Author's Note: So glad to finally share this! The delays just kept piling on…also, I recognize there was a problem with this site over the past few days. As a reminder, this story is also posted on Tumblr, same username as here, and AO3, where I'm tact_and_impulse. Please enjoy the chapter, and let me know what you think!

"Damn it!" Koshijiro swore and he could only watch as the teapot's lid fell into his bowl of chazuke. The piece of ceramic sank, nestling in the slightly browned grains. He hastily set the teapot down, and some of the hot liquid spilled over, missing his hand but pooling on the table. He'd have to clean it up later; breakfast had taken him too long to prepare, and now, he was rushing. It had been a while, but the chief had renewed his habit of scheduling extensive meetings on short notice.

He paused. He inhaled, then exhaled. "Well…these are minor setbacks." After retrieving the lid with his chopsticks, he started to eat. The table suddenly seemed vast and empty, without the extra bowls and cups, and of course, the other people who had lived here until very recently. It was so quiet, it was unsettling. At this time of day, their voices would have filled the air.

And it's only the first day without them. With a last sigh, he finished the remainder of his chazuke before heading for the station.

For the most part, the meeting was terribly mundane. It was mentioned that Assistant Chief Inspector Fujita would be absent for the next month, "on assignment". While he was gone, his duties would be divided among the rest of them. Except for Koshijiro.

"He had a specific list for you." The chief said and removed a sealed envelope from his desk. "Oh, I'll open it for you. Here."

With a flick of his wrist, Koshijiro snapped the paper straight. His eyes met rows of carefully written numbers, a kind of cipher masking the details of his tasks. Somehow, he expected as much from Fujita. "Were there any instructions?"

"No, none at all."

"…I see."

Once they were dismissed, he immediately made for Fujita's desk. The surface had been wiped clean, and the drawers were bereft of any loose papers. The only remaining items were an inkwell and a dozen books, arranged by date of publication. Koshijiro examined the spines and covers for anything within. His search yielded nothing, not even a folded page corner.

Koshijiro took a step back, glancing between the numbers and the books. Considering publisher, author, and genre, none of the books had anything in common except their mode of print. Perhaps, that was his clue: this was a book cipher. And so, he set upon the tedious task of comparing the numbers to pages, lines, and characters. The first three books didn't make complete sentences, and the fifth led to a string of infinitive verbs. The eighth seemed to be the most promising, until the message devolved into complete nonsense. When he opened the twelfth, the clock ironically signaled that it was noon.

And thank goodness for that. I need to clear my head.

"I'll be back later." He muttered. The other officers nodded without looking up. Evidently, Fujita had given them an equal amount of trouble.

Lunch was spent at the Akabeko. As soon as Koshijiro entered the restaurant, Tae cheerfully steered him to a corner table. "There's nothing from Sae yet, but it hasn't been that long. I'm sure Kaoru and Yahiko are doing well."

"Still, I'm looking forward to their letter." He wondered if they had adjusted to staying in an unfamiliar city. Were they eating well? Did they have enough money?

"It's natural to feel that way, and they must be concerned about you too. So, Kamiya-san, you should keep up your strength." She smiled, and Koshijiro nodded.

"Then, agedashi tofu, if you have it."

"Of course. Could you also get him some tea, Tsubame?"

The girl was clearing a nearby table, and she jumped at the mention of her name. "Yes, right away!" A short while later, she carried a tray over. However, after pouring the tea, she did not immediately leave. "Um…Kamiya-san?"

"Yes?"

"You said that they'll write from Kyoto? So, Yahiko-chan," She vigorously shook her head. "I mean, Yahiko-kun! Is it alright to send something to him?"

"Of course. You can write to him as well."

"Oh." She flushed red, as if the thought had never occurred to her. "That's right. I'll think of something."

"Please, don't feel rushed."

"And you can ask me, if you need help composing." Tae added, as she set Koshijiro's ordered dish on the table. "I'll also write to my sister. We'll let you know when we're ready."

"Thank you." He inclined his head, and they left him alone to eat.

The tofu was delicious and the tea was pleasantly hot. As he breathed in the fragrance, he considered the cipher. Whatever information Fujita was passing on to him, it was highly confidential.

There has to be a simpler way. Fujita would want this information to be relayed, so he couldn't have used an extremely convoluted code. What if the books have nothing to do with this? Then, the answer lies in the paper itself. The paper was standard issue in the office and so was the ink. He stopped in the middle of drinking his tea. The desk was perfectly clean, without any ink spots or an ink blotter. I'll examine the inkwell, but if it's dry, he didn't write the list in the office. He wrote it elsewhere.

He took his time in finishing the meal and paying Tae. At a leisurely pace, he returned to the office. Indeed, the inkwell was completely dry, like it was new. So, the page itself had been the clue, to a completely different place. And he had already been given the address.

The house was situated in a quiet neighborhood. The sun was on its way down, a golden glow illuminating the traditional roofs and clean roads. Koshijiro knocked on the door, and he heard light footsteps, before someone answered. "Yes?"

"This is Officer Kamiya, from the Metropolitan Tokyo Police. I was directed to your home by Assistant Inspector Fujita."

Momentarily, the door opened to reveal a petite woman, with clear eyes and her hair in a tight bun. "Yes, he said that he'd send someone from work. Thank you for dealing with my husband." Her smile was knowing. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Please, come in."

"Thank you." Koshijiro removed his shoes and entered. The interior was sparse, and it was apparent that the residents had not lived here for very long. Fujita's wife walked into an adjacent room, so he made to follow her.

The hairs on his arm stood on end. He stopped, just as the barrel of a pistol thrust towards his chest, not quite reaching him but enough to force him backwards. Fujita's wife held the other end, her grip steady and gaze unwavering. "Officer Kamiya, you said? Forgive my forwardness, but to me, you are a stranger. I need to know if you were truly sent by Assistant Inspector Fujita and not an interceptor of his message."

Slowly, Koshijiro held up his hand, to show that he would not attack. "That's understandable. Feel free to interrogate me. I have nothing to hide."

"First question. Where is the assistant inspector now?"

"Presumably, on his way to Kyoto. I haven't heard from him since he visited the Kamiya dojo."

Her lips pressed together. "Second question. Until very recently, who was he working with?"

"The late Minister Okubo."

"Last question. Where am I from?"

He was taken aback. Fujita had never mentioned his family before, and he was about to reply that he didn't know. However, that would be an answer anyone could give. Her intention dawned on him: he needed an answer that would prove he was capable of Fujita's standards. Her Tokyo accent was very good, but now that he had listened to her more, the cadence of her voice was reminiscent of Takani's. "Aizu."

The pistol lowered a fraction. "My husband is very discerning. I can see why he chose to trust you. But, I will keep this with me." She moved the firearm to her side, and he released a breath.

"That's perfectly alright. There is honor in protecting yourself and your family."

A slight nod indicated her agreement. "I'm Saito Tokio."

"Kamiya Koshijiro."

"Are you the father of Kamiya Kaoru?"

"Do you know her?" He asked, surprised.

"Not personally. I've heard that she was the master of her dojo. For a woman, that is a great accomplishment. We honor the memory of a group of onna bugeisha in Aizu, so I remembered her name."

Pride filled him from head to toe. "Unfortunately, she's in Kyoto. I hope the two of you can meet sometime." Making sure his movements were obvious, he withdrew the folded page from his wallet. "Now, the reason I'm here is because of this cipher encoding my assignment. I have been unable to solve it."

Tokio took it and after a brief scan, she said. "I have seen these numbers before, I'll bring out the document. Please don't leave this room."

After five minutes, Tokio returned with a large folded sheet, which she opened on an adjacent table. The map of Tokyo was familiar, except for the numbers on the grid's margins. On both axes, the numbers were in random order. She placed the cipher above it. "Would you like any assistance?"

"Yes, I would greatly appreciate it."

The horizontal axis was indicated, then the vertical, to reveal a specific point. The first was a training site for soldiers. The subsequent numbers traced a path to the harbor. Then, a separate point started at a warehouse of cannons, and the same pattern ensued. The overall picture was that of troop movement; the last line was at the Imperial Palace. Tokio had excused herself, leaving him to consider the map's message.

This appears to be a plan for mobilization. I can only think of one scenario-

"Ah!"

Koshijiro turned to see a little boy, not even two years old, grasping the side of the doorway. He waddled forward, each breath more of a puff. As he shoved a thumb into his grinning mouth, Koshijiro spotted the edges of two bottom teeth.

"Forgive the intrusion, Kamiya-san." Tokio sighed and lifted the toddler. "Tsutomu has not learned how to knock yet. His father is not much better. Barging in everywhere…"

"It's not a problem." He smiled. In fact, the presence of Fujita's family reinforced his train of thought.

Himura was sent to Kyoto to eliminate Shishio, yet what if he fails? What would be Shishio's ultimate goal? In order to seek revenge on the entire Meiji government, that would culminate in a direct attack on the capital. If his army arrived by sea, this is a contingency plan.

Furthermore, Koshijiro would essentially be acting commanding officer. His assignment had the utmost priority: to protect the citizens of Tokyo. Now, it made sense that Fujita had gone to such lengths to encode the plan.

And it was now Koshijiro's duty to protect it.

He studied the map, committing the information to memory. Meanwhile, Tokio spooned a watery rice gruel into her son's mouth. "Kamiya-san, whenever you've finished, there are onigiri behind you."

He glanced backwards to see a small tray of neatly made riceballs. "Oh, thank you. I won't intrude for much longer. After you and your son have finished dinner, would it be possible to start a fire?"

"A fire? Ah, I understand. The night air's quite cold, isn't it?" This time, her smile was thin. "Then, let's keep the fire going for a long time."

Of the three of them, Tsutomu was the most excited about the bonfire. He stared, transfixed, as Tokio tossed a lit match onto the kindling and the flames bloomed. Koshijiro threw in Fujita's list and the map. The edges browned, darker and darker, until disintegrating into ash. In a thin, pungent plume, the smoke drifted away from them.

He ate half of the onigiri, watching the fire to ensure all the papers burned. The toddler's attention span proved to be short, and he fell asleep in his mother's lap, his tiny feet dangling. Tokio subtly rocked him, softly murmuring. Koshijiro caught a few words.

"…pray that you're alright."

While his feelings toward Fujita hadn't really improved, he also hoped that the assistant chief inspector would safely return.

After a week, there was still no news from Kyoto. Koshijiro had tried to distract himself with chores. He tested the viability of the contingency plan, ensuring that the roads were less traveled and the military equipment was in top shape. He kept his promise to Kaoru and Yahiko, sending a box with their uniforms and weaponry. Messages from Tae and Tsubame were also sent with the package. He paid for a higher-quality lock on the gate and an extra set of new keys for Takani, who offered to help out while he was at work. He chopped enough wood for the week and bought groceries. One task was the most daunting, so he had waited until his nervous energy had reached a peak. Without any pressing matters at work, today was certainly the day.

Koshijiro strolled into the shed.

This was last cleaned about…nine years ago. Nine years' worth of stored items. Well, I'll organize and clear out as much as I can.

The central space had been cleared out, from Himura's stint in the building. Most of the boxes were pushed against the wall, but the layer of dust was thinner than expected. Himura must have cleaned up. As Koshijiro looked closer, a subtle order emerged. The leftover practice naginata were aligned with his old police weapons. The shelves were filled, yet the heaviest dishes and pottery rested on the sturdiest boards. He would have to thank Himura, when he returned.

The first three hours were spent on moving everything he could into the yard. The largest chests and shelves remained, but most of the floor was available for a good scrubbing. That occupied him until noon, and after lunch, a bento box courtesy of Tae, he began to sort. The oldest container held a collection of landscape paintings. Many of the locations were common: workers in a field or a grassy slope overlooking a stream. He supposed his father wanted to capture a simple scene for practice. The following two were definitely familiar. One was a section of Chiba's marketplace at dawn, the stalls lining the dirt road and faded rouge rubbed into the sun. The second was drawn from a point surrounded by tall grass. The stalks were not in great detail, for the greatest attention had been granted to the modest house and an accompanying maple tree. A short stretch of gravel led to the front door; a dark tiled roof crowned the mud walls. The pictures stirred a visceral reaction. Swallowing, he set both aside and sifted through the rest, but they seemed to be the rough drafts.

The next box took some effort to pry it open. More paintings were inside, and Koshijiro withdrew them, to determine whether they could be sold. Landscape, landscape, another landscape. But the last one was a portrait. The subject was a young woman dressed in a blue kimono, holding a broom. The scene had caught her sweeping a courtyard, though it wasn't an elegant moment. Her posture was straight, her arms held close to her body, in an efficient manner. The sharpness of her gaze made it seem she was looking directly at the viewer.

"Ah." He felt the beginning of a wry smile, remembering that same expression and how he had dreaded the sure consequences that were to follow. "I must have done something to make you look like that, Okaa-san."

The dog was drooling. It was a sandy-colored mutt, its tongue lolling out as drops of saliva glistened and dropped onto the dirt. Rib bones jutted out, as the dog crouched and pawed at the cover of a long-abandoned well. The tongue ran over two rows of yellow teeth, before it barked in anticipation.

To his young ears, the sound frightened him and he ran. He stumbled, tripped over his own feet, and fell face first into the ground. He didn't look back, picking himself up and hurrying away as fast as he could. He really hadn't wandered away, only around the corner, and he spotted her immediately. She carried a bundle of small daikon in one arm, and she was arguing with a merchant, whose face he didn't care to remember.

"I've heard that you increased the selling price. We had an agreement. Everyone can barely feed themselves and it's already autumn, so be reasonable. Lives are at stake."

"I need to feed myself. If you can't understand that, then take your business elsewhere."

Her voice had turned sharp and angry. "Then, I intend to do so. Return all of my blankets."

"Take them yourself." The shopkeeper flapped his hand at the building behind him.

She adjusted the daikon under her arm. "You bast…Kotaro, there you are!" Okaa-san had seen him from the corner of her eye, and he flung himself around her leg. Her warm, callused fingers cupped the back of his head. She gave an exasperated sigh. "You have dirt all over you, did you fall?" He nodded, and then shook his head again when she asked if he was hurt.

"Is that your son?" The merchant demanded. "Well, aren't you acting high and mighty, when you have a child to care for? You should be concerned about fattening him up."

Okaa-san didn't answer, only brushing him off. "Let's go home." She spoke over her shoulder to the horrible man. "And I'll return for the blankets at the end of the day. With my son's father." Then, in a mutter only Kotaro could hear, she added. "Even though I hate bringing him into this…"

It wasn't until they had left town that he asked. "Why?"

"Hm?"

"You don't want Otou-san to talk to that man?"

"Oh," She blew out a breath. "It's a little complicated. Do you remember I was sewing at night? I was stitching cloth together to make blankets. It's going to be very cold, and I wanted to keep my friends warm. But there are some people I can't send them to, so I asked that man to sell a few blankets at a low price. He broke his promise though. If no one can afford the blankets, they'll freeze as well as starve."

"Famine." He knew that word very well. It was as old as he was, five years, yet nobody liked it. It was the reason why people kept talking about food and money and hunger. The crops are bad again, the baby's sick, there won't be enough, we won't survive this, don't you know that? All because of the famine.

Okaa-san made her worried face, her eyebrows meeting and mouth tightening. "Yes. That's right. Anyway, I don't like to involve your father, because it seems like I depend on him."

"Is that bad?"

Her answer was something he didn't understand for many years. "It's supposed to be normal, which could be worse. But remember this: I do love your father, and I love you."

Kotaro's answer was immediate, natural. "I love you too!"

Okaa-san smiled wide, and he felt a happy burst of warmth.

Home was at the outskirts of town. It was an older building, the floorboards worn and the roof leaking water droplets whenever it rained. Otou-san wasn't wealthy, but it couldn't be helped. Of the Kamiya clan, their family line had only inherited the name and its reputation. However, he said he liked being close to nature, it offered "peace of mind and inspiration".

As for Kotaro, he never ventured further than the yard. He liked being home, with just the three of them. He spent his days playing and tagging along with Okaa-san while she ran errands. In the afternoons, he fell asleep to the rhythmic sounds of the loom and Okaa-san's soft humming. When Okaa-san sang, it was even better. Everyone was quiet when she did, and they always said she had a beautiful voice. No matter how tired he claimed he was, Otou-san would sit still and watch her.

She sang a little, while she was cutting the daikon. The words were low, under her breath, but the melody was soothing. It was something she made up, and Kotaro clung to the notes as he nodded off.

The next thing he knew, he awoke to a darkening sky overhead. As Kotaro rubbed his eyes, he was jostled and he let out a noise of complaint. He was in a cart, which they didn't own. The unfamiliar surroundings gave no cause for panic, for the two people driving the cart were instantly recognizable. Otou-san looked over his shoulder. His face, scruffy because he hadn't shaved in a week, broke into a grin. "Ah, Miyo, he's awake. Did you have a good nap?"

Kotaro yawned, nodded. He threw off the shawl covering him and crawled to the front of the cart.

"Mind the blankets, Kotaro." Okaa-san chided. They were bundled all around him, in patchwork colors. Red, brown, blue, green. Later, he would learn that they were composed of any spare pieces of cloth, gathered by his parents' efforts.

They stopped at a poor farmer's house, and the owner must have heard their approach. He stepped towards them and called for a woman, his wife, to join him. As she opened the door, two older children peered out. Okaa-san jumped off, grabbed three blankets, and walked towards the people. Kotaro watched, as she talked with the family and they bowed their heads.

"So…" Otou-san cleared his throat and awkwardly patted Kotaro's back. "Your mother said you weren't hurt when you fell. That's good. But you shouldn't have wandered off. In the future, stay close, alright?"

"Yes."

"Did anything else happen?"

"Okaa-san says she loves us."

"Really?! She never says that to me." His voice sounded hurt and he shook his head, but he was smiling.

He still was, when Okaa-san returned. She sharply asked. "What are you laughing about?"

"You, of course. You're very funny." He helped her into the cart. He was still in a good mood on the way home, even whistling. Okaa-san's expression was perplexed at first, before it gradually softened. Watching them, Kotaro was content.

The year gave way to another, and they did survive the famine. There was more food on the table, and like the grass, he grew taller to Okaa-san's satisfaction. However, his most vivid memory was of his father, frowning over letters. Although he knew all of his kana, Kotaro couldn't understand any of the kanji, to his frustration.

"What's this?"

"It's the character for 'cousin'." Otou-san patiently said.

"And that one?"

"That is 'successor'."

"What's a successor?"

"Kotaro!" Okaa-san beckoned him over. "Please get the washcloths from the laundry line."

He didn't move right away, stubbornly waiting for an answer. Otou-san sighed. "Go on, help your mother. It's too early for you to worry about these things anyway."

It may have been too early to worry, but it would have affected him nonetheless. Perhaps, that was why Okaa-san clarified the situation, as she showed him how to neatly fold the squares of fabric.

"Your father's cousin is very ill. If he doesn't recover, his job will be taken by someone else. Usually, that would be his son, but his son became a physician instead. The next closest relative ran away with a lover. So, your father could have a new job."

"Is that it?"

"No." She pressed her lips together. "There are other letters. From your siblings."

The concept of siblings was entirely foreign to him. "I don't know them."

"You don't. Kunitake is living with his teacher, where the famine wasn't as bad. But now that's ended, he wants to live with your father again. And Otsuna," This time, she swallowed hard. "Otsuna's husband is dead, so she demands to be returned to your father." Her hands trembled. She was scared. His mother, who hadn't even flinched when a snake crawled into the kitchen, was scared.

Kotaro went to her and patted her leg in an attempt at reassurance. "Don't worry. I'll protect you."

She didn't respond, and in the years to come, he wished he had caught her expression in that moment.

His father's cousin died not long after. Another month of letters followed, before it was confirmed that Otou-san would return to the city of Chiba and fulfill his new duties. He was home less often, preparing for the transition. Okaa-san silently packed his sketches and their clothing. Kotaro was completely unhappy about the move. He sulked and whined, but of course, that changed nothing.

He didn't want to leave this house. Despite the leaky roof tiles and cracked floorboards, he liked the coziness. He liked racing around the yard, imagining he could fly when the wind blew. He liked writing kana, while Okaa-san ran her fingers through the threads on her loom. He liked sleeping in one futon between his parents. This was reinforced one night, when he woke feeling cold. He righted himself and spotted their shadows past the thin rice paper door.

"It's been five years, people change. They were still children when you last saw them, and since they've been away," Otou-san spoke in a low voice, "They've seen more of the world. It's likely they're more mature."

"You don't know that for certain."

"No, I don't. But it will be alright. I'll do whatever I can, to provide for you and Kotaro." He hesitantly reached for her.

Okaa-san jerked away, holding her hand close to her breast. "No. No. I won't let you sweet-talk me into thinking that it'll be fine. Not again." She was breathing fast. "Leave me alone." She stood and rapidly walked off. Instead of chasing after her, Otou-san lowered his head in resignation.

The scene made Kotaro ill at ease. When his father reentered the room, he pretended to be asleep.

The next morning, Okaa-san continued cleaning the house, as if nothing had happened. Kotaro didn't want to ask about the argument–or he didn't want to know. He occupied himself by holding a branch, throwing a leg over it, and galloping around the yard. "Will we have a yard like this?"

"Most likely."

"But will it be better?"

"I don't know."

"Probably not." He decided aloud. "Unless there's anyone I can play with."

"Kotaro! Come here."

He stopped mid-step and trudged over to her. He was apprehensive, expecting Okaa-san to scold him, or worse, spank him. But she didn't do either. Instead, she looked like she was going to cry. When she spoke, her voice was uneven.

"Listen very carefully. The other children you'll meet, they won't be commoners and in fact, they'll look down on commoners. They'll look down on you, because of me. So, I want you to make a promise. If you hear any insult about your heritage, instead of thinking of me, you must think of your father."

"Why?" He blurted.

"I can't give you a life like your father can. You don't realize how fortunate you are, and how it comes at the price of a reputation. More than anything, I want you to live well, but you need to be...like that tree." She pointed to one of the trees, a maple fully adorned in green. "Standing tall. Bending if you must, but never breaking. And when change comes, change with it. Now, repeat what I said."

"All of it?!"

"Yes." Her eyes flashed, and his mouth pulled downwards. But he obeyed, memorizing her three rules. Once he could say them without prompting, Okaa-san caressed his hair. "Good boy. You're so smart, you know? My Kotaro." She beamed and lifted him, spun him around. As the world blurred before his eyes, he laughed with pure joy.

Koshijiro gingerly placed the painting of his mother in its own box. He would have to find a frame and arrange it next to Kyoko's on the altar. Maybe, there was one buried amidst the rest of the mess.

But he'd search later. His entire body was weary and aching from labor. With the box tucked under his arm, he headed for the house. The sunshine was now aggressive, the air stifling. His skin instantly cooled once a roof was over his head again.

Koshijiro set the box on the altar, next to Kyoko's picture. It was only fitting, since they never had the chance to meet in life. And when Kaoru was home, he would show her as well. He could imagine her smiling at the face of the grandmother she had never known, eagerly showing it to everyone else. Takani would remark on the unusual realism, Sagara noting a resemblance to "Jou-chan". Yahiko would be curiously looking on. And Himura…where would his gaze be drawn?

Well, that was enough of such a delusion. He was lonely and tired, and his mind was crafting something better than his current situation. Nothing but time could bring them home anyway.

He blew out a sigh, leaned against the wall. Before he succumbed to an impromptu nap, his last thoughts were of his youth in that new house, and of tumultuous days.

The loom was not going with them. It was suitable for a village home, but not at all proper for where they were going. That was the explanation Okaa-san gave, and maybe, there was some truth in it.

On a day in early summer, two men each drove a cart up to their door. The men bowed to his father, who shifted uncomfortably. They had been the dead cousin's retainers, and now, they served Otou-san. The futons were moved, then the largest storage containers. Kotaro was utterly disinterested in the transfer of their things, preferring to gaze at the horses from a distance. Otou-san left with the first cart, and Okaa-san settled him into the second. She arranged the items around him, before removing the bag that held her clothing and speaking to the retainer. Kotaro watched her, waiting for her to join him. He wondered if she would sing as they traveled.

She walked towards him, but didn't pull herself into the cart. Her hair looked brown in the intense light of the setting sun. As she smoothed his front, her fingers trembled. However, her voice was calm when she delivered the blow.

"I'm not going with you."

"What?"

"Your father has good intentions, but he's often torn between his heart and mind. If I stay with you, there will be a day when he has to choose whom to protect, between the two of us. He must always, always pick you. So I can't go, please understand." She wiped her eyes, and tears rolled off her hand.

He didn't, but his mother was going to cry and he didn't want her to. "I understand."

"Good boy." She gasped, and then, she pulled him into a tight embrace. "I love you so much. Even when you think I hate you, I'll always love you. Listen to your father, and never, ever be alone with either Otsuna or Kunitake. You'll be just fine. I love you."

She released him, and the cart began to move. Her figure was upright, his mother was unbreakable. Kotaro sat still, until he could no longer see her. He would not cry. He would not cry. Half an hour must have passed. The trees were unfamiliar, the road suddenly narrower. The sky darkened.

He hiccupped.

He cried.

The cart was close to the new house, and the nervous retainer picked up speed. Otou-san was at the gate, and he immediately ran to them. "Kotaro? Where's your mother?"

Kotaro only kept crying and shook his head. Otou-san paled.

"She really went through with it."

The next thing Kotaro knew, he was in a strange woman's arms. Otou-san had taken one of the horses, and he snapped the reins, riding to the horizon. Before Kotaro was carried inside, he spotted the retainer's very confused expression.

The strange woman set him down at a very large table, a gray lock of her hair falling loose. She was impassive to his whimpering and while her frame was stockier than his mother's, her movements were equally efficient. She plucked the bones from a grilled fish, tossed the flesh with vegetables and rice, and slid the bowl in front of Kotaro. As an afterthought, she replaced the chopsticks with a spoon.

The hunger induced by travel and tears won over his stubbornness. He ate, bite by bite. The cook didn't speak to him or touch him; once he started to eat, she nodded and proceeded to cook for everyone else. Other than the two retainers, there was an older samurai who was Otou-san's direct assistant. The only women in the house were the maid and the gray-haired cook, who was deaf. She read lips, so the others tapped her shoulder when they needed something.

At such a moment, Kotaro took his chance. He scampered off, blindly, until he found a door. The alarmed voices behind him spurred him on, and he burst through. Night had just fallen, and a cold breeze hit him in the face. One of the retainers gripped his collar, chiding his mischievousness. After that, he was "put to bed", or rather, locked in what was his own room.

Moving was a horrible, horrible thing. He wanted to go home, to Okaa-san and her loom and the yard with the maple tree. And he knew he couldn't.

He slept in fits. Once, he thought someone entered the room, knelt beside him, and touched his cheek. Otou-san, he sluggishly registered. But in the morning, he woke up alone.

Living as a samurai's son was a new experience. The courtyard was so clean, there wasn't anything to play with, and he couldn't touch the koi fish in the pond. The retainers greeted him but didn't talk to him otherwise. The maid and cook were always busy, and so was his father. Every day, he was deposited at a building called a 'school', where a man talked on and on over a stack of books. Kotaro was suddenly thrust into pages of etiquette, transcribing lines with a splintered brush. There were four other boys, but they had their own lessons and ignored him. Occasionally, when he caught them looking at him, they turned away. After a month, he decided the new experience was boring.

He said as much, when Otou-san had a spare moment and asked how he was faring. Otou-san's smile was strange and tight. "Then, how about this? I'll take you fishing."

Kotaro was so eager to get out, he didn't think twice before vigorously nodding. They took a sole horse, and he sat in front, squeezing his eyes shut against the wind. He heard the river first, the loud sounds of moving water. When he was set down, the ground underneath was spongy yet firm.

Otou-san had brought two fishing rods; he demonstrated how to cast the line and reel in the hook. It was simple enough, but as Kotaro sat and waited for a fish to bite, he realized…

"This is boring too!"

"And that's why you need to be patient." Otou-san cheerfully said, as he leaned back. He was clearly enjoying himself. "Calm, deep breaths. The fish can sense if you're fidgety. In, and out. Yes, that's good. Keep doing that, and soon, you'll have a catch."

Kotaro pouted but obeyed. He did have to listen to Otou-san. While he continued to breathe at that deliberate rate, he slowly became aware of other things. A dragonfly, zipping along the reeds. The incessant rattle of cicadas and the whoosh of the horse's tail. The heat of the sun on his head and shoulders, momentarily eased by the passing shadow of a bird. He also felt a sensation like floating yet within his own body. Then, there was a tug between his hands.

He jumped, jerking the fishing rod out of the water. Unfortunately, the hook was empty.

"That's too bad." Otou-san sympathized. "Do you want to try again?"

"…I don't know." Sleepiness pulled at him again, and Kotaro scrambled into his father's lap. Otou-san froze at first, and then, he patted Kotaro's hair.

"Yes, er, sleep if you need to. I should have remembered that you're still young…"

Three fish ended up in their basket. Kotaro was jostled awake with each addition, but he shrugged off the disturbances with a grunt and adjustment in position. Following the last, he was lifted onto the horse again and they returned. The retainers bustled around them, leading the horse away and accepting their catch. Slightly drowsy, Kotaro didn't protest when Otou-san took his hand and walked them to the empty yard. Otou-san glanced around. He knelt to Kotaro's eye level, speaking in a hushed voice.

"I was waiting until you were comfortable living here, but I didn't expect how often I'd be gone. While we're alone…I should tell you now." Otou-san closed his eyes, remembering. "'Kotaro, I hope that you are minding yourself and those around you. You may not enjoy school, but it is necessary and you must endure it. I know you can. Remember what I told you. I love you.'" He opened his eyes again. "That was a message from your mother."

"You talked to her?" Kotaro grabbed his sleeve. "Okaa-san?"

"Only once."

"But you did. Where is she?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why? Why not? I want to know!"

Otou-san lifted his head to the clouds. After what seemed like an eon, he said. "I swore to her. You'll understand when you are older."

Understand? He didn't understand anything. It was all beyond him. He hated being too young, he hated being told that he was too young.

"Then, I'll show you! When I'm an adult, I'll be nothing like you!"

"Kotaro-"

He never heard the rest, for he pivoted and sprinted to his room, slamming the door so hard it shook.

A small part of him hoped that Otou-san would follow him, apologize, and give in, explaining it all. But his father never did, and in his heart, the seeds of resentment began to sprout.

Otsuna and Kunitake were the children of his father's first wife. Their father was a distant Kamiya cousin, who had died after Kunitake was born. They were adopted by Otou-san, when his marriage to their mother was arranged. Then, their mother passed away, and Otou-san cared for them like they were his own. But love had an ugly side to it, and Kotaro learned of it quickly.

Otsuna's arrival was unannounced and at an hour when Otou-san was away from the house. Outwardly, she looked delicate and unassuming. Her hands were small and fair, and her eyes were demurely downcast. As she walked up the gravel path to the entrance, she smiled at the retainers, softly greeting them. Kotaro stayed just shy of the door. This was the person Okaa-san was so afraid of.

"Has my brother arrived yet?" She asked. "I would like to speak to him."

One of the retainers made the mistake of introducing Kotaro, bringing him forward. Kotaro tried not to budge, but the man was much stronger. "Yes, he's right here. Kotaro, greet your elder sister."

He bowed his head. "Hello."

There was no response, and he glanced upwards. Otsuna was still smiling, but the expression was fixed on. She tilted her head. "I had meant Kunitake, but yes, now I remember. There was this one." Then, she walked past without acknowledging him.

The tension in the air was stifling, and one by one, everyone found excuses to leave. Kotaro escaped to his room. As much as he hated sleeping alone, he now had a reason to return to it. After Otou-san told him Okaa-san's message, he had written it on a sheet of paper so he wouldn't forget. On the other side, he had written the words Okaa-san drilled into his memory. Hidden in a small wooden box, the paper was his tie to his mother, when he didn't know what to do.

Never, ever be alone with either Otsuna or Kunitake.

It was easier in the day, while he was at school. The hours were long but he did like sums, which were straightforward. Inevitably, he would have to return home. That was when the trouble began. Otsuna's whereabouts varied at any time. Sometimes, she'd be visiting acquaintances and thankfully, unavailable. However, she never greeted him, and in turn, it was a tossup whether she'd appear or not.

Kotaro made the mistake of assuming the latter, when he returned to a quiet house at the end of the week. He felt like he could breathe and he headed for the courtyard, to visit the fattening koi fish. Although he couldn't touch them, he had settled for watching them swim in lazy circles. He traced a path along the outer walls, focused on reaching the stone-lined pond. Engrossed as he was, he did not notice the shadowed figure on the porch until fingernails painfully tightened on his shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" Otsuna towered over him. Her dark eyes were frightening, as if she was looking through him and not at him.

"Um…nothing?"

"Kotaro." His name sounded brittle in her mouth. "Do you know who I am?"

"You are my older sister."

"You will address me as 'Ane-ue'. Did your mother not teach you proper respect? Oh, of course not. A coarse peasant like her would have never."

"Okaa-san is not-"

"Okaa-san?" She repeated, but her voice was high and strange. When she laughed, his stomach turned. "She really did raise you as a commoner!" She grabbed his face, and he squirmed. Her voice adopted a hard edge. "And you look just like her. Are you really Keiichiro's son?" Just as abruptly, she released him, her nails giving a last twist into his skin.

Tears swam across his vision. His cheeks hurt.

"What's this? Are you going to cry?"

The high, strange, mocking tone chilled him. As he ran into the house, he wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He was so scared. And he felt alone. Sniffling and teary, he managed to stumble into his room. The door felt solid, protective. A barrier against sharp fingernails and cold eyes and intense pressure on his face. Well…he was alone but safe. And that made it alright.

Exhausted, he curled into a ball and fell asleep. When he woke, it was to a knock. He remained still, heart wildly beating. He couldn't find his voice.

The door opened a crack, and the cook peered inside. Silently, she entered with her arm held close to her body, and behind her, a lantern illuminated the floor. He must have missed dinner. The cook knelt beside him and withdrew a rectangle, wrapped in bamboo leaf. Otou-san and the retainers often received these, and Kotaro knew it contained two large onigiri. He gingerly accepted the food, peeling the leaves away as the cook stared him down to ensure he ate.

"Thank you for the meal." He said. He devoured one riceball and started on the second, before inquiring. "Is Otou-san home?" It wasn't that he fully trusted his father, but Otou-san was the only one who could talk to Otsuna.

She shook her head. From the snatches of the retainers' conversation, Kotaro had heard that Otou-san was on a manhunt.

"Oh." As he continued to eat, the cook glanced over at his writing desk. A scroll of paper was open, from when he was transcribing sentences in kana. She lifted the paper and pointed to two separate characters. I. Chi. Then, again. It clicked in Kotaro's mind. "Oichi-san?"

A glimmer of satisfaction came to her eyes and she nodded.

"I'll remember." He promised. He finished the remainder of his riceball and Oichi folded the bamboo leaves. "Can I always eat in my room?"

The disapproval on her face was easy to read.

"Sometimes?"

She inhaled and rolled her gaze away. But she hadn't shaken her head, so it wasn't a definite refusal.

"Um, one more thing? Do you know where Okaa-san is?"

This time, her expression changed and he was unable to identify it. Later, he would know it as 'pity'. She stood, shaking her head, and departed. Her shadow took the lantern with her, and the dark evening enveloped him.

Kunitake arrived two weeks later. Otsuna eagerly embraced him and repeatedly said he was "skin and bones". He looked average to Kotaro, in every respect. He was about twelve years old, and he narrowed his eyes at Kotaro. "Huh." Giving a careless shrug, he walked away without further acknowledgement. For Kotaro, it wasn't much better than Otsuna's first impression, but he was now aware of what could lurk behind that initial indifference.

That evening, Otou-san was at dinner. It was the first in many nights, and Kotaro knew he couldn't hide. Otsuna had arranged the seating, so she and Kunitake were directly to Otou-san's left and right. Kotaro was sent to the end of the table, his cushion full of uneven lumps. The food was good, but Kotaro felt sorry for Oichi. After the first dish, Otsuna left the table and practically shouted at the cook, to give another serving to Kunitake, who had suffered so much because of the famine. They all heard, and Otou-san excused himself too. Kotaro watched as he headed to the kitchen. His quieter voice was inaudible, but Otsuna's shouting receded in his presence.

And now, Kotaro was alone with Kunitake. The older boy was still eating, seeming bored. His gaze slid to Kotaro. "Those were my clothes."

"Oh." He glanced down at the blue cloth. "I didn't know."

"Aren't they too rough?" For Kotaro, they were softer than the clothes he used to have, but he didn't respond. The moment passed, and Kunitake continued. "I could give you better ones."

That sudden kindness was surprising. "Really?"

"If you pay me enough." He crunched a few pickles. "Huh, these are good. Otsuna was right to ask for more. What's that look on your face for?"

"Pay you…money?"

"I'm not picky. I just want to make a trade. Giving things for free is how people grow weak. Oh, and it has to be something I want. I won't settle for anything else."

Kotaro had already decided this was too much trouble. He shook his head. "I don't want to trade."

"Why not? You get something you want and I get something I want."

"But I like these clothes."

Kunitake narrowed his eyes. "Huh. That's why peasants never get anywhere in life. And they start so young…"

Otsuna returned, miffed but holding her chin high. She set a plate in front of Kunitake. "I did it for you, so be grateful."

"Yes, thank you, Ane-ue." Kunitake drawled.

A shadow cast over the table, as soft, heavier footsteps sounded. "Kotaro? I know we haven't spoken today. How are you faring?"

For the first time during the meal, he looked up at Otou-san and was startled. His father had dark circles under his eyes, and his cheekbones were sharper. The manhunt must have been hard for him. Just as those words came to mind, the resentment did as well. Kotaro glanced away. "Fine."

"Have you been making friends?"

"…Not really."

Kunitake interrupted. "Friends are alright, as long as you don't make them carelessly."

Otou-san slowly said. "Yes, it's important to get along with other people and forge good connections. But it is just as important to recognize that finding companionship is natural."

"Of course," Otsuna murmured. "Appropriate companionship is acceptable, if you mind the consequences."

"That's enough!" Otou-san raised his voice, and a stunned silence descended upon the room. "Otsuna and Kunitake, as long as you live under this roof, you will respect your brother."

"Yes, Chichi-ue."

"Yes."

Despite their bowed heads, Otou-san was unhappy. "I know five years has been a long time, and this is a new residence. But didn't those five years teach you about the world? You must find people to rely on, and one day, Kotaro will be someone you can rely on. If you behave as elder siblings should." He exhaled. "Now, let's finish our dinner in peace."

Otou-san meant to reach their hearts, but it was five years too late. For Otsuna and Kunitake, there was already no space for Kotaro.

And that was why he found refuge in kenjutsu.

Kunitake had lessons at a dojo, owned by a Kamiya in-law. Kotaro expected he would follow suit and dreaded the experience. One morning, the maid gave him a worn uniform, and he dragged his feet in preparing. Then, he stayed out of sight, peering around the house's corner and watching the hitching of the horses to the cart. He ducked when Otsuna saw Kunitake off. Maybe, if he kept hiding, they would leave without him-

"Ah, there you are, Kotaro." Otou-san placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's time to go."

Utterly dejected, he trudged to the cart. There was a pleased glint in Kunitake's gaze, as he caught the old uniform. Otou-san joined the driver at the front, and they began to move.

The building was mostly concealed by pine trees, the sign bearing bold calligraphy. Kunitake headed towards the gate, offering a nonchalant goodbye. However, as Kotaro was about to follow, Otou-san stopped him. "No, we'll keep moving." With a flick of the reins, the horses continued.

Kotaro blinked. "I'm not learning kenjutsu?"

"You will, although you won't be learning here. Instead, you'll receive lessons from my teacher. If he'll have you, I think you'll be a better student than I was."

The cart traveled on, and they arrived at a small dojo on the outskirts of town. A vegetable patch lined one side and dead leaves were strewn about, although the front steps were clean. Otou-san entered familiarly, calling out. "Sensei!" As Kotaro would later learn, Sensei's real name was Iida Toyoharu. He was a slight old man, with a long white beard and thick eyebrows. But he stood upright and moved gracefully across the floorboards.

"This is my son, Kotaro."

"Kotaro…" Sensei scrutinized him with deep-set eyes. "Hm, you did mention him. How old is he?"

"This year, he will be seven."

"Good, good." He sniffed. They proceeded to talk about Otou-san's work and people Kotaro had never heard of before. Kotaro took the opportunity to examine the dojo. Small boards were nailed to the walls, but when he touched one, his finger came away covered in dust. The ink was chipping too; if Kotaro squinted, he could see empty gaps within the kanji.

Otou-san eventually said. "I would like for Kotaro to learn kenjutsu. Sensei, I humbly ask you to teach him."

Instantly, Sensei's hand whacked the side of Otou-san's head. "Doesn't anything get through your thick skull?! I'm retired! Retired!"

"Well, you're still fit, so I assumed-"

"Bah!" His lip curled. "You think I can live forever?"

"And Kotaro would be a good successor. He'd carry on your message, in life and in kenjutsu. I'll leave him with you for today, so you don't have to take my word."

"No, I won't." Sensei pivoted, beckoning Kotaro with a flapping hand. "Come here, come here. Hm…" He surveyed Kotaro's face, encouraged him to turn around once. "Hm. Alert and obedient, very good. The shyness will take cracking, but that's easy to do. Now, I haven't agreed! Since you came all this way, I'll evaluate him."

"Thank you, Sensei!" Otou-san beamed. "Kotaro, I'll return in the afternoon. Behave, and listen to Sensei."

"…yes."

"Alright. I'll see you soon." Otou-san quickly ruffled Kotaro's hair, before striding out. As soon as he was gone, Kotaro smoothed the strands back into place.

Sensei cleared his throat. "Dusty, isn't it?"

Kotaro nodded.

"Good, you're honest! It should be cleaned, hm? Let's start."

Wet rags and brooms in hand, they cleaned the dojo. Kotaro expected to be bored, but surprisingly, Sensei liked to talk. "What have you been learning? Kanji?"

"Yes, I can write a few sentences."

"Excellent. You must have worked hard."

"I want to do more."

Sensei's laugh was crackly. "That ambition wasn't inherited from your father. What else?"

"Math. Paintings, sometimes." He didn't quite understand why though. "And the four classes."

"The four classes." Sensei repeated. "I suppose they taught you how important and illustrious samurai are."

Kotaro didn't respond. He squeezed his rag over a bucket, filling it with more dirty water.

"Isn't it true your mother was a commoner?"

"Yes."

"Bah! So you understand that it's all nonsense! They would teach you that the world is proper and harmonious, but it's far from it in reality. There is no peace." Sensei waggled his finger. "The rich remain rich and drunk on power. The shogun grows fatter, while the people suffer. My son was killed in broad daylight, and it's only thanks to your father's kindness that my daughter can make a living."

"Your daughter?"

"Oichi. She cooks for your household."

"I do know her. She kept me away from…trouble, so she's nice."

For a while, Sensei was quiet. At length, he said. "Well, I expect you in the morning. Tell your father you'll start lessons tomorrow, at the hour of the dragon. And don't be late! Punctuality is the first step to proper discipline."

He wasn't late. Otou-san was too pleased Sensei had accepted and ensured they beat the sun to the dojo. Once he was alone with Sensei, he was given a shinai. Kotaro looked over it with trepidation, until Sensei snapped his fingers to catch his attention. Sensei would demonstrate, Kotaro would mirror, and any mistakes would be corrected before completing the task on his own. They started with the movements, shuffling forwards and back. Then, the grip and posture. By noon, Kotaro was practicing swings and forward thrusts.

"Very good!" Sensei approved, giving a little sniff. "Now, one more time!"

The smell of wax and incense. The feel of bamboo in his hands. The strain and sweat and success when he understood a motion, in mind and body.

This…this was where he belonged.

The seasons changed. With the new year, he turned seven. Unfortunately, he also fell ill with a cold. While he sweated under a thick blanket in his room, he overheard an argument outside the sliding door.

"That boy won't be going anywhere. But we must celebrate at the shrine, or we will invite evil spirits." Otsuna sounded extremely serious.

Otou-san responded. "I've said it before, the two of you can go on your own. You're certainly old enough. I'll stay with Kotaro."

"You spent last year with him, and the year before, and the year before that. It's our turn." That was Kunitake.

Kotaro pulled the blanket over his head and closed his ears. Fine, if they wanted Otou-san that much, they could have him! It wasn't as if he asked to get sick. He twisted in his futon, wishing the feeling of shame away.

When his bedroom door opened, he peeked to see Oichi. She moved the blanket a little, to place a warm cloth on his forehead.

"I don't want it." He protested.

Oichi pointed to his stomach.

"I'm not hungry either. I hate not celebrating."

Her eyebrows lifted and she mimicked throwing something. He had taken his meals in bed, missing out on the bean throwing. When he didn't react at her intention, she straightened and beckoned him to follow her. As he shuffled in her wake to the kitchen, he could tell that the house was empty. Of course, his father had given in. Whatever he was feeling, it certainly wasn't disappointment.

Oichi gave him seven beans and opened the sliding door a hand's width. Cold winter air seeped through. She crossed her arms, grimacing. Be quick about it, her posture was saying.

"Thank you." He said. He vaguely remembered doing this the previous year, and flung the beans outside. They didn't fly far, skipping off the porch to land in the snow. "Demons out, luck in." It wasn't nearly as satisfying now. He turned to Oichi. "What about yours?"

She wryly shook her head, and extending her arm, she grabbed the door's edge. Back to bed.

He spared a last look at the pits in the snow. "Next time, I'll give you some of mine, so you can throw them."

At that, Oichi smiled.

Kotaro succumbed to a dreamless rest. When he woke again, night was approaching. He blinked. Otou-san was in his room, holding a lantern and bent over his desk. Upon Kotaro's quiet rustling, he noticed and drew closer. "How are you feeling?"

Kotaro shrugged, as Otou-san pressed the back of his hand to his forehead.

"Well, you're not as warm. Now, I have something to share with you." He held up a piece of paper. "The shrine's priest recognized me, he used to work in our old village when you were a baby, and he said he was told to give this to me. But really, it's meant for you. Here."

Kotaro gingerly took it. As it unfolded, he started to read.

Kotaro,

I pray that you're behaving and listening to your father. I pray that you're healthy and content. Have you learned many things? Have you grown taller? These are my thoughts, so know that you are always on my mind.

By the time you receive this, I will be long gone. I'm sewing and doing good work, so there's no need to worry about me. I only wanted to express this to you, that I miss you.

There was no signature. But he could hear his mother's voice.

He gripped the paper, suddenly dizzy with excitement. "Where is she?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen her since…I assume she sent this through other people, to get it to this priest." Otou-san hesitated. "Can you hold onto it? Keep it safe?"

"I will." He stared at Okaa-san's handwriting, transfixed again. "I can keep it in a box."

"That sounds like a good idea." Because Kotaro was still weak, Otou-san rummaged around for a plain wooden box and after sliding the paper inside, he left it on a shelf. With a last touch on Kotaro's shoulder, he said. "Sleep well."

And with another longing glance at the box, Kotaro did so, smiling.

Under the heat of the afternoon sun, they had been walking in silence for some time. At last, Sensei said. "What have you learned today?"

Kotaro struggled for the right words. "…Dojo breaking is pressuring."

"That's a fair assessment but not the best one."

Over the past three years, they had traveled to the dojos of Sensei's former students. Today was no different. However, it was the first time Kotaro was witness to a challenge. While he had been learning from the pleasant older students, a group of men had burst in, demanding for the opportunity to fight. The glinting metal of their swords forced Kotaro to the sidelines, unable to look away. The intruders lost, yet the victory was slim and more than a few of the kind students were injured. Kotaro helped in dressing their bloody wounds and though he washed his hands, his fingertips were cold. Sensei had scowled the entire hour.

"Dojo breaking is asking for trouble!" Sensei exclaimed. "Disrupting the peace!" That was a favorite phrase of his.

"It was dangerous." Kotaro agreed. "Is that why I don't carry a real sword?" Most ten-year-olds already did, having discarded wood and bamboo. But Kotaro still hadn't touched steel.

"To learn the sword, real blades should not be used."

"But you said one never stops learning."

"And that's true! As long as you're in a dojo, a place of education and discipline, you must not harm another person seeking that same knowledge. Those hooligans who barged in, they claimed to be seeking honor, but there is no honor in a false superiority. Of course, the sword is necessary in this world! But you must handle it with responsibility." Sensei added.

"I understand."

He did like it though. He had to work hard, especially with Sensei constantly at his heels, but it paid off in sparring matches. In the other dojos, he was taken seriously and praised for being mature. To the sword, social status, age, and class did not matter. Already, he was often assigned to guide the youngest boys. When the little ones turned and struck in unison, he felt proud. He could have taught their sisters as well; some had jealously watched the start of lessons, only to be steered away by their mothers.

Well, when he opened his own dojo, he'd make sure it was open to everyone. That wasn't the only reason he wanted to grow up quickly. Once he became an adult, he would try to see his mother again.

Okaa-san had sent a letter each year. Her messages were consistent, wishing the best for him and wondering how he had grown. He scoured them for details. She shared that she was in a different domain, although it was not far. While she continued to sew for a living, she was learning about herbs. She lived alone. The information was extremely scant, but after living with his siblings, he had realized why she couldn't stay. The box of letters was wedged under his desk, not readily noticeable. Occasionally, while he was studying, he would touch it for comfort. It would only be five years before he had his genpuku, like Kunitake.

His older brother was rarely home, for he was accompanying Otou-san on patrol. Although Kunitake remained single-minded on gaining advantage, he had become cleverer about it. He knew how to talk, and mysteriously, officials liked his thick flattery.

Kotaro was still deep in thought when he arrived home. He trudged past the gate, absently greeting Oichi who was drawing water from the well, and walked down the hallway.

"Kotaro. Kotaro!"

He was startled. Otsuna was calling for him, his name still strange in her voice after four years. There was a smile plastered on her face, not reaching her cold eyes. She was sitting at the table with three unfamiliar women.

"Come here, and greet my friends."

He didn't move. His heart was pounding, his fingers colder.

The women brushed off the awkwardness. "Oh, don't bother him."

"He must be shy." Their conversation continued, and Kotaro took that chance to slip out.

However, when his sister was furious, hiding was ineffective. Once the guests departed, Otsuna entered his bedroom. Before he could protest, she hissed. "You embarrassed me in front of those women! Did you know who they were? The daughters of a metsuke. Kunitake is being considered as one of his assistants, so if you've ruined his chances, you will have to deal with me." Her expression nasty, she spun on her heel and glided away. Her fingernails had pierced the rice paper on his door. He carefully counted his breaths, the way Otou-san taught him. Then, he went to find new paper.

Other than meditation, Otou-san and Kotaro were very different. Kotaro respected Otou-san's devotion to the arts, but he couldn't really understand what Otou-san was saying. Otou-san practically lit up when he found a new subject or a beautiful piece for sale, eagerly talking to Kotaro about the finer aspects. Kotaro would nod along, agreeing. He may have learned a thing or two, but he could never retain much more.

It was probably better this way. If he was any closer to Otou-san, he could have suffered more than face grabs and threats.

He retrieved the new paper and was about to return to his room, when Kunitake nonchalantly emerged.

"What are you doing?" Kotaro blurted.

"Nothing." A sly smile, and then, he strode away. As soon as he turned the corner, Kotaro threw open the door to find nothing out of place. But now, he was nervous and he made the mistake of moving his precious box. On his cluttered shelf, he arranged scrolls and inkstones to camouflage it.

The following day, he only had morning lessons. He planned to finish some reading in his room, and he scanned the shelf. The books were there, but the box was not. It was gone. His gut clenched.

When he stumbled into the hallway, he did see the box, but it was clasped in the hands of Kunitake. His elder brother smirked. "Looking for something?"

Energy surged through him, from head to toe. These were infinitely precious, the affirmations of Okaa-san's love.

He was not going to lose them.

Kunitake rattled the box. "What's this? A letter? Do you have a sweetheart?"

"Give it back!"

"What will you give me for it?"

"I don't know! I don't know what you want! But you can't have this!"

"Well, it's too late for that. I'm holding it, aren't I?"

With that, Kotaro decided. He'd had enough. And with a loud cry, he kicked his older brother in the groin. Kunitake immediately crumpled, howling. Kotaro grabbed the box and bolted. He nearly collided with Otsuna, who had just turned the corner. Her gaze locked on the scene, then on Kotaro.

"What did you do? What did you do?!" With a scream, her outstretched fingers lunged for his face.

But unlike three years ago, Kotaro was stronger and faster. He could tell where she was aiming. He dodged and thrust his shoulder against her ribcage, pushing her aside. The footsteps of the retainers were approaching, and Kotaro fearfully glanced behind him. Kunitake, thrashing about and wailing as he clutched the area between his legs. Otsuna, arm braced against the wall, her mouth round in shock at his defiance. He had done this.

So, he ran. He ran past the gate, down the street, randomly taking different paths. His legs burned and he couldn't draw enough breath, but he kept running. Dust flew into his eyes and he futilely wiped at the tears.

At last, he heard the river. He slowed to a walk, to a stagger, before kneeling in the spongy ground. He remained there, unmoving and listless. He had lost his temper and fought back against his siblings. There was no going back from this, not at all. And he dreaded the retribution. His mind played horrible scenarios, revolving around biting pain, shrill voices, and the gleam of the retainers' katanas.

Otou-san found him shivering and hugging the box. Neither of them spoke, while Otou-san quietly dismounted his horse to crouch beside him. The moving water made sounds, but to Kotaro, they were muffled.

"Those are your mother's letters?"

Kotaro's teeth chattered. "Yes."

"I see. I think it's best if we don't leave them at home. Can you find a good hiding place?"

"The dojo?"

"The dojo would be fine, if Sensei will agree to it. Shall we go see him?"

"I don't want to go with you."

"…I was worried when you ran off like that. I don't want to lose you again."

"You don't care. You leave me alone with them." Kotaro abruptly stood.

"I only want you to get along."

"We're never going to get along. I'm ten and I know that."

At this point, the retainers arrived with the cart. Although they were relieved, Otou-san instructed them to take Kotaro to Sensei's dojo. "If you leave now, you'll be back by nightfall. I'll talk to Otsuna and Kunitake. Please keep Kotaro safe."

If Sensei was surprised to see Kotaro again, he didn't show it. When Kotaro wordlessly offered the box to him, he glanced inside and understood. "Hm, I had a feeling this would happen. You're welcome any time, if you need to be reassured."

Kotaro nodded, his head low.

The next morning, they had a peaceful breakfast. No raised voices, no fast movements. Everyone was on their best behavior. On the surface, it seemed nothing had happened, although Kotaro didn't want to even look at his siblings. He was afraid of what he would see, if he did.

He didn't have long to agonize over it. Shortly after, Otsuna's marriage was arranged. She handled it with more grace than expected, although she was probably happy Kunitake was now that metsuke's assistant. The house bustled with preparations, yet amidst the tailoring and packing, Otsuna spoke once to Kotaro. She was sitting on the porch, drinking tea, and her sudden outburst stopped him as he was trying to move past her. "I know those letters were from your mother."

"Huh?" His instinct was that Otou-san had said something. Anger flared inside him. In addition, he had been running errands for a bit of change. The coins were hidden at Sensei's, for safekeeping, but his goal was to travel to the surrounding domains and look for Okaa-san. If Otsuna knew that as well, his hard work was about to crumble.

"Or, supposedly they are." Otsuna continued. "Personally, I think they were forged by Chichi-ue, out of pity."

Kotaro held his tongue. The handwriting was markedly different, and if Otou-san wanted to pity him, he could have spun a better story about Okaa-san, instead of providing vague details. But it seemed Otsuna had never seen the letters and that was a small comfort. "Ane-ue, you're free to think what you want."

She scoffed. "That impudence! You've inherited it. That sharp tongue needed lashing, she was so disrespectful to Chichi-ue!"

"I'm not listening to what you say about my mother. You hate her."

The response was immediate. "I hate your mother because she bewitched Chichi-ue. While my mother was dying, he was away from her bedside, to be with that bitch. Meanwhile, Kunitake and I suffered…and then, she had to get pregnant! With a son, so she could improve her standing. Your mother's plan of seducing Chichi-ue was cowardly and devious." Otsuna clearly thought that his mother was wicked to the core.

"I don't believe you." He bluntly said. "And it doesn't matter! I don't care." And the words felt true. "Whatever happened is between them. It's not my fault I was born."

"And it's because you were born, that Kunitake's position was endangered. Well, his future is secure, so now I have nothing to worry about." She shrugged. A shrug, after all this pain she had inflicted. It may have been for someone else's sake, but that didn't make any of it right.

Without saying any more, he kept walking. In that moment, he only felt glad she was leaving.

The wedding reception was held at the groom's household, and because he had business ties to the Kamiya clan, Kotaro was introduced to relatives he never met before. He managed to memorize the different family lines in his mind, but it was a lot to take in a short period of time. When he had a free moment to spare, he searched for a quiet place in the courtyard. However, someone was already there.

A figure in a dark kimono was crouched close to the ground. She was about nineteen years old, her hair pulled into a plain bun. Upon the crackling of leaves under his shoes, the woman tensed, keeping her body positioned away. "Ah, you're Otsuna's brother."

Kotaro stiffly nodded. "Yes. Who are you?"

"I'm one of your cousins, Orin. I knew your sister when we were younger and I was told to sort the wedding gifts, although this one…" She showed him a tiny birdcage, entrapping a warbler. It cocked its brown head and fluttered its wings.

"Did you steal it?"

"No, it was listless, so I thought it needed air. I feel so sorry for it." Orin said.

The beady eyes stared at Kotaro. "Then, let's set it free."

"Eh? I suppose that would be the obvious solution. But what should we do about the empty cage?"

"Hide it? It's small. Too small, so we should save the bird. Let's break the lock." He began searching for a stone heavy enough to do the job.

Orin smiled. "I have a little son, he's only a year old, but I hope he'll be as kind as you."

The praise embarrassed him. "Where's your son?"

"For today, he's with my mother. My husband's in a different town, studying to become a doctor."

He picked up a rock, weighing it between his hands. "Then, why aren't you with him now?"

"That's a good question. It's because we made a promise to each other. If he can become the best doctor the world has seen, I will not be a burden to him. I want him to focus on his work, without having to worry about me. That's how I can help him. When the promise is fulfilled, I'll join him."

Kotaro pondered over her words as he struck the rock against the lock. With a definitive blow, it broke.

"There we are!" Orin exclaimed. She pulled the door open, offering the blue sky to the bird. "Go on."

It didn't move immediately, the beady eyes perfectly still. It puffed up. One clawed foot touched the ground behind it. Then, with a loud series of flaps and a blur of brown feathers, it took off. Kotaro squinted against the sun, the glare nearly blocking out the bird's silhouette, before the creature swooped and disappeared into the tree line.

"Goodbye." He belatedly said.

"That was a good thing we did." Orin declared. "I need to return, but it was a pleasure to meet you at last, Kotaro. Perhaps, one day, you can visit us."

"I hope so." He bowed his head and his cousin echoed what a well-behaved child he was.

The broken cage was deposited in a tangle of bushes. It was still there, cast in the growing shadows of dusk, when he climbed into the cart. Kunitake sat up front, yawning. It had been a long day, and it was time to return home. The newlyweds shared parting words with his father.

"I wish you well, Otsuna." Otou-san said.

"Thank you, Chichi-ue." She murmured. "Kunitake, I pray…that you will receive everything you deserve." Her voice wobbled, and she turned her face into her sleeve. She did not say goodbye to Kotaro. He avoided her white-clad form too, as the cart moved away.

He never heard from her again. Kunitake received letters from her, but he never shared the contents. That was perfectly fine with Kotaro.

And so, time passed. Adulthood was approaching for Kotaro, and as such, he accompanied Otou-san during the day. He was given a map of the patrol routes and learned to traverse them on horseback. He felt self-conscious, visibly maneuvering through the crowds. Any glances in his direction were quickly diverted. It was terribly nerve-wracking; he greatly preferred using the three weapons.

Before his first day, Otou-san had demonstrated the techniques. The sodegarami, tsukubo, and sasumata were designed to capture without killing. Grabbing a sleeve, or tripping feet, or restraining a limb were appealing to Kotaro. He mirrored his father's motions with each weapon, feeling more confident with each iteration.

Otou-san was impressed. "You look so comfortable, even without a blade. This is why I brought you to Sensei. I wanted you to understand that violence is not necessary in apprehending people."

"Because it happens too often?"

"So you know?"

"I've heard stories." Kotaro said. A recent one was of a man, mistaken for another who had committed fraud against a group of influential merchants. His indignance upon arrest was repaid with a severe beating and broken leg. It was later discovered he had an alibi, but there was no apology from the samurai. Verbally, at least. Kotaro recalled his brother pointing out their monthly budget was lower, for no apparent reason.

"Unsatisfying stories." Otou-san shook his head. "Your teacher would have something to say about it..."

The unspoken remainder was 'if he had the energy'. Sensei fell ill more frequently, and although his spirit hadn't diminished, he was more pensive. "As expected of your youth, you're outstripping me. However, I've noticed how good you are, as a teacher. Consider going to the Motomiya Shin dojo, in Takaoka Domain. They could use you and you'd learn a great deal in turn. Their methods are different, but they don't use real swords."

Kotaro seriously mulled it over. It was a new opportunity, and although he would have to leave town, he held no special feelings for his current residence. To him, home had always been that tile-roofed house with its mud walls and single maple tree. Right now, red leaves would have adorned the yard where he played without a care. "I'm interested. I'll mention it to my father."

"See that you do."

If Otou-san was surprised, he hid it well. He only said. "If that's what you'd like to pursue, I'll support you." A correspondence with Motomiya-sensei began, planning for a visit in the following summer.

During that winter of Kotaro's fourteenth year, Kunitake was married to another samurai's daughter. The wedding was small, and after the couple drank from their cups at the shrine, they departed for their new residence. Technically, it had once belonged to Kunitake's biological father, and he was fulfilling his inheritance now. For the last time, Kotaro exchanged a few sentences with Kunitake, mostly platitudes.

"So, it will just be you and Chichi-ue." Kunitake forcefully smiled. "I wonder if you'll be lonely."

"I believe we'll be alright. I wish you good fortune, Ani-ue." He mechanically said.

"Thank you." Then, he moved on to speak with someone else. Kotaro wasn't offended; it was better they weren't around each other for too long.

But the conversation lingered in his thoughts, as it had reinforced an idea.

For the first time in nearly a decade, he was alone with his father. But he wasn't a little boy anymore. He had changed, and not all of it was positive. His experience with Otsuna and Kunitake had hardened him. He was serious and quiet, because a word out of line would have brought their retaliation. He was meticulous, because he had to prove himself to his peers every day. He had to look over his shoulder all the time, and now, that burden had been lifted. Of course, he was relieved they were gone, but he was also apprehensive. He thought of the caged bird he had freed with Orin, how it hesitated before flying away. It must have asked the same question he was considering.

Now what?

He hadn't decided, and soon, they were celebrating the beginning of another year. Kotaro underwent his coming-of-age ceremony. It wasn't as grand as Kunitake's, because he didn't have any connections to higher-ranking men. However, the hearty congratulations of those he did know were enough. Otou-san's friends and their household retainers were eager to fill his cup of sake, until Sensei protested. "Bah! Leave him be, all of you! He can barely breathe."

Oichi had cooked foods he liked and smiled wider than he'd ever seen. When she first saw him in his new clothing, she firmly squeezed his shoulder and her eyes shone with affection. He nervously smiled in return. The expression became fixed, when his fellow kenjutsu practitioners visited. Throughout the day, there was a constant barrage of compliments and fond sentiments.

Embarrassed at the amount of attention, he was almost glad when Otou-san privately called him aside.

"I'm happy that you've reached this safely and in good health." Were those tears in his eyes? "You've been waiting for it, for quite a long time. And…I can guess why. I've felt the same way, since that summer." That day, when his mother's upright figure disappeared into the horizon.

Kotaro swallowed. "I just want to know if Okaa-san's well." The message was a month early this time. Okaa-san had recognized he was about to enter adulthood, and he could easily recall her words.

In my head, there is only the little boy. I can still remember your little hands, although they must be carrying a sword by now. Are you well? Are you content? If I could, I would very much like to see what kind of young man you've become.

He had enough money to travel to the relatively near Sakura Domain. From her brief descriptions of her environment, he deduced she was living there. He had been counting the days after Kunitake's wedding, and he planned to take a horse by the end of the week.

"I understand. But first, there is something I need to do for you."

Kotaro followed him to his desk, where everything had been prepared. A clean sheet of paper, freshly ground ink. Otou-san lifted the brush; with the other hand, he held his sleeve. His writing was careful, elegant, self-assured. When he finished, he turned the paper towards Kotaro.

Three bold characters met his eyes.

"Koshijiro. Because you are my son, who was given a path in life and has surpassed it. I'm proud of you."

He was supposed to be pleased, but he couldn't muster any excitement. This made the change final. The boy named Kotaro was gone. Numbly, he murmured. "…Thank you."

And Koshijiro bowed.

The postal worker slid the envelope across the counter. "There you are."

Koshijiro exhaled. "It's about time." Only yesterday, he finished cleaning the shed, yet it seemed ages ago. The lingering soreness from the labor and the mental fatigue from work were forgotten as he took the letter. He held it close to his body, maintaining a tight grip the entire way home. Summer had lengthened the days, and dusk wouldn't happen for some time. Nevertheless, he walked briskly, eager to read the long-awaited letter from Kyoto.

Takani was at the gate, and he called out to her. She turned her head. "Oh, Kamiya-san. I was just locking up, there's a patient I have to see. I borrowed the kitchen." She lifted the bundle in her hand, wrapped in a colorfully patterned cloth. "I'm taking my portion with me, but yours is on the counter."

"Thank you. I'll compensate you for the cost of the ingredients."

"It'll have to be later, I really need to hurry." She glanced at the envelope, and the corner of her mouth twitched. "By then, I expect some news too."

"Of course. Travel safely."

"Naturally, I will. I'll stop by tomorrow." With a little wave, she was off.

The box on the counter was still warm, and he was grateful for the food. Afterwards, he took the small knife he used for opening letters and opened the sliding door, so the sunset would provide enough light to read by. He set a book onto the envelope, slipped the blade underneath the edge, and slowly tore away at the crease. It was terribly tedious, but his determination outweighed his annoyance. Within the envelope, there were two pieces of paper, in markedly different handwriting. The one with sloppier, larger kanji was definitely Yahiko's. It was also shorter and he read it first.

Dear Kamiya-san,

Kaoru made me write this, even after she explained everything. Do I have to keep writ

The food is good here, but the flavors are blander. The futon's not too bad. The Shirobeko's really busy, but the people are nice enough. It's just a little lonely because there's no one here who's my age. But I will endure it, because I am a swordsman.

I'll have more to write about next time. I hope.

Yahiko

He stifled a laugh. Well, this was a good learning experience for Yahiko. Written communication was important for everyone in this age, and judging from the retracted sentence, it seemed the boy had been told as much. He set the paper aside and moved on to Kaoru's.

Dear Otou-san,

How have you been? I hope you're not too lonely. I'm sorry if this arrives later than expected, we've still been adjusting and I must have rewritten this one ten times. The next one will be quicker.

Sae-san is treating us well, and everyone at the Shirobeko is kind. They send their best wishes to the Akabeko. Here, Yahiko and I are usually given small tasks, like buying groceries or sweeping the dining area. We put up posters of Kenshin nearby, but the rain here destroyed them. It's summer, so it's expected, but it was frustrating. Instead, we're trying a different tactic. The Shirobeko is well-established and has many business ties, including inns and other restaurants. Yahiko and I have been making rounds, asking permission to leave a poster with each building. If Kenshin stops at any of them, we'll be told. As of writing this letter, no one has spotted him yet.

I haven't given up. I'm sure we'll see him soon.

Meanwhile, I cleared enough space in the back so Yahiko and I can practice. Just because we're away from the dojo, that doesn't mean he can slack off! I'm not worried though; he's motivated to be stronger. Isn't that such a change from a few months ago, when he didn't want to learn Kamiya Kasshin? It really is rewarding.

Could you let Tae and Tsubame know that we're alright? Megumi too, I suppose. And if we ever see Kenshin (or Sanosuke), we'll send a telegram. It'll be much faster that way.

I miss you. I look forward to your letter.

Your daughter,

Kaoru

Koshijiro smiled fondly. He read the letters again, just to be sure he hadn't missed anything, before heading inside.