bring hanami dango again. This year, I'm using a recipe that calls for tofu in addition to glutinous rice flour. I made some last night and wanted to share them with you."

From her purse she extracted the plastic snack box, which was filled with colorful rice cakes rolled into balls, skewered in trios of pink, green and white. "They look pretty good, don't you think?" she asked, biting into one of the them. "…I just wish you were here to try it."

Placing the container of dango back in her bag, she lingered on the sight of her parents' names and let out a shaky, forlorn sigh, thinking, I should have said 'I love you' more. She often pretended that her parents living somewhere happily, together, but now more than ever, faced with the reality at hand, she realized it was likely a self-indulgent fantasy.

"I don't know if it's possible," she murmured, "but I hope we'll meet again somewhere, someday. Please watch over me until then. I'll be sure to make both of you proud. I love you, Mama, Papa, and thank you again."

As Olga began the short walk back to the bus stop, the wind began to pick up speed, blowing the snow on the roads into violent swirls. She trudged alongside rush hour traffic, close to being swept away, one hand shielding her eyes and the other clutching her handbag, and at last she reached a busy intersection, where she waited to cross the street. The pedestrian signal had changed to green, inviting her to walk, but at the first step she took off the curb, she heard somebody call her name:

"Olga…!"

It was her father's voice, faint but urgent, and she froze instinctively, looking around, confused, until she noticed a patch of black ice on the road in front of her, which she might have slipped on otherwise.

"Papa must be looking out for me," she mused, smiling faintly at the notion.

A split-second later, she jolted in shock as a car horn blared nearby, followed by the screech of tires and failing brakes. She and turned saw, too late, that a truck had driven up on the sidewalk behind her and headed for where she stood. Olga took one step backward, ready to run, but then felt her foot slide out from beneath her, slipping on the ice that went momentarily forgotten. She tilted back, eyes wide, while her bag's handles slipped from her grasp, and the chain around her neck seemed to burn against her skin. As she stared into the pair of headlights, oncoming death, she could have sworn she smelled the distinct aroma of dried chrysanthemum flowers. Then, the world dissolved into blinding white.

Chapter 1 Glossary

PSIA (Public Security Intelligence Agency): The national intelligence agency of Japan, tasked with internal security and espionage against public threats and subversive activities. According to an interview with Golden Kamuy author Noda Satoru, Tsurumi would be a Public Security/Intelligence Agency officer if he lived in the present day. The PSIA has ties to several foreign intelligence security agencies including the CIA, FBI, Mossad, Raw and MI6. It's said to operate like the British security agency MI5, where officers have no right to arrest anyone during a law enforcement operation or force anyone to be involved in an investigation. Incidentally, the Director-General of the PSIA from 1993 to 1997 was named Ogata Shigetake, an accomplished prosecutor.

Toshikoshi soba ("year-crossing noodles"): Typically eaten during New Year's celebrations, a tradition dating back to the Edo Period. The long soba noodles represent longevity, and the hardy buckwheat plant used to make them is a symbol of resilience. Because it's easy to bite into the noodles, this can signify a clean break with any negativity from the previous year. During the Edo Period, goldsmiths rolled fine soba flour dough on their work surface to gather leftover gold dust. The flour was then dissolved in water, and the gold dust easily collected.

Goryōkaku ("Five-Point Fort"): The main fortress of the short-lived Republic of Ezo, built by the Tokugawa shogunate to protect the Tsugaru Strait against a possible invasion by Russia. It's famous as the site of the last battle of the Boshin War (occurring from June 20-27, 1869), where Hijikate Toshizō died of a gunshot wound. In modern times, Goryōkaku was declared a special historical site and converted into a park, which is now a favorite spot for cherry-blossom viewing when they bloom in spring.

Sapporo Classic Beer: In homage of the historical Sapporo Brewery featured in manga chapter 251. A 100% draft beer malt without any sub-ingredients. Special collaboration, Golden Kamuy-themed cans were sold in Hokkaido during limited-edition releases.

"I'm going now," "Come back soon!": The customary Japanese phrases of "itterasshai" (いってらっしゃい) and "ittekimasu" (いってきます), which are used by someone leaving the house and someone who's staying, respectively.

Red ink on the grave: A name that's written in red on a grave shows that the person who will be buried there is still alive.

Akasaki Norio: Alternate universe version of the character Arisaka Narizou from Golden Kamuy, who in-story is a genius firearms designer and Lieutenant General in the Imperial Japanese Army. He's based on the real-life figure of Arisaka Nariakira, who held the same rank and invented the Arisaka rifle.

IT company: A nod to the buyer of a certain painting at the end of the manga.

Shinsengumi!: A year-long TV drama from 2004 produced by Japanese broadcaster NHK, starring Katori Shingo of pop idol group SMAP as the leader of the Shinsengumi, Kondō Isami. Rounding out at 49 1-hour episodes, the series follows the humble beginnings of the Shinsegumi's forerunners until their group's decline about ten years later. The series finale ends with Kondō's execution, but the 2006 sequel TV movie about Hijikata (who was also played by another singer/actor) recounts his last day at the Battle of Goryōkaku in Hakodate, Hokkaido.

Three-tiered memento box: Inspired by the tamatebako ("jeweled hand box", "treasure box", "casket jewelry box", etc.) from the Japanese folk tale "Urashima Tarō", the parting gift given by the princess of the sea to the titular fisherman after his stay at the Dragon Palace, to which he was invited for saving a turtle.

In one rendition of the story, she warns him to never open it, while in another she encourages him to use it in a time of great need. Upon returning home from the ocean, Urashima finds that centuries have past, his parents are dead, and nobody recognizes him. When he opens the box in the latter version, he is first transformed into an old man, and then a crane, and later meets with the sea princess, who is disguised as a turtle. (Happy ending?)

Hanami dango ("flowering-viewing" dango): A type of sweet Japanese rice dumpling typically enjoyed in springtime, during the cherry blossom season. Often served in threes on a skewer, they're also called sanshoku dango, or "tri-colored dango" due to their distinctive pink, white and green coloration, which is said to represent the seasons or the flowering stages of cherry blossoms. Traditionally, the pink part would be colored with red shiso leaves and the green using Japanese mugwort, but food coloring or powdered freeze-dried strawberries and matcha are more popular nowadays.

Kendo: Literally "the way of the sword." A modern Japanese martial art descended from kenjutsu, or swordsmanship, which originated from the samurai class in feudal Japan. Some modern forms of kendo and iaido established in the 20th century include modern forms of kenjutsu in their curriculum.